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Authors: Rebecca M. Hale
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hair?”
Jim smirked impishly. “I can’t imagine another topic that would be anywhere near as interesting.”
Hox glared testily and then intoned in a low voice, “The Mayor’s replacement?”
The supervisor sat back in his chair and looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “Hmm, yes, I suppose that issue has been getting some airtime of late.”
Hox licked the pencil’s lead point. Holding it poised over the paper, he prodded, “Of course, you’ll be throwing your hat into the ring?”
Jim shrugged his shoulders, an unconvincing display of indifference. “I will if I’m asked.”
Hox pushed away from the edge of the desk and stroked his grizzly mustache. “How many of the other supervisors are angling for the job?”
Jim brought his hands together in front of his chest. Wiggling his fingers in the air, he replied, “All of them.”
Hox pumped his thick brows inquisitively. “All of them?”
The supervisor nodded, his floppy bangs emphasizing his response.
“Well then,” Hox said, popping his notebook against the top of his thigh. “We’re in for quite a circus.”
• • •
AS HOX CONTINUED his hushed discussion with the board president, the glass wall around the corner from the supervisors’ office corridor took on a new reflection.
A young man in gray-striped coveralls and high-top canvas sneakers shuffled past the glass, casually pushing the handle of a dust mop. Although he kept his head tilted downward, he paid little attention to the mop’s path across the polished marble floor, frequently sweeping over the same spot multiple times while leaving other portions untouched.
A blue baseball cap pulled down over the young man’s forehead hid the upper portion of his dark-skinned face, shadowing his eyes as they darted furtively to the left and right.
During his six months of employment at City Hall, he’d rarely ventured to the second floor. As one of the Current Mayor’s low-level staffers, he spent most of his time sequestered in a basement cubicle.
Still, he thought apprehensively, surely someone up here would recognize him.
Suddenly, he heard the sharp click of a woman’s high-heeled shoes approaching him from the rear. It was the unmistakable step of Mabel, the Mayor’s administrative assistant. He saw the woman almost every day—she was the one who delivered the staffer assignments to the basement. She was bound to see through this disguise.
As the footsteps drew nearer, he felt his cheeks begin to blush. The palms of his hands started to sweat against the dust mop’s worn wooden handle. The Previous Mayor had assured him this would work. Why had he believed him? He looked ridiculous in this janitor’s outfit. How could he have been so foolish?
Cringing, the young staffer caught a whiff of Mabel’s distinctive perfume, a sweet lemony scent she sprayed each morning against the sides of her neck.
Any second now, he would be exposed. He would probably lose his job over this silly prank.
Mabel clipped to a stop next to the edge of the dust mop as the sweat spread to the man’s brow, dampening the brim of his baseball cap. Flushed with embarrassment, he kept his face turned to the floor. He could just imagine the confusion in her voice as she spoke his name.
“Spider Jones?”
But those words never came.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said smartly, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. “I think you missed a spot.”
Then she pulled open the door to the supervisors’ offices and strode off down the hallway.
• • •
SPIDER STOOD WATCHING Mabel’s departing figure, his mop frozen to the floor as he shook his head. He couldn’t believe it.
His gaze dropped to his gray-striped coveralls. He couldn’t possibly be that invisible . . . or could he?
Slowly, he began to slide the mop forward. Calmly concentrating, he focused on making regular, even sweeping movements.
His confidence growing with each gliding step, he felt himself falling more and more into
Jim smirked impishly. “I can’t imagine another topic that would be anywhere near as interesting.”
Hox glared testily and then intoned in a low voice, “The Mayor’s replacement?”
The supervisor sat back in his chair and looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “Hmm, yes, I suppose that issue has been getting some airtime of late.”
Hox licked the pencil’s lead point. Holding it poised over the paper, he prodded, “Of course, you’ll be throwing your hat into the ring?”
Jim shrugged his shoulders, an unconvincing display of indifference. “I will if I’m asked.”
Hox pushed away from the edge of the desk and stroked his grizzly mustache. “How many of the other supervisors are angling for the job?”
Jim brought his hands together in front of his chest. Wiggling his fingers in the air, he replied, “All of them.”
Hox pumped his thick brows inquisitively. “All of them?”
The supervisor nodded, his floppy bangs emphasizing his response.
“Well then,” Hox said, popping his notebook against the top of his thigh. “We’re in for quite a circus.”
• • •
AS HOX CONTINUED his hushed discussion with the board president, the glass wall around the corner from the supervisors’ office corridor took on a new reflection.
A young man in gray-striped coveralls and high-top canvas sneakers shuffled past the glass, casually pushing the handle of a dust mop. Although he kept his head tilted downward, he paid little attention to the mop’s path across the polished marble floor, frequently sweeping over the same spot multiple times while leaving other portions untouched.
A blue baseball cap pulled down over the young man’s forehead hid the upper portion of his dark-skinned face, shadowing his eyes as they darted furtively to the left and right.
During his six months of employment at City Hall, he’d rarely ventured to the second floor. As one of the Current Mayor’s low-level staffers, he spent most of his time sequestered in a basement cubicle.
Still, he thought apprehensively, surely someone up here would recognize him.
Suddenly, he heard the sharp click of a woman’s high-heeled shoes approaching him from the rear. It was the unmistakable step of Mabel, the Mayor’s administrative assistant. He saw the woman almost every day—she was the one who delivered the staffer assignments to the basement. She was bound to see through this disguise.
As the footsteps drew nearer, he felt his cheeks begin to blush. The palms of his hands started to sweat against the dust mop’s worn wooden handle. The Previous Mayor had assured him this would work. Why had he believed him? He looked ridiculous in this janitor’s outfit. How could he have been so foolish?
Cringing, the young staffer caught a whiff of Mabel’s distinctive perfume, a sweet lemony scent she sprayed each morning against the sides of her neck.
Any second now, he would be exposed. He would probably lose his job over this silly prank.
Mabel clipped to a stop next to the edge of the dust mop as the sweat spread to the man’s brow, dampening the brim of his baseball cap. Flushed with embarrassment, he kept his face turned to the floor. He could just imagine the confusion in her voice as she spoke his name.
“Spider Jones?”
But those words never came.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said smartly, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. “I think you missed a spot.”
Then she pulled open the door to the supervisors’ offices and strode off down the hallway.
• • •
SPIDER STOOD WATCHING Mabel’s departing figure, his mop frozen to the floor as he shook his head. He couldn’t believe it.
His gaze dropped to his gray-striped coveralls. He couldn’t possibly be that invisible . . . or could he?
Slowly, he began to slide the mop forward. Calmly concentrating, he focused on making regular, even sweeping movements.
His confidence growing with each gliding step, he felt himself falling more and more into
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