“I bet it would be a big seller,” she said, standing. “Well, I'd better be going. Thank you for the tea and muffins, Mrs. Richards. Simply delish!”
“You're welcome. And thank you for bringing Zoe's schoolbag.”
“Well, it wouldn't do to have my apprentice missing any homework, now, would it?” Electra picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder.
“Hey, that's a R.A.D. BAG,” I said. “My friend Emily is meeting the designer today.”
“It's gorgeous,” said Mom.
“It's overpriced is what it is,” said Electra, sounding a bit embarrassed. “It was a gift from my publisher. Honestly, I would never have bought one of these ridiculously expensive things for myself.”
“I agree,” said Mom. “But the kids are mad for them. Miss Bettancourt just created a big, flashy display of the various R.A.D. BAG styles in her boutique window.”
Miss Bettancourt is a sweet old lady who owns a small boutique on Main Street. She carries all the newest styles and trends, even though she herself dresses in dainty, old-fashioned dresses and sensible shoes. Emily has always found that contrast amusing.
Electra turned to me. “So … you have a wonderful weekend, and I'll see you on Monday.”
The minute she stepped out the door, I grabbed my backpack and dashed up to my room to check the scrapbook.
It seemed to be exactly as I'd left it, bookmarks in all the right pages and notes where I'd stuck them.
Everything was fine. The scrapbook was untouched; Electra hadn't ratted me out about the phony dentist appointment (although I still wasn't sure why—she must have known I'd lied from the way Mom didn't mention it); even the little boy from the zoo was probably safe at home right this very minute, dreaming about tigers and superheroes.
But it all could just as easily have gone wrong.
Suddenly, I was exhausted. Tired to the very marrow of my superbones. I sank down on my bed, trying not to let my mind wander to all the disasters that might have occurred in the course of this one day. Stress, worry, anxiety … each feeling, each thought, sent a shiver along my spine.
I put my head on my pillow and closed my eyes. Sheesh, this was one day I didn't want to live over.
On Saturday, I finished my essay on my Zip ancestry. I sent my report (of which I was quite proud) to the Superhero Federation via e-mail, then brought the scrapbook back to Grandpa's garagefor safekeeping.
And then … I practiced.
Grandpa's backyard is where this whole Super experience started, so it seemed like a logical place to get in some much-needed review. I was safely hidden by the tall fence that enclosed the yard and free to completely cut loose.
I started out by running laps. I circled the yard a thousand times in one minute. Not bad. Then I worked on my superefficient stopping technique by sprinting fifty yards, then digging my heels into the ground and coming to a full stop, an instant halt.
The first time I stopped like that, I got a little woozy, but I shook it off and tried again. The second time, I left a pretty sizable divot in Grandpa's lawn (I was sure he'd understand, though). The third time, I did it perfectly. From ninety miles an hour to zero without even a wobble.
I finished up with a few thousand sit-ups.
After that, I ran a comb through my hair and went to meet Emily at the megaplex. Fifteen high-def surround-sound theaters in one building.
She was waiting for me at the candy counter. She'd already ordered me a medium popcorn (the container was practically the size of a bathtub!) and a king-sized box of chocolate-covered raisins. She got her usual: black licorice and a large blue-raspberry slush.
We were making our way toward theater number twelve when someone called, “Hi, Zoe. Hi, Emily.”
I wasn't surprised to see Megan Talbot and her crowd right behind us. They were eighth graders; coming to the megaplex was pretty much a standard weekend activity for them. They didn't really care which movie they saw.
“You're welcome. And thank you for bringing Zoe's schoolbag.”
“Well, it wouldn't do to have my apprentice missing any homework, now, would it?” Electra picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder.
“Hey, that's a R.A.D. BAG,” I said. “My friend Emily is meeting the designer today.”
“It's gorgeous,” said Mom.
“It's overpriced is what it is,” said Electra, sounding a bit embarrassed. “It was a gift from my publisher. Honestly, I would never have bought one of these ridiculously expensive things for myself.”
“I agree,” said Mom. “But the kids are mad for them. Miss Bettancourt just created a big, flashy display of the various R.A.D. BAG styles in her boutique window.”
Miss Bettancourt is a sweet old lady who owns a small boutique on Main Street. She carries all the newest styles and trends, even though she herself dresses in dainty, old-fashioned dresses and sensible shoes. Emily has always found that contrast amusing.
Electra turned to me. “So … you have a wonderful weekend, and I'll see you on Monday.”
The minute she stepped out the door, I grabbed my backpack and dashed up to my room to check the scrapbook.
It seemed to be exactly as I'd left it, bookmarks in all the right pages and notes where I'd stuck them.
Everything was fine. The scrapbook was untouched; Electra hadn't ratted me out about the phony dentist appointment (although I still wasn't sure why—she must have known I'd lied from the way Mom didn't mention it); even the little boy from the zoo was probably safe at home right this very minute, dreaming about tigers and superheroes.
But it all could just as easily have gone wrong.
Suddenly, I was exhausted. Tired to the very marrow of my superbones. I sank down on my bed, trying not to let my mind wander to all the disasters that might have occurred in the course of this one day. Stress, worry, anxiety … each feeling, each thought, sent a shiver along my spine.
I put my head on my pillow and closed my eyes. Sheesh, this was one day I didn't want to live over.
On Saturday, I finished my essay on my Zip ancestry. I sent my report (of which I was quite proud) to the Superhero Federation via e-mail, then brought the scrapbook back to Grandpa's garagefor safekeeping.
And then … I practiced.
Grandpa's backyard is where this whole Super experience started, so it seemed like a logical place to get in some much-needed review. I was safely hidden by the tall fence that enclosed the yard and free to completely cut loose.
I started out by running laps. I circled the yard a thousand times in one minute. Not bad. Then I worked on my superefficient stopping technique by sprinting fifty yards, then digging my heels into the ground and coming to a full stop, an instant halt.
The first time I stopped like that, I got a little woozy, but I shook it off and tried again. The second time, I left a pretty sizable divot in Grandpa's lawn (I was sure he'd understand, though). The third time, I did it perfectly. From ninety miles an hour to zero without even a wobble.
I finished up with a few thousand sit-ups.
After that, I ran a comb through my hair and went to meet Emily at the megaplex. Fifteen high-def surround-sound theaters in one building.
She was waiting for me at the candy counter. She'd already ordered me a medium popcorn (the container was practically the size of a bathtub!) and a king-sized box of chocolate-covered raisins. She got her usual: black licorice and a large blue-raspberry slush.
We were making our way toward theater number twelve when someone called, “Hi, Zoe. Hi, Emily.”
I wasn't surprised to see Megan Talbot and her crowd right behind us. They were eighth graders; coming to the megaplex was pretty much a standard weekend activity for them. They didn't really care which movie they saw.
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