Hero–Type by Barry Lyga

me." He spins me around so that we're facing each other, his hands on my shoulders. "Tell your Uncle Flipster what kind of con you're running. Why'd you pull those magnets off your car in front of the reporter?"
    "Flip, I swear to God, it's not a plan. It's not a con. My dad told me to take them off—"
    He interrupts me with an eruption of laughter. "Your
dad?
Your
dad?"
    "Not so loud, man!"
    "But your
dad
made you do this? That's what this is all about?"
    "Well, that's what started it, yeah. But I'm—" "Your dad. I can't believe it."
    He's starting to get the Flip-gleam in his eye. I have to stop it, fast. "Flip,
please
don't tell anyone I told you that, OK? This thing has taken on a life of its own and it would totally kill me if people knew. OK?"
    He takes a step back and chews it over for a bit. "Never fear, Fool Kross." He puts a hand over his heart and holds the other one up high. "Fool's Honor."
    For whatever
that's
worth. But it's the best I'll get.
    He ushers me over to the car. "You need to get going. I have a busy night ahead of me on your behalf."
    And even though I didn't ask him to do anything, I feel bad. "Thanks, Flip."
    He waves it off. Now that he's got his thanks, he doesn't care about it anymore. "Don't worry about it."
    I get in my car and I'm about to drive off when Flip knocks on the window. I roll it down.
    "Hey, I meant to ask you—what are you going to do with the money? I mean, you'll still have some left after buying this heap, right?"
    Only Flip would just come right out with it like that. It's one of the things I like about him.
    "Yeah, I still have most of it. Probably put it away for college."
    "You're still gonna do the college thing?"
    "My dad'll kill me if I don't."
    "Let him kill you." He wags a finger at me. "Better than yoking your mind to the oppressive idiocy of the academic Gestapo."
    Flip's always saying things like that. About half of it is just stuff he says to gauge people's reactions. The trick is figuring out which half. I shrug and he shrugs and he shakes his head, muttering "His dad" as he heads back to the park, the Council, and whatever mischief he's got cooked up.
    ***
    I head home with a whole new plate of anxiety to dump on top of my anxiety buffet. I don't think I've ever
not
known what Flip was up to, at least not since he kidnapped Officer Sexpot.
    Man, I really don't want to get into trouble.
More
trouble.
    I rummage around under the sofa bed a little bit. Maybe I should get rid of the tapes. What if Flip does something that gets me arrested and the police search the apartment and find the tapes and...
    No. No. Calm down, Kross. That wouldn't happen. Right?
    I try to put the whole thing out of my mind. I let myself think back to when I was a kid, when Jesse was still around. I could do no wrong back then. No matter what I did, he would look at me with the same shining admiration in his eyes.
    It wasn't just shielding him from Mom and Dad's fallout, either. I mean, we had fun. We had our in-jokes and stuff. All one of us had to say was "Pandazilla and Aquahorse" and we'd both crack up laughing. It didn't matter that we got older and that the whole thing had been stupid to begin with. It was our memory, our secret, and we loved it. I made Jesse take Panda-zilla with him to California—I think it was my toy originally, but I didn't care anymore. I liked the idea of my brother carrying a piece of me—a piece of
us
«s—with him while he went to the other side of the country.
    Ugh. It's no good. No good to think about that time. Not when I can
only
do wrong these days. I have my own "mission" tonight. I have a bunch of research from the media center. Now I need to turn it into a speech.
    A speech. Good Lord, have I completely lost my mind?
    Probably.
    I sit outside on the porch. Mrs. Mac lets Dad and me use the porch because she almost never goes outside. I feel wide open and conspicuous here.
    Occasionally Mrs. Mac passes by her living room window, which looks out on