Girl Incredible Page 3

  “All in a day’s work, sir,” I say, backing away with a short salute. “The CIA is always happy to help our friends across the pond.”

  ***

  “—ten sixty six. Kit MacLean?”

  I look up from my doodling, grinning at the expression on J.J.’s face at Kitalia’s little speech, and realize Ms. Zipple is looking right at me with a strained smile. Her thin fingers clasp the chalk in her hand like she’s ready to use it to defend herself against some kind of attack. Which gives me the answer I’m looking for.

  Everyone is staring. I glance at the question on the board to confirm I have it right and bob a nod. “The Battle of Hastings,” I say. Ms. Zipple’s smile eases, hands falling to the folds of her plaid skirt, and she nods.

  “Very good, Kit. Nice to know someone is paying attention.”

  Yup. I’m just that incredible. Saving Prime Ministers and coming up with the right answer? Snap. Good thing I love history and read ahead this summer. A girl can never be too prepared for grade eleven epic awesomeness.

  I just wish classes weren’t so boring. I’d love to be able to ask a ton of questions and maybe direct the lesson toward more interesting things, but I discovered a long time ago teachers don’t appreciate questions. Mind you, I think being told I hijack class is a bit harsh, considering the fact when I do pay attention, things are always much more interesting.

  Not that it really matters. I have tons of things to keep me occupied. But, as the bell rings for lunch, I happily let Kitalia return to CIA headquarters on her own in favor of catching up at last with my buddy, Jimmy.

  I find him in his usual place in the corner of the cafeteria. I wish sometime he’d relocate, maybe up closer to the front where some of the other kids hang out. I worry he’s so alone all the time. At least he has me. I settle quickly next to him at the narrow table and pull out my lunch from my messenger bag.

  “Smells like tuna.” The slippery plastic reveals I’m right. And, though my tummy is rumbling in protest, I grin as I slide the deliciousness across the sticky, cracked surface toward Jimmy’s right hand. He doesn’t look at me, just takes the sandwich and opens the bag. The faint strains of some thrash metal screaming echoes from the earbuds he wears while I bite into the firm flesh of my deep, green apple.

  Granny Smith. My favorite. Thanks, Mom.

  “How were your first two classes?” I pause in chewing to check in with Jimmy. “I had geography and history. Sounds like it’s going to be an exciting first semester, right?” My laugh turns to a tiny snort I’ve always thought adorable. Jimmy clearly agrees as he stuffs half a side of sandwich in his mouth, big teeth masticating the tuna. I take particular joy in watching him eat, if only because I’ve been doing it for the last ten years. I have no idea if Mom is even aware of the fact I’ve never had one of her bagged sandwiches at school. From the moment we met, from the first time I realized Jimmy came to school empty handed, without a lunch of his own, I’ve been offering up mine for him to eat.

  He never complains if it’s canned ham, even devours bologna if Mom runs out of the good stuff. I nibble the corner of my granola bar while he completes the decimation of the sandwich with one more huge bite and wonder if I should start asking Mom for two from now on. He’s a growing boy, isn’t he?

  I’m just finishing catching him up on my morning—and filling him in on the rest of my summer—when I spot the new girl, Tate, sitting alone by the exit. Now, don’t judge me or anything. Jimmy and I are great friends and I would never abandon him. But, I just know she needs someone to talk to, and he has his iPod. Besides, he’s had my company for a good fifteen minutes now. That will hold him over until I see him again on the bus.

  The garbage from my lunch returns to the brown paper bag in a flash, including the sandwich plastic as I leap to my feet. “See you later, Jimmy! Have a great afternoon.” I leave him, beelining toward Tate, absently pausing to toss my trash into the big bin. I have to turn back—have to—because someone missed the garbage with their chip wrapper and soda can. Honestly, some people have the worst aim! The only problem, when I return to my original trajectory, I realize Tate is gone.

  Well, bummer. I glance at my giant watch, the fluorescents overhead flashing on the surface. I still have ten minutes before the bell. Might as well see if I can track her down.

