Secret Identity Read Free

Cedar Valley in his squad car.”
    “Urn… let me think about it, okay?” I downed the rest of my milk and picked up my plate. “May I be excused?”
    “To get back to work on your project?” Mom asked.
    I nodded.
    “But, Nolan, if you haven't even picked outwho to interview, how can you be working on your project?”
    “Uh… I'm getting the gear together, Mom.”
    “The gear?”
    I nodded. “May I be excused?”
    She sighed.
    I took that as a yes, bussed my dishes, and hurried down to my room.
    The mayor—ha!
    Mr. Zilch—ha!
    Sergeant Klubb—ha!
    Interviews with them wouldn't compare to the piece I was going to do on Bubba Bixby!
    I got back to work, and by bedtime my backpack was converted. My fingers were sore and bloody, but I'd done it! My backpack had a little fold-down flap for the camera lens. It had a backup layer of black nylon to camouflage it. The sides and bottom were padded with a cut-up T-shirt.
    And the cool thing is, it worked.
    I'd made a spy-pack, and it actually worked!
    The next morning, I got up early and practiced taking pictures backward.
    I had to be sly.
    I had to be smooth.
    I had to act like I'm not used to acting.
    At breakfast Mom said, “Forget your hair, Nolan?”
    My hair has a life of its own. I felt around my head. It was sticking out on one side again. “Sorry.”
    “And, Nolan? Your socks go
inside
your pants, remember?” my dad said.
    I looked down. How had that happened? Again? I pulled my pant leg out of my sock. “Whoops.”
    “Try putting your socks on first, champ. Works for me,” my dad said.
    “I know. I know.”
    My mom kissed me on the forehead. “We're just trying to help you outgrow your nickname, honey.”

    I looked at her. Then at my dad. “You mean Nerd?”
    Dad nodded. “There's a lot you could do to
not
have people call you that, you know.”
    “Like combing your hair,” Mom said gently.
    “And keeping your shoes tied,” Dad said.
    “And matching your clothes.” My mom looked me over. “Isn't that the T-shirt you slept in?”
    “Huh? I… I don't remember.” I really didn't.
    “Preoccupied with something again?” my father asked.
    “Yeah, honey. You've got bags,” my mom said, zooming in on my eyes. “Did you sleep all right?”
    I shoved some peanut-buttered Eggo into my mouth. “I was thinking about my project.”
    “Ah,” my dad said. “So have you decided who you'd like to interview?”
    “Uh…not yet.”
    “I hope you don't think I was being too pushy last night. I was just excited to be able to help.”
    “I know, Dad.”
    “Well, let me know when you decide, okay?” He pointed a fork at my plate. “Uh… don't you want syrup on that?”
    “Nuh-uh,” I said, shoveling the rest of the Eggoin my mouth. No time for syrup—I had to get going.
    I had spy tools to try out.
    Bullies to catch!
    Starting today, Bubba Bixby would have to watch out for
me.

CHAPTER 4
Level 42-e
    I was afraid to run with my backpack on. The camera was in nice and tight, but I was still worried I'd jolt it loose. So I did what Mom calls my power-walk. I use it all the time when teachers or lifeguards are yelling, “Don't run!”
    It gets you places fast.
    People make fun of my power-walk, so I only use it when I really, really,
really
want to get somewhere quick. And school was someplace I wanted to get to quick!
    A couple of older kids called, “Hey, Nerd! Slow down,” as I trucked onto the playground. I just ignored them, though. I don't think they even know me.
    Bubba was nowhere. I checked the upper field.
    The lower field.
    I checked the four-square courts and the basketball courts.
    I looked behind and even between all the “portables,” which are the classrooms that look like flat-roofed mobile homes, only they never go anywhere.
    I even checked in all the boys’ bathrooms, just in case.

    Mr. Hoover, the janitor, must have noticed me running around because he grinned and asked, “Lose another sweatshirt, Nolan?”
    “Uh, no,