The Last Superhero Page 10
I shook my head. “Nope. The word came straight from his not-so-loyal sidekick, Garth. He got told the very same thing and was crying like a baby to anybody who would listen about how big, bad Peewee forced him to do mean things to people. Yeah, right. I mean Garth's gotta be six feet tall, and Peewee is like three foot nothing. I have a hard time seeing Peewee forcing Garth to do anything.”
Wren crossed her arms over her chest and breathed a satisfied, “Hmmph. That's good,” she said. “Personally I like the punishment the regulars doled out better, but I guess principals aren't allowed to do that kind of stuff.” Then she added, “I wonder if Ross's eyebrow will grow back in a week.”
“Speaking of eyebrows—foreheads actually,” I said, squinting at hers, “how's the felt marker doing? By the way—nice scarf.”
It was some kind of psychedelic thing in purple, yellow, and black swirls, and the way Wren had it tied to cover her forehead, she looked like she should be sitting in front of a crystal ball telling fortunes.”
“It's fading nicely, thank you,” she sniffed. “I should be good as new by Monday.”
“There's still one thing I don't understand,” I said, moving forward on my chair.
“What's that?” Wren asked, adjusting her scarf.
“On the day Peewee wrote on your head, why were you in the west hall in the first place? I know you don't have any classes there.”
Wren rolled her eyes. “I was set up. I got a note from Steve—the kid with the stutter—saying Ross had threatened to get him after class. Of course, the note was really from Ross, but I didn't know that then.”
I nodded.
“So when I went into the horseshoe I saw this poster on the door of the multi-purpose room saying there was a meeting right then for anyone who wanted to save the Quarry Street Firehouse, so naturally I went inside and was instantly ambushed.
“I know this is changing the subject,” Wren said, suddenly serious, “and I'm sorry I didn't ask when you were here yesterday—I got totally sidetracked—but what's going to happen with art boot camp now that your comic is wrecked?”
Her question took me by surprise, and suddenly my heart started beating faster. During the last twenty-four hours I hadn't thought about that part of my life at all. I was too caught up in the situation with Wren and Peewee and the library regulars.
“It's over,” I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “I'll just have to try again next year.”
“No way!” she protested, practically jumping up off the couch. “You've worked so hard for this. It's all you've been doing for the last three months. It can't be over. There has to be something you can do.”
I shook my head and put up my hands. “No, Wren. Leave it alone. I've thought about it long enough. There's nothing I can do. It's over, it's done, finished. I've moved on.”
“What do you mean—you've moved on? Moved on to what?”
I ignored her question and changed the subject.
“You know your ‘Save the Quarry Street Firehouse’ campaign is really taking off,” I told her. “Kids are lining up to get their names on your petition, and so many people have signed up for the meeting on Monday that Mr. Taylor has scheduled three assemblies during the afternoon—one for each grade.”
“Get out!”
“No, I'm serious. You've really started something here. People are climbing on the bandwagon. The library regulars are running with this like you wouldn't believe. There are posters up all over the school.”
“Posters? What kind of posters?”
I cleared my throat. “Ahem. Well, it just so happens that I have one with me. What a coincidence.” I reached inside my jacket, pulled out a roll of paper, and handed it to Wren.
Eying me skeptically, she took the poster and opened it up—then gasped. “You did this!” she exclaimed. “This is your work.”
I shrugged. “Well, as it turns out, I had some time on my hands.”
“Oh, Jas, it's wonderful! It's amazing. You are such a good artist! Without a single word it says everything I was trying to tell people about the Quarry Street Firehouse. And you even managed to put your superhero in it.” She tapped the poster and laughed. Then, as she looked more closely at the drawing, she added, “Your superhero is a girl.” She peered closer still. “And she looks like me!”
On the outside I didn't even blink, but on the inside I was grinning my face off. “Well, how about that,” I replied. “I guess she does.”
Kristin Butcher published her first novel in 1995 and became hooked on the idea of writing for a living. Somewhere along the way she gave up a teaching job to devote herself to full-time writing. With the publication of The Last Superhero, she will have produced seventeen books for children.
Kristin, who currently lives in Campbell River, British Columbia, with her family, has travelled extensively across Canada, where the differences in landscape, climate and people is immeasurable. In The Last Superhero, she drew on her experiences with the aching cold of a prairie winter as well as her experiences with middle school children.
Books by Kristin Butcher
The Bully and the Beagle
Cairo Kelly and the Mann
Chat Room
Cheat
The Gramma War
The Hemingway Tradition
Pharaohs and Foot Soldiers
Return to Bone Tree Hill
The Runaways
Summer of Suspense
The Tomorrow Tunnel
The Trouble With Liberty
Zach and Zoe and the Bank Robber
Zees Way