Part 8 (1/2)
”There's just one problem,” I said. ”I'm not sure where the clue is telling me to go.”
”You've got all night to think about it,” she said as she got up to start clearing the table. ”And if anyone can figure it out, I know it's you.”
Later that night, at bedtime, Dad came to tuck me in.
”Figured it out yet, OB?” he asked me as he pulled the bed covers up to my chin.
”Not yet. I haven't been able to make any kind of connection.”
It was true. Ever since dinner, I'd been trying to first think of places that I knew would be selling the cards, and then figure out if those places had any possible connection to slate.
”You will,” he said confidently.
Dad and Mom had so much faith in me. And I had been so busy with my problems that I hadn't bothered to ask either of them about their day.
”How is your hunt for a new team going, Dad?”
I could tell that he was happy I'd asked. But clearly things had not been going well for him either.
”Well, nothing is going to happen with the League of Ultimate Goodness. I'm about ready to give up and go back to the potato chip factory.” He sighed as he lowered himself onto the edge of my bed and absentmindedly picked up the teddy bear that was sitting there. ”I met with three other groups today and they all rejected me for being too old. Too old!” he repeated incredulously.
Then the best idea ever hit me.
”Dad, you're too good to be part of any of those teams,” I blurted out.
”What do you suggest?” my dad asked.
”Put together your own team.”
My father looked blank. I could see that the gears were turning, though. My eyes darted to my poor teddy bear, trapped in my father's unwitting grip.
”There's you, the Big Bouncer, the Levitator,” I listed them off. ”You all have cool powers, and I'll bet you know other really old guys who would like to fight crime again.”
”They never said I was really really old,” he corrected me. ”Just old.” old,” he corrected me. ”Just old.”
”Your experience is worth more than all those other teams put together. Take advantage of it, and show Superopolis what you're capable of!”
”You're right!” he shouted as he leaped to his feet, raising my teddy bear triumphantly into the air with one hand. ”I'll do it!”
My doomed teddy bear erupted in flames. Dad quickly dropped it and smothered it with his cape. It's frankly amazing that our house has never burned down.
At any rate, I couldn't have been happier about the change in my dad's mood.
”This is just what I need.” My dad laughed. ”It's time to wipe the slate clean and start over.”
The words were barely out of Dad's mouth when the answer hit me. I knew exactly where to find the final Professor Brain-Drain card!
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
The Third Card
The next day, I got to school late and made it into the cla.s.sroom just as the first bell rang. I was dying to tell the team what I had figured out, but there was no way to get the attention of all of them together.
Halogen Boy was busy fending off Transparent Girl's offers to trade her string of paper clips for our Meteor Boy card. Stench was shaking his head and rolling his eyes as Cannonball argued that the Crimson Creampuff was the second most powerful member of the League of Ultimate Goodness, right after AI himself. And Plasma Girl was deep in conversation with Little Miss Bubbles, who was showing off her new Whistlin' Dixie rhinestone bracelet with genuine imitation rhinestones. I could tell from the look on Plasma Girl's face that her pledge to contribute no more money to any business run by the Tyc.o.o.n was already crumbling like a potato chip.
Meanwhile, Tadpole was having another of his pointless arguments with Melonhead.
”Listen, seed brain,” Tadpole was saying, ”if you tried using a rocket pack like AI's you'd burn your b.u.t.t to a crisp the second you turned the thing on.”
”I dithagree with your athethment,” countered Melonhead. ”The Amathing Indethtructo manageth to avoid thcorching hith backthide.”
”That's because he's indethtructible-I mean, indestructible,” Tadpole erupted in frustration.
I don't know why he bothers to argue with Melonhead. It's just part of his personality, I guess. There's nothing that Tadpole wouldn't do for a friend, but he has the shortest fuse of anyone I've ever met. He's also the most stubborn person I know. I could tell he was about to plunge back into the argument, but just then Miss Marble came into the room.
”Good morning, urchins,” she said. She was in a surprisingly good mood for her. ”Would any of you like to buy a Professor Brain-Drain card?”
I got an instant knot of despair in my gut as the hand of every kid in the cla.s.s shot up in a chorus of ”me, me, me's!” Had Miss Marble beaten us to the last Professor Brain-Drain card?
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NAME: Tadpole. POWER: A fully manipulatible tongue that can stretch to nearly twenty feet. Tadpole. POWER: A fully manipulatible tongue that can stretch to nearly twenty feet. LIMITATIONS: LIMITATIONS: About twenty feet. About twenty feet. CAREER: CAREER: Efforts to stretch his age have led to two attempts to join the League of Ultimate Goodness before turning ten; currently a member of the Junior Leaguers. Efforts to stretch his age have led to two attempts to join the League of Ultimate Goodness before turning ten; currently a member of the Junior Leaguers. CLa.s.sIFICATION: CLa.s.sIFICATION: A mouthy little son of a gun. A mouthy little son of a gun.
”Well, I wish I had one to sell you.” She started laughing, enjoying the disappointed looks on everyone's faces. She can be a little nasty sometimes. Secretly, I was pretty relieved, though.
”I'm guessing that none of you are ready to give up on this quest yet, are you?” she continued. ”May I ask how much money that could otherwise be going to fund your college educations is being wasted on this folly?”
”I've thpent theventy-theven dollarth tho far,” Melonhead proclaimed proudly.
”I've used all the money I had been saving to buy a new bike,” Lobster Boy piped up. ”One hundred and ten dollars!”
”I only spent ninety-six dollars,” admitted the Spore, with a wheezy gasp. ”But that's because the store wouldn't take some of my money because of the mushrooms growing on it.”
As all the kids in my cla.s.s shouted out amounts of money, Miss Marble wrote them out on the chalkboard. I don't know if it was disgust over how much we had all spent, or possibly the realization that it added up to more than her annual salary, but I could tell her level of crankiness was growing. Sure enough, she spun around and hit us with the most powerful weapon at her disposal-a surprise a.s.signment.
”That's enough,” she said, interrupting Transparent Girl's attempt to top what everyone else had spent. ”I want each of you to spend the remainder of the morning writing out an essay. The t.i.tle will be: 'The Foolish Children Who Wasted All Their Money.' Begin now.”