graders singing, which meant the show was just about over. Once they finished, Mrs. Wellington would probably make a speech asking everyone to donate money to the school. Then they’d open the doors and let our parents come get us.
I sat at my desk and opened Jack’s calculator. No one had messed with it. When I turned it on, the message I’d typed in the day before came up. I pushed a button marked CLEAR and it disappeared.
I breathed a sigh of relief. If Jack had found that message, he wouldn’t just be mad that I’d used his calculator—he’d also probably laugh at how stupid I’d been.
A few minutes later, Mom, Dad, Jack, and Aunt Brianna picked me up, and we all went out for ice cream at the ice cream shop on Venture Street. But I still felt depressed. When even ice cream doesn’t make you feel better, you know you’ve got problems.
While we ate, we listened to Aunt Brianna go on and on about how the music really spoke to her and how she just had to find a recording of “Hello Central, Give Me No Man’s Land.” She said she was going to start collecting old parlor songs and become a real expert. Mom said it would go great next to her collections of cookie jars, antique buttons, plates with cartoon characters on them, and Raggedy Ann stuff.
I tried to act happy, but I couldn’t even look at Jack. And I realized for the first time that my dad wasn’t acting like a dork to throw people off. He was just kind of a dork, plain and simple.
But then, when we were about halfway through with our ice cream, Mr. Cunyan walked in with a guy wearing a suit. A
sharp-looking
guy. His hair was perfect. He totally looked like a spy.
“Well, Jim!” said the guy, walking over to us. “Fancy meeting you here!”
“Hi, Ward!” said Dad. “Everyone, this is Ward, my boss.”
Everyone waved. It was weird. Dad’s boss looked just like I imagined he would when I thought he was the head of a spy company.
“And I believe you know Mr. Cunyan,” said Dad’s boss, pointing to Mr. Cunyan. “Especially this guy!”
He pointed at me, and I smiled as best I could.
“You did a bang-up job on that solo,” said Dad’s boss. “I was very impressed.”
“You were great!” said Mr. Cunyan. “Mrs. Wellington probably won’t put me on cafeteria duty for life after all!”
“Yeppers,” said Dad as he put his hand on my shoulder. “We’re very proud of him. Would you two care to join us?”
“Oh, I’m afraid we can’t,” said Dad’s boss. “We have important business to discuss!”
He winked at Dad, and the two of them walked over to a booth at the other end of the ice cream shop.
It suddenly occurred to me that something strange was going on. Not counting Mrs. Wellington, people don’t go around winking unless they’re up to something.
Obviously, Mr. Gormulka wasn’t really a supervillain. Jack had been lying about that.
But Dad’s boss sure
looked
like a spy to me.
And why would
any
life insurance company insure Mr. Cunyan? The guy looked like he might die if someone snuck up behind him and yelled. They’d lose money on that deal for sure. I had forgotten about that!
And, anyway, Dad still couldn’t have talked me into eating peas. He couldn’t
really
be an insurance salesman!
Then I remembered the secret decoder rings. If they were just prizes from a cereal box, why would he still have them? It’s not like cereal companies go around sending secret messages to grown-ups.
All of a sudden, I understood why Dad’s boss had just winked at us like that. Mr. Cunyan probably worked as a spy! They weren’t over there discussing insurance, they were talking about important spy stuff!
Maybe there was a coded message built into the music at the program. That explained Mr. Cunyan’s obsession with these weird parlor songs and that silly rap he wrote. When we were up there singing stupid songs, we were actually sending out secret messages!
The man was a genius!
When I thought it over, it all made
I sat at my desk and opened Jack’s calculator. No one had messed with it. When I turned it on, the message I’d typed in the day before came up. I pushed a button marked CLEAR and it disappeared.
I breathed a sigh of relief. If Jack had found that message, he wouldn’t just be mad that I’d used his calculator—he’d also probably laugh at how stupid I’d been.
A few minutes later, Mom, Dad, Jack, and Aunt Brianna picked me up, and we all went out for ice cream at the ice cream shop on Venture Street. But I still felt depressed. When even ice cream doesn’t make you feel better, you know you’ve got problems.
While we ate, we listened to Aunt Brianna go on and on about how the music really spoke to her and how she just had to find a recording of “Hello Central, Give Me No Man’s Land.” She said she was going to start collecting old parlor songs and become a real expert. Mom said it would go great next to her collections of cookie jars, antique buttons, plates with cartoon characters on them, and Raggedy Ann stuff.
I tried to act happy, but I couldn’t even look at Jack. And I realized for the first time that my dad wasn’t acting like a dork to throw people off. He was just kind of a dork, plain and simple.
But then, when we were about halfway through with our ice cream, Mr. Cunyan walked in with a guy wearing a suit. A
sharp-looking
guy. His hair was perfect. He totally looked like a spy.
“Well, Jim!” said the guy, walking over to us. “Fancy meeting you here!”
“Hi, Ward!” said Dad. “Everyone, this is Ward, my boss.”
Everyone waved. It was weird. Dad’s boss looked just like I imagined he would when I thought he was the head of a spy company.
“And I believe you know Mr. Cunyan,” said Dad’s boss, pointing to Mr. Cunyan. “Especially this guy!”
He pointed at me, and I smiled as best I could.
“You did a bang-up job on that solo,” said Dad’s boss. “I was very impressed.”
“You were great!” said Mr. Cunyan. “Mrs. Wellington probably won’t put me on cafeteria duty for life after all!”
“Yeppers,” said Dad as he put his hand on my shoulder. “We’re very proud of him. Would you two care to join us?”
“Oh, I’m afraid we can’t,” said Dad’s boss. “We have important business to discuss!”
He winked at Dad, and the two of them walked over to a booth at the other end of the ice cream shop.
It suddenly occurred to me that something strange was going on. Not counting Mrs. Wellington, people don’t go around winking unless they’re up to something.
Obviously, Mr. Gormulka wasn’t really a supervillain. Jack had been lying about that.
But Dad’s boss sure
looked
like a spy to me.
And why would
any
life insurance company insure Mr. Cunyan? The guy looked like he might die if someone snuck up behind him and yelled. They’d lose money on that deal for sure. I had forgotten about that!
And, anyway, Dad still couldn’t have talked me into eating peas. He couldn’t
really
be an insurance salesman!
Then I remembered the secret decoder rings. If they were just prizes from a cereal box, why would he still have them? It’s not like cereal companies go around sending secret messages to grown-ups.
All of a sudden, I understood why Dad’s boss had just winked at us like that. Mr. Cunyan probably worked as a spy! They weren’t over there discussing insurance, they were talking about important spy stuff!
Maybe there was a coded message built into the music at the program. That explained Mr. Cunyan’s obsession with these weird parlor songs and that silly rap he wrote. When we were up there singing stupid songs, we were actually sending out secret messages!
The man was a genius!
When I thought it over, it all made
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