THE NEXT AFTERNOON I’m at the kitchen table doing homework when Albert Einstein starts barking into the bottom of his dog dish. Apparently it’s because Liberty’s at the kitchen door, holding a paper shopping bag.
I let her in, and she stands there by the counter, shifting from one giant foot to another, clumsily patting Albert Einstein’s head.
“Here,” she says, handing me the bag. “This was in one of Uncle Dan’s moving boxes. He said it’s okay to lend them to you. I read a few. Pretty entertainingly . . . old.”
I open the bag and it’s filled with old comics. Archie and Jughead from the 1970s. A Spider-Man from 1991, and one mega-super-old intriguing-looking comic called the Clock, with a guy in a wide-shouldered suit and a black mask, holding a flashlight. They reek of basement mildew, but: wow!
“They’re probably not valuable or anything,” she says, “but I was thinking about that Trivia Quest thing you talked about. Maybe they’ll help.”
I’m grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “I’ll be careful with them.” I thumb through the pages. “I’ve definitely heard of some of these but I’ve never actually seen them before. Way cool.”
I look up to thank her, but she’s already slipped back out the door.
Next morning, when I head down for breakfast, a weird sight greets me: Mom. Still at home. Sitting at the table drinking coffee with Gramps.
“Did you get fired or something?” I say, wondering if this is the right time to ask her to sign my Trivia Quest form.
“I’m going in late. And I’ll drive you boys to school today,” she says, glancing at her wristwatch as Cal stomps down the steps behind me.
Gramps is shaking his head disapprovingly.
“I want you and your brother to sit down and have a little chat with your dad this morning,” Mom says. “He has some news for you.”
Cal, his nose already in the fridge, calls out, “I emailed Dad about the rifle. Bet he’s gonna say to let me have it.”
“I’ll let you have it,” mutters Gramps.
Mom holds up her hand. “I want you to give your dad some respect for what he has to say.” She angles the laptop so that both Cal and I can see the screen.
I think about what I overheard in Mom’s room. I don’t have a good feeling about this.
“Hey, guys!” Dad’s crackly voice emerges from the laptop, and his face peers out at us. He’s really tan, and he’s wearing a hat, so it’s hard to make out his expression. Also, he’s growing a beard. He barely looks like Dad.
“Wow, Dad. It’s been so . . . long,” I say.
He nods, tilts his head, clears his throat, smiles a little. “It has, and I’m really sorry about that. You know how much I miss you, don’t you? But you know how important this work is. It’s life or death, quite frankly.”
Something Principal Coffin would say.
“Anyhow” —Dad stops to clear his throat—“I wanted to tell you that it’s looking like I need to stay on a bit longer than planned. Quite a bit longer.”
Something drops in the pit of my stomach.
“What? Nooo!” Cal roars. He’s suddenly bright red. “But you’ve been gone for months!”
Gramps shakes his head and mutters to the newspaper.
Dad takes off his hat and scratches at his head. Whoa—his hair’s so long, he’s got a ponytail now. A ponytail.
I let out my breath. And suddenly, I’m as mad as Cal. So mad, I feel like throwing my chair across the room.
Who is this person, and what did he do with my dad?
“It’s been a very, very tough decision to have to make, boys,” he says. “But the foundation pulled funding at the last minute from two big projects, and we’re scrambling. I need to stay on. I need to keep my word to these people. We’ve almost finished the project! The only ethical thing to do is to try to find more funding. People are counting on me—”
—And who does he think we are? What does he think we’ve been doing? We’ve been counting on him!
“I feel terrible. I do. I know this is really hard for you guys to understand. I promise I will make it up to you.”
Dad goes on. “Just know that we’re helping five new clinics get built! Think of all the good that’s going to put in the world! It’s a crime how long these people have been waiting for decent health care and educational facilities. We’re providing that!”
Finally, he has nothing left to say, and it’s clear Cal and I are upset. So Mom says good-bye for all of us and hangs up. Then she turns to us and pastes on a smile. “I know you boys are disappointed. I know you miss him. But let’s try to remember the bigger picture. Your dad’s saving lives! He’s a superhero!”
A superhero.
I bet John Lockdown wouldn’t leave his own kids, even if it meant saving a whole village. Or would he?
I don’t know what else to do, so I go wait in the car for Mom to drive us to school. I sit in back and pretend to rummage through my backpack for the whole entire ride—so they won’t see me trying to hide my stupid tears.