  Turns out I don’t have far to go. As I pass a group of cheerleaders, calling out hellos to them while they hunch over their compacts and ignore their food, I spot Tate leaving the room through the back entry into the hall behind the stage. She obviously doesn’t know where she’s going. A tour is definitely in order. I hurry after her, my boot slipping on a patch of spilled something while one of the boys at the table next to it snickers.

  He must have slipped on it, too. Shared jokes get me every time. I grin at him and hurry on.

  It’s dark behind the swinging door, but not completely. Just a big change from the huge windows in the cafeteria to only a few flickering bulbs overhead. I spot Tate going around the corner at the end of the hall and pick up speed, one hand holding down my bag so it doesn’t bounce so much. Sure, she can get to the main part of the school from here, but there are way better paths to take.

  She has so much to learn.

  I round the corner with a good head of speed on, my boots thudding on the floor. When I turn, I spot Tate and realize she’s not alone. The grungy hall is kind of crowded, actually, a bunch of bigger boys standing around her outside the washroom. I wave at the stink of cigarette smoke and other, more powerful scents and do my best not to think about what goes on in there. I don’t come this way very often, on purpose.

  Boys are gross about their personal spaces.

  I almost turn around. Tate clearly has people she knows here who are willing to show her the ropes. Until I realize just who these boys are. I recognize them, know their reputations. Sure, I might be a little on the optimistic, glass always full side, but even I’m aware of the fact bullying happens in Rimtree High. Embarrassing, shameful and absolutely unacceptable. But, it happens.

  From what I’ve been told, anyway.

  Not the kind of people Tate should be hanging out with her first day here. Someone has to tell her she’s falling in with the wrong crowd. And I’m the only one around to do it.

  A tingle of fear traces down my spine. They haven’t seen me yet. I could just walk away. Wow, where did that come from? I’m shocked by my reaction, clutch at my chest when it rises. Listen here, Kit Maclean. You’ve made it your mission to face your fear since you were little, remember? I don’t recall why, or what makes doing so feel so important. Just that the thought of walking away while Tate is in any kind of risk of being bullied makes my stomach clench.

  My dedication to eradicating anything resembling fear from my life has led me to the awesome amazingness I am today. And I’m not about to let a new girl who doesn’t know any better hang out to dry because I was nervous of some boys.

  Besides, what would Kitalia do? She’d march in there and save the day.

  Consider it done.

  With a smile plastered on my face and Tate’s safety in my heart, I stride into the fray and poke my nose in where others would fear to sniff.

  ***

  Chapter Six

  “Hey!” Not the strongest of entry lines, but my beaming smile should make up the difference. They seem shocked, the bully boys, I’m even there. Nice to have a bit of an advantage, even if it’s just for a moment. I hook arms with Tate who stares at me with her mouth open. She’s obviously so happy to see me she’s speechless. “Great first day, right? Hope everyone is enjoying class so far.” I tug at Tate, backing up slowly. Or, trying to back up. She resists, as small as she is, even shorter than me and I’m only 5’2”. Okay, more like 5’5” thanks to my boots. Still, she’s pretty strong for someone so little. “Tate, I was going to show you that thing before class, remember?” She shakes her head, mute, blue eyes blinking rapidly. “You know. That thing.”

  The leader of th
e group of boys—I’ve known Donnelly Holler most of my high school life and he’s never been nice, as much as I’d like to say otherwise—folds his muscular arms over his broad chest and grins at me. It’s not a nice expression, surprisingly enough. And here I was about to compliment him on his obvious attention to his physique this summer. He’s packed on some muscle, the handsome devil.

  “Look it here, boys,” he says. “Little Kitty has come out to play.”

  They laugh, and I laugh with them, even though it’s an old joke and I haven’t found it funny since third grade.

  “Meow,” I say with a smile. “Excuse us, guys.” Again I tug on Tate. She hesitates, but seems to waver and I put on some extra pull just to show her I mean business.

  “Beat it, weirdo,” Donnelly says. I glance at Tate. Wow, he didn’t have to say that to her. She seems perfectly normal to me.

  Wait. What? Was he talking to me? No. Impossible. I must have misheard him.

