Free Secret Identity by Wendelin Van Draanen Page B

sheet, the more excited I got.
    No glue!
    No crackers or plaster or feathers!
    No poster board or craft paper or scissors!
    I'd be able to work at the computer for
hours
every day without Mom and Dad telling me to shut down. I'd get to use the scanner and the camera and the Internet… this was going to be great!
    When Mr. Green was done going over the project sheet, he asked us to put our heads down. “Close your eyes. Meditate. What do
you
want to report on? You could do your project on someone in Cedar Valley,” he said. “It could be a historical piece about Old Town. You could write about the animal shelter. Report on the new hospital they're building across the river. Profile a local sports hero.
    “The most important thing is, pick a subject that interests you. It will be much easier for you to write about something you like.
    “Or…hate. Consider that! Is there something that you feel very angry about? An injustice yousee in the world? That would be fine, too.
Anything
will be fine so long as you follow the green sheet.”
    I was too excited to close my eyes. So while the kids around me were dreaming up their stories— or just falling asleep—my eyes were cranked wide open. I didn't care
what
I wrote about. I cared about the gear!
    I'd use everything!
    Then at Table 6, I noticed something. Bubba's hand was reaching over to Miriam Wipple's desk. He was peeking through slits in his eyes.

    What was he doing?
    I jammed my lids shut. Then I cracked them open, just enough to watch.
    Bubba was smooth.
    Real smooth.
    And before anyonenoticed, he had Miriam's green sheet in his hand.
    In his lap.
    In his folder.
    Two things stopped me from telling on him: One, school was over in seventeen seconds. Bubba'd be out the door before I could get to Mr. Green. And two, I was tingling from ear to toe. I had an idea that would make Bubba Bixby sorry he'd ever called us names.
    Or swiped our stuff.
    Or breathed his trashy breath down our throats.
    I'd do my report on an injustice, all right.
    I'd do my report on Bubba Bixby!

CHAPTER 3
Spy Tools
    I raced home and almost ripped the screen door getting inside. “Mom! You'll never guess what!”
    “Well, hi, honey,” she said from her desk. “What?”
    “I get to use my computer! I don't have to write anything longhand! Or cut or glue or
break
anything!”
    She laughed. “For…?”
    “This month's project! I can use my scanner and my digital camera! I can use anything!”
    “Really?”
    I threw my backpack down and yanked out the green sheet. “See?”
    She skimmed the paper.
    “So don't kick me off my computer, okay? It's homework!”
    “Hmmm,” she said, handing it back. “No tears over this one, huh? Plus, you're lucky because your father will probably love helping you out.”
    Uh-oh. She was right. My dad's a reporter for the
Cedar Valley Gazette
, so this project was right up his alley. But I didn't want him to know what I was planning! There was no way he'd let me do my project on Bubba Bixby!
    “So how'd the rest of your day go?” Mom asked. “Alvin give you trouble?”
    “Huh?” I was still thinking about how to
not
tell my dad about the project. “Oh. Just the usual.”
    “Do you want to tell me about it?”
    “Nah. Everything's fine.” I tried to sound casual. Tried to sound cool. And after my snack, I hurried to my room and closed the door tight. It was my turn to give Bubba Bixby a little trouble!
    First step—digital camera. I was going to catch him in the act!
    Second step—jacket. I needed someplace to hide the camera so no one would see I was taking pictures.
    I tore through my closet.
    I pulled out two jackets.
    I tried every pocket.
    None of them would work.
    What about my backpack?
    I emptied it.
    I tried all the compartments.
    The little one was a good size, but using my backpack would put the camera
behind
me. How could I take pictures like that?
    Wait! The camera had a remote control! It was small, too. I could hide it in my hand,