Capture the Flag Read Free Page A

at the museum last night!” She’d noticed him on the bench next to the other kid, who had been reading a book.
    What luck that he was from Vermont, too! She could interview him about the museum thing and add to her story. Anna double-clicked and opened up a word-processing document. “What’s your name?” She looked up at the boy, tapping her fingers on the space bar.
    â€œHenry Thorn. Why?”
    â€œFor my notes, obviously.”
    â€œWhat notes? I don’t wanna be in your notes.” Henry reached up and pulled his baseball cap lower over his eyes. The screen of his SuperGamePrism-5000 flickered.
    â€œBut I’m a journalist.” Anna tipped her head in what she hoped was a journalistic way. He didn’t need to know that the interview she was supposed to get at the museum reception had fizzled out. She still felt deflated. The reception had been fun, and she’d loved listening to Sounds for a Small Planet, that orchestra made up of musicians from all over the world. Anna had written down the names of all the different instruments and used her new mini video camera to shoot footage of the big poodle that danced along to the tunes, but she had promised her school newspaper an interview with someone famous.
    Henry wasn’t famous, but at least he’d be another interview. “Is there an e at the end of Thorn ? Or is it just Thorn , like the prickles on a rosebush?”
    â€œThere’s no e , but —” His screen flickered again. “Get your dumb laptop outta here. That was my outlet!”
    â€œShhh.” The voice came from a pile of luggage next to them.
    Anna kept typing.
    Henry spun around. “Who’s shushing me?”
    â€œSounded like that big black backpack,” Anna said.
    â€œListen, I don’t know who you think you are, squeezing in here with your fancy computer, but I need to charge this thing because I have a flight soon, and —”
    â€œAh! Don’t count your owls before they are delivered,” the backpack said.
    â€œWhat does that mean?” Henry asked.
    â€œIt means that it’s unlikely you’ll be going anywhere today.” A head popped up from behind the luggage pile. It sported wire-rimmed glasses and had hair that stuck out around the ears. “So you should probably settle down and relax.” Then the head disappeared behind a thick book.
    â€œHey!” Anna said. “You were at the museum last night, too, reading on the bench!”
    The boy held up a copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire , whose pages appeared to be on the verge of spilling out all over the terminal. The cover was worn and torn, loved to death like Anna’s copy of Harriet the Spy . The boy grinned. “This one’s my favorite.”
    â€œSo what’s with counting owls?” Anna tipped her head. “Is that from your book?”
    The boy nodded. “From one of them. It’s a quote from Albus Dumbledore. I’m quite fond of him. And all the world’s great philosophers, really.” He held up a black-and-white marble notebook with Wisdom of the World written in messy red marker on the front. “I kind of collect quotes, the way people collect baseball cards and stuff.”
    Henry tipped his head. “What do you do with them?”
    â€œI just … keep them and … read them over, I guess.” The boy shrugged.
    â€œI see.” Anna wrote that down. It wasn’t how she would choose to use a good notebook, but to each his own. She flipped to a new page of notes. “Could you tell me your name and spell it, please?”
    â€œJosé McGilligan. J-O-S-E …”
    â€œDoes the e have one of those little slashy lines over it?”
    â€œAn acute accent. Yes.”
    â€œGot it.” Her fingers sounded like little bird beaks pecking at the keys.
    â€œDude, you don’t have to tell her everything, you know.” It seemed to bother Henry that