20

“TIME FOR THE Heart Health and Defibrillator Use Assembly!” blares Principal Coffin’s static-scratchy voice. “Would everyone please report to the auditorium?”

It figures.

I veer into the main office.

Mrs. Ngozo is by the teachers’ mailboxes. “Your mother tells me you’re competing in that big comics festival competition tomorrow, Stanley,” she says as I walk past. “That’s amazing! We’re very proud of you. Just getting out there and participating in something you care about, that makes you a winner in my book!” She gives me two thumbs ups. “And don’t forget to breathe, Stanley! Aqua, ochre!”

“Thanks, Mrs. Ngozo,” I say. And head quickly past her to the Ready Room.

The last comic from the mystery artist showed John Lockdown vanquishing the big dumb bully, then telling me that somehow, someday, my super-senses would turn to superpowers.

I stare at John Lockdown’s face. Well, at least he believes in me. At least a fictitious, goofy-looking cartoon character believes in me.

I pick up the black marker and write:

“Yeah, but will I find my abilities before Trivia Quest starts tomorrow?”

Actually, never mind the abilities. I’d just be happy to get through tomorrow alive.

“You look pale,” Mom says during dinner that night. She puts her hand on my forehead. “Try to eat—you’ll need your energy tomorrow!”

“Yeah, Stannie,” says Cal, sneering. “Listen to your mommy!”

Mom ignores him. “I talked to your father again,” she says. “He’s sad to miss Stanley’s big contest!” She piles a heaping mass of potatoes onto my plate. “He would have loved to have been around to cheer you on.”

I don’t say anything. But what I want to say is that she should stop making excuses for him. He’s not around, and she—we—need to just deal with it.

My stomach’s a knot, so I ask to be excused. I head up to my room, launch myself onto my bed. Why am I even doing this Trivia Quest? I could . . . get lost get mugged melt down overload feel scared lose Liberty lose the contest lose my way . . .

My worry-tree is exploding out of my head. That does it. I’m backing out. I pull out my phone to text Liberty.

Maybe we should just bag it tomorrow. I’m thinking it’s probably going to be way too hard for me.

The answer from Liberty comes almost immediately.

Be in our driveway by 8:15. OR ELSE.

Okay, I give up. I’m trapped, I guess. Cornered. It almost feels like I’m still stuck in that stupid dog crate. I sigh, and turn out the light.

Yip! Yip! AwOOOOO!!! The eerie noises start in the back of my head, then build louder and louder, until . . . I bolt upright and peer out my window. In dim moonlight, I count one, two, three, four coyotes. Their shadows slip and weave around a small dark lump in the grass.

Across the hall, I hear Cal’s bed creak. A moment later he opens my door, rubbing his eyes. “They’re at it again, huh?” he whispers.

“Yup,” I say. “They’ve got something.”

Cal practically falls on me while tugging open my window. Then he sticks his head out and screams loud enough to wake half the town: “YAHHH! GIT! GIT!”

A few sets of glinting yellow eyes turn toward us for a frozen moment. Cal is hanging so far out the windowsill, I have to hold on to his legs. “YAHH! YAHH!”

One coyote, twice the size of the rest, stares up at us while the rest slink off down the canyon slope. Then he slowly follows as Cal pretends to aim an invisible rifle at him.

Meanwhile, the small dark lump is still in the grass.

“What is that, Cal? Does it need help?” It’s hard to catch my breath and talk right.

He shrugs. “Just a rabbit,” Cal says, already on his way back to his room. “Probably died of fright. Fear alone can kill rabbits, you know.”

I imagine what that would feel like: your heart thumping in such a panic-frenzy, it actually seizes up and stops. Will that happen to me tomorrow?

It seems like moments later when Mom knocks at my door. But the sun is bright. Birds are chirping.

“Stanley?” She peeks her head in. “It’s Trivia Quest time!”

I groan and pull the blankets over my head.

She comes over and peels them back. “Let’s take it step by step,” she says. “Just wash up and come downstairs. That’s all you have to do. We’ll take it from there.”

Before I get up, I check the yard through the window. The dead rabbit is gone. Or it was a dream.

When I come downstairs, Mom’s in the kitchen in her bathrobe, scrambling eggs and talking on the phone. Albert Einstein is sprawled over her feet, so she has to shuffle around him. He lifts his head, thumps his tail, and rubs the drool off his flubber-lips onto my pant leg as Mom hands me the phone.

“Stan?” It’s Dad.

“Where are you?”

“Nairobi airport.”

“Does that mean you’re coming home?”

“No, no, no. I’m picking up a late supply shipment. I just—well. Your mother told me what you’re doing today, and I wanted to say I’m proud of you! You’re getting out of the house, doing stuff. That’s great!”

I glare at Mom, who’s concentrating hard on scrambling eggs.

“I’m sure you’ll do great. I’m proud of you! And I love you.”

Something inside me loosens toward Dad. Just a little. A small nudge of loosening. Still, I can only grunt a short thanks, then hand the phone to Mom in exchange for a plate of eggs.

“You’d better get a move on,” she says. “Mrs. Lee mentioned to me the other day that Joon was entering, too—I told Dr. Dan so you could all carpool. He’s driving the whole lot of you. And Mrs. Lee’s picking up.” She looks at her watch. “I’ve got to get to work, kiddo. Time for you to go.”

I freeze. “J-Joon?” I finally stutter. “In the same car?”

Here comes the Mom Look. “What’s wrong with that, Stanley?” she says.

“Nothing,” I mumble, grabbing my backpack and heading out the door.

Honestly. Mothers.