Eight P.M.
Four hours later.
Kyle, Chad, and Tyrone sat in the exact same seats in the exact same back booth at the Tofu Tutti-Frutti.
Lucinda?
Not there.
It wasn’t that she refused to come. Kyle couldn’t find her. Not by e-mail. Not by cell phone. Nothing. Zero. And, yeah, she might not like missing a meeting. But the secret agents had work to do. Tonight. Right now.
“Did you bring it?” said Kyle.
“How come she’s not here?” said Chad.
“She’s got a name,” said Tyrone.
“Whatever,” said Chad.
“Did you bring it?” said Kyle.
“Afraid to answer my question?” said Chad.
“Afraid to answer mine?” said Kyle.
“I brought it,” said Chad.
“Hook it up,” said Kyle.
It was a laptop. And you bet Chad brought it. He brought it every place he could, anytime he could. Because he was one of the few kids he or anybody else knew who had one. And, of course, Chad rarely passed up an opportunity where he could show off.
“Hook it up where?” he said.
“Under the jukebox,” Tyrone said.
Check it out:
Not only was the Tofu Tutti-Frutti so hip it served stuff no one really liked but ate anyway because it was like eating dessert that was supposed to be good for you, but every single one of the booths had free Internet docking stations. Kyle flashed to all the other coffee shops and soda fountains where no one was actually talking to anyone across the table but typing away in chat rooms to someone who may not even be living in the same country.
“I’m in,” said Chad.
And he was.
“Yahoo” lit up across the screen. So did the ten thousand ads for movies and CDs and acne cream and Coca-Cola and Gap and Banana Republic and J. Crew and Lands’ End. You know. You’ve seen them. Kyle certainly had. And was seeing them now. Though not really. They were all a blur. Like vegetable soup. Only more colorful.
“Type in ‘literaryagents.com,’” he said.
“I thought we were the agents,” said Chad.
“Okay,” said Chad.
“Okay,” said Kyle.
And there it was:
How to Submit Your Manuscript.
Nothing fancy. Just a bunch of rules. Starting with “General” and ending with “Cover Letter” and all about as dry as dirt.
At least, as far as Chad was concerned.
“I thought secret agents were supposed to do cool stuff,” he said. “Slip into disguises. Spy on the bad guys. Make out with babes. Not worry about double spacing on medium weight paper or using twelve-point fonts.”
“You have to walk before you run,” Tyrone said.
“Your mommy teach you that, Tofu Boy?” Chad said.
“You weren’t talking so tough when Lucinda was here,” Tyrone said.
“Well, then, she’s lucky she’s not here now,” Chad said.
“Thanks for the warning,” Lucinda said.
While Kyle was studying the computer screen and Chad was complaining and arguing with Tyrone, Lucinda had climbed the Tofu Tutti-Frutti’s three front steps, pulled open the slick, stainless steel door, silently walked across the black-and-white-tiled floor, and arrived at the back booth just in time to hear how lucky she was.
And, oh yeah, there’s one other thing:
“Ruben?” said Tyrone.
“Tyrone,” said Ruben.
Chad said nothing. Chad swallowed. Hard. Although most of what he swallowed was a lot of hot air.
In case you hadn’t picked up on it, tension was mounting at the Tofu Tutti-Frutti. And I mean way beyond the usual bickering between Chad and Tyrone. The arrival of Lucinda moved it up a notch, sure. But the appearance of Ruben Gomez was like punching the accelerator to the floor. For starters, he was new to the group. But way, way beyond that, he was Ruben Gomez.
Think about it:
How many leaders can one group have?
One.
Period.
No exceptions.
And Kyle was the leader of the secret agents. Without question. But, now, here was Ruben. Who was always the leader. It didn’t matter what group. Not that anyone ever voted. A vote was never necessary. Ruben won by acclamation. Silent acclamation. Every time.
So …
So you’d figure something had to give. Or, at least, that’s what Chad and Tyrone figured. You could tell by the way their eyes kept darting back and forth between Kyle and Ruben. It would be hard to say, though, what Lucinda figured. Her eyes darted back and forth, all right. But their usual sparkle seemed less assured and more like a dare. Like she was waiting for Kyle to say something so she could pounce on it.
Only Kyle said nothing. He didn’t even look up from the computer screen. It was almost as if he had expected Lucinda to show up with Ruben. And it wasn’t that he was going out of his way to ignore them. Or that he was afraid. Or self-conscious. He truly seemed lost in concentration. As he scrolled the screen. Nodding every now and then. And smiling to himself. Or, at least, that was what he did most of the time. Because once, near the end, he stopped. And looked puzzled. And bit his lower lip. And squinted. Hard. Then scrolled the screen backward. Until his eyes locked on to what he was scrolling for. Which was when he nodded all over again. And smiled his secret smile. Only this time, he was no longer staring at the screen.
“It’s not what you are. It’s what people think you are,” he said.
“Huh?” Chad said.
“Exactly,” Kyle said. “It sounds like mumbo jumbo because it is mumbo jumbo. Until you add the second part.”
“Which is?” Chad said.
“First, you have to have the goods,” Kyle said.
“Am I the only moron on the planet?” Chad said. “Or would someone else like to know what Parker’s blabbering about?”
