Free Beware the Fisj by Gordon Korman

admiringly. “Look at this!”
    The dormitory hall was lined with neatly-stacked pop cans, already stretching past two doorways. The stacks were four cans high. Their metallic surfaces glinted in the dim moonlight.
    “We’ll have to stack ours too,” John whispered to the others. “That’s what everyone else is doing.” To set a good example, he began placing his cans one by one in a neat stack with the others.
    “How many do you think we’ve got?” whispered someone.
    “About a billion!”
    “About five hundred.”
    “Probably a few thousand.”
    “A lot more than any normal person would want!”
    “My feet are killing me!”
    “I don’t think we have enough.”
    “Don’t worry. There’s lots more coming.”
    “My feet!”
    “Your feet? My back!”
    “Shhhhh!”
    Their cans all neatly stowed away, the boys headed for their rooms to catch two hours sleep before breakfast.
    * * *
    Dawn found Bruno Walton and Boots O’Neal in Toronto’s High Park because, as Bruno put it, “It’s right in the middle of the city. There are picnics, school field trips, office workers having lunch — there must be millions of pop cans!”
    And there were. The bins were piled high with the previous day’s leavings, since the clean-up crew had not yet come on duty.
    “We should have brought more guys!” exclaimed Bruno enthusiastically. “We could get thirty-two thousand cans just from this park!”
    “Who else would be stupid enough to come all the way to Toronto?” moaned Boots, yawning hugely. “How are we ever going to get all these cans back to the Hall?”
    “Oh, that’s the easy part,” said Bruno, tossing three cans into his second bag. “Via the Art Gallery at four o’clock.”
    “Scrimmage’s?” asked Boots in horror.
    Bruno shrugged. “They’re going to have two or three buses. Surely they’ll have room for little old us.”
    “Bruno, we’ve got two huge bags of junk apiece! How do you figure we can just slip onto one of their buses unnoticed? Miss Scrimmage is bound to catch us!”
    “The girls will all have big bags of junk too,” said Bruno. “Don’t worry. I’ll look after everything.”
    “I’d rather take the bus to Chutney and walk back to the Hall,” said Boots hopefully.
    “Well, let me put it this way,” said Bruno. “We have enough money either for bus fare or for lunch. Take your choice.” He smiled engagingly. “And Miss Scrimmage’s buses go for free.”
    * * *
    Having spent a full two hours in the bathtub, Sergeant Featherstone then turned on the shower for cover noise and began to record his report.
    “Investigation Fish — Field Report Number Four — Sergeant Harold P. Featherstone, Special Division, reporting.
    “Last night I managed to elude the Fish’s agent from room 14 and pursue my investigation in secrecy. I came upon what I believe to be a phase of Operation Popcan at the Chutney town dump. Several people were involved, descriptions impossible due to poor light. They were using the code word Fish. As I closed in on them, one of the terrorists made a vicious attempt on my life by starting an avalanche of garbage. I got a good look at my assailant, and I must say that I have never seen a more evil face in my entire career. I shall certainly know him when we meet again.
    “Featherstone out.”
    * * *
    At mid-morning on Saturday, a group of nine Macdonald Hall students who had met on the way home stole onto the campus from the rear by way of the woods. Taking care to keep out of sight, they eased their way into Dormitory 3 through a side window. In the hallway, a wondrous sight met their eyes: row upon row of neatly stacked pop cans lined the wall. To their weary souls it was awe-inspiring evidence of great achievement.
    “It kind of makes you
believe
, doesn’t it?” commented Chris Talbot.
    The group began to stack their own cans.
    * * *
    “All right, girls,” said Miss Scrimmage brightly. “Now that your guided tour of the gallery is over,