My Life as a Ninja Read online

  “I raided the box in the basement that my mom keeps for charity.” Matt enters the kitchen with a giant handful of clothes. “She had liquid dye in the laundry room too.”

  He tosses me a plastic bottle of dye and I scramble to catch it before it hits the floor. I stare at the white porcelain sink and ask Matt if the dye will stain it.

  “Of course it’ll stain—it’s dye!”

  I realize we need a Plan B so I go outside and rummage through the garage. In the corner, I find a big plastic tub full of old toys. Matt and I get sidetracked with some of my forgotten action figures, and before we know it, half an hour’s gone by. (I’m not sure real ninjas would get this distracted.)

  I check on my mom one more time to make sure we’re still safe. She’s cleaning a German’s shepherd’s teeth and waves me off without looking up.

  By the time I get back outside, Matt’s dragged the plastic tub into the kitchen and is filling it with hot water from the sprayer. Maybe a real ninja would get towels but they’re upstairs, so I grab an armload of newspapers from the recycling bin and place them around the floor instead.

  “Remember that summer camp where we tie-dyed stuff all the time?” Matt asks.

  “That counselor was definitely more focused on her boyfriend than crafts.”

  “I still remember how to do it.” Matt begins wrapping rubber bands around one of the shirts.

  “But that will make it tie-dyed!”

  Matt shakes his head. “You need the rubber bands for the dye to work.”

  “No, the rubber bands will tie-dye it,” I argue. “That’s why they call it TIE-dye.”

  “Hey, who got all this stuff anyway?” Matt asks. “Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing.”

  Before I get a chance to look it up online, Matt is finished binding the clothes and thrusts them into the inky black water. I mope a little, thinking he’s wrong, but I don’t want to get into a fight with my best friend when he’s so sure he’s right.

  The instructions on the bottle say to stir the clothes in the hot water for thirty minutes, which seems like an awfully long time to stir anything. After ten minutes, we lift up one of the pieces, now miraculously black.

  “I told you!” Matt says.

  “They’ll be tie-dyed after you take the bands off.”

  “No they won’t.” Matt brings the dripping clothes to the sink and undoes the bands.

  Sure enough, our new ninja outfits are covered in white starbursts.

  “You might have been right about the bands,” Matt says.

  “MIGHT have been right? I was ABSOLUTELY right!”

  We don’t have time to argue because we both notice the clothes are not only tie-dyed but dripping all over the sink. And the floor.

  Our hands are stained as black as the fabric.

  “I guess we should’ve worn gloves,” Matt says.

  It’s at this moment that my mom walks into the kitchen. The door hasn’t even closed behind her before she starts dishing out a giant portion of MomMad.

  “What are you doing?” she yells. “That’s never going to come out!” She hurries to the sink and begins furiously scrubbing.

  Matt and I stand there, too terrified to move. Mom hoses down the sink and wipes the floor, continuing her rant.

  “You two should know better. Dye is permanent.”

  I don’t know about Matt but right now I’M the one who wants to permanently die.

  Mom finally stops yelling and looks at the soggy tie-dyed clothes in the sink. “I’m guessing these were supposed to be ninja outfits?”

  Matt and I nod morosely.

  “I would’ve helped if you’d asked.” She takes a wooden spoon and pokes at one of the shirts. “You do realize these are tie-dyed?”

  Matt and I nod again and my mother laughs.

  “I thought the big thing about ninjas was that no one saw them coming? I’m not sure how effective you’ll be in the espionage department wearing these.”

  I know if I asked her, Mom would help us dye them the right way, but I’m so glad she’s not mad anymore that I keep my mouth shut. Matt and I finish wiping the floor, ruining the clothes we’re wearing in the process.

  “We still have a ways to go with this whole ninja thing,” Matt says.

  Which is all the more reason I’m looking forward to studying with Sensei Takai.

  Did I just say I was looking forward to studying?

  Our First Class

  While Matt and I mess around with the bin of nunchucks, Carly’s already introduced herself to half the people in class. She’s her perky, friendly self and I can’t help but smile at how easily she maneuvers through the world.

  It turns out Sensei Takai only teaches a few kids at a time so we’re lucky the three of us got in. The other kids look about our age: two girls and one boy, all dressed in white gis. I can’t speak for Matt, but I feel ridiculous in my tie-dyed outfit. Karen and Tanya look at me and giggle, as if they think I look bizarre too.

  Matt is oblivious to their jeers, hurling himself into the standing punching bag in the corner of the room. He stops when he spots Sensei Takai behind him. Nobody’s better at sneaking up on you than our new teacher, except maybe Umberto.

  Most of my teachers have been chatty—Ms. McCoddle especially—so it’s a surprise to have someone in charge who stands there quietly. It doesn’t take long for the six of us to line up and wait for instructions.

  We wait.

  And wait.

  Matt whirls around to look at me with an expression as bewildered as mine. We both turn to Carly, who ignores us, staying focused on our teacher.

  After a prolonged silence, Sensei Takai bows. I’m not sure if we’re supposed to bow back, but I follow along when the other kids do.