  “Nice chatting,” I say. “Coming, Tate?”

  It’s a shock when she pulls her arm free, rubbing at the spot, turning away from me. What can I do to save her now? Nothing, I suppose. How disappointing she’s chosen the thug life. I shrug and half turn, but I hadn’t noticed two of the guys slipped around and now stand behind me. Look down at me with dark smiles.

  Huh. They must not realize I’m trying to leave.

  “You need to learn to mind your own business, little kitten,” Donnelly says behind me. I turn back to him, feeling a frown pull my eyebrows together. I carefully tweezed them last night, so I know they are perfect. Still, I hate the line that forms between them when I frown. Makes me look cranky. But, his use of my ancient nickname has triggered something I’m not used to and, I decide as I cross my own arms to mimic him, cranky is exactly how I’m starting to feel.

  He’d better watch out or I might go all Kitalia on his butt.

  That makes me snort inside and almost giggle out loud. Even more so when I notice the big, scary bully has missed an important wardrobe detail. “You do realize your fly is open, right?”

  He scrambles to rectify the situation while his boys laugh at him. Tate’s huge, blue gaze meets mine. She’s still silent, almost breathless. I guess she doesn’t talk much. Might be a developmental thing? Poor pet.

  Donnelly’s face has turned a dark shade of red, his hazel eyes bugging out. Wow, he looks angry for some reason. And after I saved him the embarrassment of walking around school with his tighty whiteys showing. That’s gratitude for you.

  Before he can say what he’s about to say to me, one finger hovering near my nose—maybe I have something on my face?—the door at the end of the hall opens. I wave and smile at Mr. Kamphe who sighs as he approaches. The poor man really does need to get a good night’s sleep. He seems tired all the time.

  “Mr. Holler and company.” Mr. Kamphe stops and watches as Donnelly and his boys back away, a few of them disappearing into the stinky bathroom. It’s a wonder the teachers don’t go in there and clean things up. My homeroom instructor then fixes me with his myopic, dark gaze, glasses shining as he turns his head, balding scalp matching the lenses. “Miss MacLean.” He sounds even wearier when he says my name. I’m about to suggest a nap when he turns back to Donnelly. “Problem, folks?”

  “No, sir, not a bit.” Donnelly’s red face has returned to a normal shade of tan. He folds his hands behind him, smiling that dazzling smile he’s always had. I run my tongue over my crooked front tooth and internally sigh over its imperfection. “Just a friendly chat.”

  “Well, take it elsewhere.” Mr. Kamphe waits while Donnelly bobs his head at Tate who is staring at the floor, then me. Though, for some reason, his smile doesn’t seem friendly, not like his voice sounds when he speaks.

  “Catch up with you later, ladies.” He turns and leaves, his boys going with him, while Mr. Kamphe watches him go.

  Interesting. Donnelly Holler has never shown any interest in being friends in all the years I’ve known him. Maybe that’s changing now? Not that I’m really interested if he’s the bully I’ve heard he is. But, it could be my person of interest star is finally rising at Rimtree High.

  Wicked.

  Mr. Kamphe clearly doesn’t share my optimism. “Is there a reason you two are still here?”

  Well. He didn’t have to be so rude.

  I turn to take Tate’s arm again, to lead her away, only to find her hurrying off on her own, back the way she’d come. I follow, my boots thudding on the industrial tile, but by the time I reach the cafeteria, it’s mostly empty and she’s gone. Wow, she’s way faster on her feet than me. Maybe my boots aren’t such a great idea.

  Nah. I love my boots.

  I hurry to my locker after the warning bell goes off. Five minutes to retrieve my afternoon stuff and get to class. Good thing my locker is only a hallway down from the cafeteria. I brush past a trio of giggling girls who are watching something on their cell phones and almost trip over someone’s foot as they walk by. Smiling an apology—I really should be more careful—I make it to my locker door, the fading yellow paint chipping around the edges of the slot holding my new lock. It takes me a moment to realize I’m not alone, to turn my head at the creeping feeling at the back of my neck someone is watching me.