And that wasn’t all Chad didn’t pick up on. Because, of course, he was too busy worrying about what he always worried about—himself. But Tyrone and Lucinda and Ruben caught Kyle’s vibe big-time. The way his voice stayed quiet and never cracked. The way his fingers folded across one another and never twitched. The way his eyes locked on to their eyes and never blinked.
Who was in charge?
I’ll let you figure that one out.
“Take basketball,” Kyle said in that same steady voice. “When Ruben is in the game, the other team knows it. The other team feels it. You can see it in the players’ faces. Ruben is the man. Ruben is clutch. Even he believes it. And it helps him. It gives him that extra step. Which makes him even better than he already is. But that’s only part of it. The second part. Because here’s the thing. Before he was the man, Ruben was still a great basketball player. He still had the goods.”
“What’s he talking about?” cried Chad. “Will someone please tell me what basketball has to do with getting a book published?”
Silence.
Tyrone didn’t say anything because he was just about as lost as Chad, only he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. Lucinda didn’t say anything because, even though she thought she understood exactly what Kyle was talking about, she wasn’t as sure of herself as she usually was because of the security guard fiasco. Kyle didn’t say anything because … well … because he figured the whole thing was so obvious it didn’t really need an explanation. Which left Ruben. Who surprised everyone. Especially himself. Not by his words. But by the way he said them. By his tone. Which pretty much told anyone who was paying attention that he wasn’t trying to take over. He wasn’t trying to be the boss. And, even more surprising, it was almost as if there were relief in his voice. As if he were almost thankful he could be in a group of kids his age and didn’t have to take charge.
“Kyle’s right,” he said. “I can play ball. That’s not bragging. Because there’re plenty of guys who’ve got a better shot than I do. But I practice. I work at it. Hard. Harder than anybody around. And that’s what gives me the edge.”
“Ah!” said Chad. “So all Kyle’s dad needs to do is work on his jump shot, and Love in Autumn is bound to be a best-seller!”
“Funny,” said Lucinda.
“I knew there was a reason we didn’t hang out,” said Ruben.
“Only one?” said Tyrone.
But Kyle wasn’t about to let this turn into a kick-Chad-while-he-was-being-a-jerk contest.
“My fault,” Kyle said. “Blame me. I should have been more direct. I should have said Love in Autumn is a terrific book. Which is important. The most important. Because nothing else you do matters if you don’t start there. But it’s only the beginning. The next step is to make sure the book’s in the right format. Which we’re doing now. Which may sound dull. Which is dull. But I bet wind sprints aren’t all that exciting either. But if Ruben didn’t have the legs, he wouldn’t hit the shot at the buzzer. Sorry. That was a slip. I’ll lay off basketball and get back to books. Not all of them. Just my dad’s.”
He spun the screen around so the rest could see.
“There,” he said. “Second sentence. Clear as day. ‘If you break one of these rules, you could irritate an editor.’ And I don’t want to irritate an editor. I don’t want to give anyone any reason not to publish this book. You with me?”
They all nodded.
“Chad?”
“I’m with you.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Nowhere. I mean, read the rules.”
“Why me?”
“Why not?”
And since Chad didn’t have an answer (which may have been a first) he read. All sixteen pages. Out loud. In fact, he even got into it. Because it was easy. And everyone, including Lucinda, listened. Which made Chad the center of attention. Which, as you might imagine, he didn’t exactly hate.
“We’ve got Times New Roman,” said Kyle.
“Twelve-point font,” said Tyrone.
“Unbound, medium-weight, letter-sized paper,” said Lucinda.
“Headings?” said Chad.
“Check,” said Ruben.
“Title page?”
“Check.”
“Clear, clean photocopies?”
“Nah,” said Kyle. “We’ll print them off the disk.”
“Cover letter?”
“Lucinda will write it,” said Kyle.
“I will?” said Lucinda.
“You’re the best writer,” said Kyle.
“Is that so?” said Lucinda.
“And Chad just read that the cover letter is what the editor reads first,” said Ruben.
“I can hear,” said Lucinda.
“You’ll do great,” said Tyrone.
“I suppose I will,” said Lucinda.
Who didn’t blush when she said it. Not because she was bragging. But because she could feel it return. The confidence. Which, a few hours before, she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel again. But here was Kyle. Trusting in her. Even after she messed up so badly. And Ruben. The most famous kid who ever went to Roosevelt High practically turning into blubber every time she opened her mouth. Which was cool. Wonderful, even. But why didn’t Kyle do that? Why did he barely look up from the computer screen? And worse—way worse—why did she care?
“That it?” Ruben said.
“That’s it,” Kyle said.
“What’s it?” Chad said.
“We’ve got the goods,” Kyle said. “Except …”
“Except what?” Tyrone said.
“My father’s name,” Kyle said. “Walter. We’re going to stop calling my father Walter.”
“I never call your father Walter,” Chad said.
“What’s wrong with Walter?” Tyrone said.
“It’s got no mystery,” Kyle said.
“Huh?” Chad said.
“How about his initials?” Lucinda said.
“W. J. Parker?” Kyle said.
“Not bad,” Tyrone said.
“Not bad at all,” Ruben said.