  “Welcome,” Sensei Takai finally says.

  I wait for more words but none come.

  Matt turns to me again and rolls his eyes. He doesn’t need words for me to know what he’s thinking: Where’s the action? The kicks? The spying?

  “Today we practice silence.”

  This time Matt’s complaint is audible. “We did that last time! When are we going to do some martial arts?”

  Sensei Takai smiles as if he’s heard this question a thousand times. “This is martial arts,” he says in a whisper. “Now silence.”

  Matt’s not the only one confused; the rest of us spend more time looking at one another for guidance than we do following the teacher’s instructions. When the girl in front of me starts to speak, Sensei Takai holds up his hand to stop her.

  We spend the next thirty minutes staring at our teacher, not moving a muscle.

  THIRTY MINUTES.

  Finally Sensei Takai bows again, dismissing us without a sound.

  “That was the worst class EVER,” I blurt as soon as we get outside.

  “I’ve been working so hard on the play, I think I actually slept standing up,” Carly says.

  “We need to find a new teacher,” Matt says decisively. “This is not what I signed up for.”

  As we wait for Carly’s mom to pick us up, I can’t hide my dis-appointment. If you added up every hobby I’ve ever started then quit, the number would be gigantic. In fact, drawing and skateboarding are the only activities I’ve ever stuck with. Do I give up on things too soon?

  Mrs. Rodriquez sees we’re less than thrilled, so she asks if we want to stop for frozen yogurt. It’s a nice offer that we gladly accept. But even as I swirl the Raspberry Delight into my cone, I can’t help feeling that I’ve failed at something else yet again.

  Another Crime

  When I get to school on Monday, I don’t need an assembly with Mr. Demetri to let me know something’s wrong. The ten-foot-long Minotaur painted on the fence across from the school tells me our principal will be on the warpath.

  The stockade fence belongs to a family who’s as mad about the graffiti as Mr. Demetri. A group of us study the drawing as the buses unload.

  Umberto skids over in his wheelchair
, breathless with the latest info.

  “It’s a guy and he almost got caught,” he says. “If you look close, he didn’t finish stenciling.”

  Sure enough, the Minotaur’s foot drifts off the fence in what looks like a quick retreat.

  “We’re not being good spies,” Umberto continues. “Real ninjas would’ve had this solved by now.”

  He’s right. We’ve been focusing on clothes and moves and making sure our scarves are right. A professional would’ve followed orders and gotten to the bottom of this already.

  I tell Umberto we need to increase our efforts; we’ll round up Matt and Carly after school to look for new clues.

  But Carly has different plans.

  “You guys are helping me with the play this afternoon.” She shuts her locker firmly as if we don’t have a say in the matter.

  Matt is the first to complain. “There’s no way we’re working on your play while there’s a criminal on the loose!”

  “What are you—a superhero?” Carly mocks. “Leave the sleuthing to the professionals—I need people to help me write some new scenes!”

  Umberto slams his locker shut too. “We’re never going to be professionals if we don’t take this seriously.” He turns to Matt and me. “Tie-dyed shinobi shozokus? Really?”

  Umberto’s always been more disciplined than Matt or me but I didn’t realize he was this frustrated with our progress.

  “We can solve this. We should solve this. We just have to stop fooling around!” Umberto continues.

  His words pin Matt and me to our lockers.

  “You’re right,” I finally say. “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

  Carly rolls her eyes; she’s seen me promise to be more focused a thousand times before. “Does this mean you guys aren’t going to help this afternoon?”

  But Umberto’s reprimand has snapped me to attention. I tell Carly we’ll solve the crime AND help her with the play.

  She seems relieved and heads to class.

  “You do this all the time,” Matt says. “Bite off more than you can chew. There’s no way we can do both.”

  But somehow I feel invincible—at least until I get to math and there’s a surprise quiz.

  Ninja Night

  Matt, Umberto, and I tell our parents we’re meeting at the panini place near the school to work on a project. We DO eat dinner there, but as soon as we’re done, we head to the school parking lot to try to catch the vandal in the act.

  “What are the chances the guy comes back to the same place?” Matt asks. “If I were him, I’d find a new spot to draw a Minotaur.”

  Umberto shakes his head. “He’ll want to finish his drawing.” He pulls out the notebook strapped to the back of his wheelchair. He flips through it until he finds the page he’s looking for—a perfect duplicate of the Minotaur on the fence.

  “Wait … YOU didn’t draw the mural, did you?” I ask.

  “Of course not!” Umberto says. “I just wanted to see if I could.”

  I examine the drawing, which is almost identical to the original. I feel a twinge of envy that Umberto’s illustration skills have improved so much. He really is a much better cartoonist than I am.

  He’s also got this whole silence thing down. As we hide behind the bike rack, he has to tell Matt and me to keep it down several times. “Stop being so loud,” he says. “It’s very un-ninja.”

  But it’s dark and we have the school parking lot to ourselves, so Matt and I improvise a hockey game with a flat rock. We take turns kicking it across the cement until Umberto waves his arms, wildly pointing to a car slowing down.

