Free Nickel Bay Nick by Dean Pitchford Page B

before my teacher dragged me off, I read the card next to the statue that told how Hanuman was a god of India with the head of a monkey and the body of a man.”
    â€œOh, that’s Hanuman, is it?” Mr. Wells asks, leaning forward for a closer look. “Hmm. So it is.”
    â€œYou know about Hanuman?”
    â€œOf course. I once lived in India. He’s very popular there.”
    â€œAnyway, when I got home from the museum that day, I pulled this pendant out and told Dad how I’d learned that Hanuman is a monkey and a man. ‘Do you believe it?’ I said. ‘He’s two creatures in one body. Like me!’”
    â€œHold on,” Mr. Wells says. “You thought of yourself as two creatures in one body?”
    â€œI still do.”
    â€œExplain, please.”
    â€œWell, after my operation, nobody would ever answer when I asked where my heart came from, so I never knew anything about this . . . thing I’ve got living inside me,” I say, thumping my chest. “Over time, my imagination filled in the blanks, and I started having these awesome dreams. Like, there was one where I had the strength of ten men because I’d received the heart of a lion. In another one, I got the heart of a dolphin, so I could swim under any ocean on the planet.
    â€œI told Dad that if anyone would understand what it’s like to be two creatures in one body, it would be Hanuman. So that day, he tied this around my neck. And I’ve been wearing it ever since.”
    â€œYou know, millions of people in India wear carvings like yours in the belief that Hanuman will protect them,” Mr. Wells says. “Like a guardian angel.”
    â€œAnd does he?” I ask. “Protect them?”
    â€œYou fell from my roof onto my front lawn, and yet here you are.” He shrugs. “What do you think?”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    After Dr. Sakata clears our lunch plates, we spend the afternoon rehearsing. First, Mr. Wells makes me memorize the exact order of the stores I’ll visit tomorrow as well as the item I’m supposed to buy in each one. Then I have to walk around the room, stopping every few feet, pretending to make a purchase and announcing stuff like, “At Veckens Stationery, I buy the box of twenty letter-size white envelopes on sale for two dollars and nineteen cents.” Boring, right?
    â€œWhy can’t I just take my notes with me?” I ask after the third rehearsal.
    â€œBecause you don’t want to . . . what?”
    His words come back to me. “Attract attention,” I mumble.
    â€œExactly!” he practically shouts. “You want to be a spy? Think like one.”
    Before I can give him any grief, he plunges ahead. “Now, let’s discuss your wardrobe. Everything you wear,” he warns me, “must be in drab colors. Nothing flashy. Nothing that anyone might notice.”
    He cautions me to avoid salesclerks who know me. “Most of these stores still have temporary holiday cashiers, so be sure to buy your items at their registers. And
do not make conversation
!” He pounds a fist. “I don’t want anyone to have any memory of you.”
    â€œOkay, okay, I get it.”
    â€œAnd in every store that you enter, be sure to note the location of surveillance cameras.”
    â€œWhy? I’m not doing anything illegal.”
    â€œNo, you’re not. But when you reshelve the merchandise the next day, you want to avoid being caught on video. You know how that can come back to haunt you.”
    I curl my top lip. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”
    The hands of my Rolex are creeping toward four o’clock when I collapse in a chair and ask wearily, “Are we done for today?”
    â€œHardly!” Mr. Wells exclaims, and he buzzes the desk intercom. Dr. Sakata enters and takes up his position behind Mr. Wells’s chair.
    â€œOf the three missions in Operation Christmas