  I look to the right and see Tom Brown three lockers down, staring at me. Hands in his pockets, brown hair shaggy over his forehead, glasses hanging low on his nose. He wiggles it until they rise, one finger assisting, pushing firmly until the wire rims hit the skin between his brows. Like a fuzzy brown rabbit who needs a few extra meals to thicken him out. Giant ears form over his head, flopping to one side, pink nose bobbing a few times before he’s human again.

  Tom Brown. Computer genius. He’s been on the periphery of my life ever since I can remember. Ever since kindergarten, I’m pretty sure. And while every time I try to talk to him he makes himself scarce, I’m sure he wants to be real friends. Sure, I beat him at chess in second grade once. I only remember that day because he flipped out and said I cheated. Which I didn’t. I’m just really good at chess. We haven’t had much direct contact since then, just him hovering in the background. So weird he’d be standing there like that, staring, when he usually scrambles away once I’ve noticed him watching.

  Oh boy. Maybe he has a crush on me. I used to worry that was the case and have spent ages trying to think how I would ever let him down nicely. I flush and look away a moment, tug open my locker, blocking my view of him. Not that I’m superficial or anything, but he’s so not my type. I close the door, glance over. Shocking. He’s still there.

  Should I say something? I guess I’d better. I smile, bright and friendly, wave at him. If I’m friendly as usual, he might run away like he always does. Or get the hint that I’m only interested in friendship. It’s only then I realize, as I turn toward him, he looks kind of upset.

  Oops. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to notice him watching? Guys are so weird about stuff like that. About being the first ones to approach you instead of the other way around. At least, that’s what Clare told me once. I have, as yet, to experiment with that kind of thing.

  I take a step toward him just as a couple of girls in my homeroom walk between us, the first at her locker. When I slip around them to confront him—I hate leaving things hanging, no matter how difficult the conversation might be, and this one seems long overdue—Tom is walking away.

  I’ll never understand guys. Not ever.

  It’s a quick dash to my math class, and I just make it as the bell rings. Heaving a sigh of relief, I settle into my chair and pull out my notebook, leaping up again to volunteer to hand out text books. Mrs. Malcolm seems to think that’s funny. I just like being helpful.

  When the math lesson starts, I’m doodling again. I’ve already studied this year’s textbook and pretty much know it by heart. Part of me wonders if I should ask Mom and Dad to put me into harder courses after all, like Mr. Standard wanted, but I don’t want to stand out. I’m having so much fun in school, I
worry about jumping ahead like that. Besides, it gives me more time to save the world...

  Hmmm. I need a new mission for Kitalia. Drug lords? Nah, did that last week. Mad scientist takeover? Feels passé. How about an alien invasion? Doesn’t seem like something Kitalia would have to deal with. Makes me wonder if I should be toying with a change of identity. As much as I hate to abandon her, my days as a CIA agent might be coming to an end.

  After all, there’s a really cool idea brewing about a Dragon Walker named Kitesh I’ve been dying to explore…

  I’m tempted to do so. Until every phone in the room chimes. And the laughter starts.

  ***

  Chapter Seven

  I turn, my own phone silent, while Mrs. Malcolm’s angry voice cuts through the laughter.

  “Rules, people.” A vein in her forehead stands out, pulsing a bit. And her knuckles are white, fists clenched. Poor thing, looks like she needs some anger management classes or something. She’s a steam locomotive chugging black smoke from the top of her head, the ch-ch-ch of her engine hissing softly in the dark. I blink and the room returns to normal. “No phones in class.”

  They all chime again. I check mine, just in case. Secretly, because I don’t want to add to Mrs. Malcolm’s discomfort, but I want to be in on the joke.

  “Kit.” Clancy Parker leans over as our teacher starts a first of school lecture, quoting policy on rules. Completely ignoring Mrs. Malcolm’s tone and subject, Clancy shows me the screen of her phone. It’s a picture of me. But wait, that’s not me. That’s my face on a pig’s body.

  Where did that come from? I try a smile, though I’m confused, while Mrs. Malcolm’s voice slices the air.

  “Every phone in the room on my desk right now. RIGHT NOW.”