  “Maybe one of our parents should’ve come with us,” I whisper. “Maybe this mission is more dangerous than we thought.” I reach into my pocket and take out my phone, just in case.

  The car continues to head toward us, slowly.

  “This could be the vandal,” Matt whispers.

  The sedan pulls over a few yards away from where we’re hiding. I feel my pulse quicken; we’re about to see who’s behind this.

  For several minutes, none of us move. Whoever’s in the car remains as quiet as we are.

  Suddenly, the door flies open and a man races toward us.

  Matt, Umberto, and I look up to find our principal standing beside our hiding spot.

  “Well! I was hoping whoever did this didn’t go to this school, but I guess I was wrong.”

  We stumble out from behind the bushes and explain that we were trying to catch the vandal in the act too.

  Mr. Demetri’s not buying it. He spots Umberto’s notebook and holds up the drawing of the Minotaur. “I’m so disappointed in you boys.”

  “We don’t have any paint!” I say. “Look!”

  Mr. Demetri searches through Umberto’s pack and checks our bikes and wheelchair.

  “We’re ninjas!” Matt shouts, which doesn’t make any sense.

  Mr. Demetri is still suspicious and insists on taking us home. We squabble with him for several minutes, explaining that Umberto’s van driver is picking him up at the panini place in ten minutes, which is true.

  Our principal looks at us with a steely glare. “I’m calling all your parents tonight.”

  We protest even louder.

  “I’ve got my eyes on you three. And after I’m done with my phone calls, your parents will have their eyes on you too.”

  All I want is for this night to end. Mr. Demetri follows behind us in his car as we head back to the restaurant.

  “We were just trying to help!” I whisper. “Now we’re his top suspects!”

  “And he’s calling our parents!” Matt adds. “My mom’s gonna kill me.”

  “We’re the worst ninjas ever,” Umberto says.

  Which is totally, completely true.

  Carly’s Play

  My parents are NOT happy after Mr. Demetri’s phone call and we have a long “chat” about how I left out a few key facts when I told them Matt, Umberto, and I were going to the panini place. Luckily they believe me when I say we aren’t involved with the vandalism. Dad tells me not to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.

  The next day I go out of my way to avoid Mr. Demetri, even volunteering to help Carly with her play so I don’t have to see him in the hall.

  Carly tells us she spent several hours in the media center doing research and came to the conclusion there weren’t enough stories about girls in the history textbooks. She scrapped the original idea for the play and Ms. McCoddle gave her blessing for Carly to write her own. Now Carly’s got a ton of work to do before the show.

  “I know you guys aren’t good at taking direction,” Carly begins, “but do you think for once, I can be in charge?”

  I’m pretty sure Matt and Umberto are thinking the same two words as I am—FAT CHANCE—but the three of us smile and tell Carly we’re happy to let her be the boss this time.

  At rehearsal, she doesn’t waste a minute, calling out orders faster than a drill sergeant. We hurry around the auditorium, moving plywood and laying down drop cloths, telling anyone within earshot about our run-in with Mr. Demetri. Whoever’s behind the Minotaur has the whole school buzzing.

  Carly introduces us to two new girls—Darcy and Farida. Darcy transferred from another school in L.A. and Farida just moved here from the Middle East. When I start talking to her in a slow, loud voice, Carly elbows me and says Farida speaks perfect English.

  Farida giggles and I notice she has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. Darcy is loud and feisty, pushing Umberto up and down the aisles of the auditorium. They whizz by so fast, I can’t tell if the expression on his face is one of fear or glee.

  As usual, Carly has every detail covered, from the scenery to the lighting to the costumes and casting.

  “This is the first time the school’s done a play focusing on the role girls had in the Revolution. Ms. McCoddle said it was an innovative idea.”

  As she talks, I visualize one of my old vocabulary notebooks, trying to remember the drawing I did fo
r the word innovative. I finally picture it: a guy who looks like Thomas Edison holding a lightbulb with another one flickering over his head. I guess what Carly’s saying is that telling the girls’ story is a bright idea.

  “We’re doing scenes from the Battles of Lexington and Concord,” Carly says. “So the scenery needs to be trees, fences, and stone walls.”

  Matt, Farida, and I open several jars of paint while Darcy and Umberto go to the media center to bring back photographs we can copy.

  Carly’s very comfortable in the role of supervisor, crossing out tasks from her to-do list as soon as they’re completed.

  It’s been a few months since Carly and I shared an awkward kiss at my house, and neither of us wants to be the first to bring it up. I’ve gone out of my way NOT to be alone with her to make sure that conversation never happens. But as I help her get more paintbrushes, I realize we’re the only ones in the art room.

  Suppose she says something? Suppose I have to say something back?

  Thankfully Matt and Umberto save me from my own thoughts by bursting into the room.

  “The guy came back to finish the drawing!” Umberto cries. “I told you he would!”

  We race toward the entrance of the school. The others are excited to look for clues, but all I’m thinking is that Minotaur guy got me out of an uncomfortable imaginary conversation with Carly.

  I just hope my head is where that conversation stays.