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  ALSO BY PRUDENCE BREITROSE

  Mousenet

  Copyright © 2013 by Prudence Breitrose

  Illustrations copyright © 2013 by Stephanie Yue

  Cover illustration © 2013 by Stephanie Yue

  Cover design by Whitney Manger

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Hyperion Books, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Hyperion Books, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.

  ISBN 978-1-4231-8502-4

  Visit www.disneyhyperionbooks.com

  Contents

  Title Page

  Also by Prudence Breitrose

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  For all those humans who work valiantly, like these mice, to prevent climate change.

  arf,” said the mouse on Megan’s shoulder, as she opened the door of her uncle’s house.

  Yes, it smelled bad. Last night Uncle Fred had said, “I’ll take out the trash in the morning,” but he must have forgotten, and an extra day in this Cleveland summer, in a house where the air-conditioning was usually turned off for the sake of the planet, was way too much for it.

  And trash was not the only problem.

  Uncle Fred must have been distracted at breakfast time, maybe thinking about a new invention, because he’d left eggshells festooned with waffle mix on the table, while bacon grease had spilled onto the magazine he’d been reading.

  Megan’s mom would never have made such a mess. In fact, she’d have left something special on the kitchen table, something to celebrate the fact that Megan had just finished the computer course she’d been taking. At least a special cookie or a note or a flower from Uncle Fred’s overgrown yard.

  Something better than eggshells and bacon grease and bits of waffle, all scented with the odor of trash can.

  Megan checked her phone to see if there might at least be a message from her mom: but no, of course not. Not till Sunday. That was the only day of the week her mom could call or e-mail from the summer camp where she was working, off in the Rocky Mountains. Two days to wait.

  “What was it your mom said?” asked Trey from her shoulder, surveying the mess. He made his voice higher. “‘My little brother can’t even look after himself, let alone you!’”

  That’s exactly what her mom had said when she’d taken off for the Rockies. She wanted Megan to go stay with her dad in Oregon. She’d be going there anyway, wouldn’t she, at the end of the summer, so why not a few weeks early? And wouldn’t Oregon be just great—so cool and green after the steamy heat of Cleveland?

  Well yes, Megan loved Oregon. She had nothing against Oregon, or her dad, or her stepmother, Annie. But, as she told her mom, she really had to stay in Cleveland.

  “Whatever for?” her mom had asked.

  Megan wasn’t allowed to tell her mom the truth about mice, so she had gone a bit red. “Well, there’s my job…”

  Her mom had hooted with laughter because (as she pointed out) at eleven you’re not exactly old enough for a real job. Puttering around in her uncle’s office, was that really so important?

  Luckily, as it turned out, Megan had to stay in Cleveland for the next few weeks at least: her dad and Annie weren’t home. They were taking a cruise to Alaska, followed by some time in British Columbia checking out green restaurants just like the one they owned in Oregon. And they wouldn’t be back until it was almost time for Megan to join them.

  So she was still here, which was great, because for the only four Humans Who Knew that mice had evolved, Cleveland was where the action was. True, on hot days, the forests of Oregon beckoned, and in some ways Megan couldn’t wait to get there—especially if her step-cousin, Joey, came along too with his dad, Jake, who could take them hiking and white-water rafting and fishing and hunting for shells on the beach.

  But with or without Joey and Jake, Oregon was a few weeks away. For now, Megan had the pleasure of the heat and her uncle’s kitchen. She was still gazing at the mess and wondering where to start when Joey arrived.

  “Phew,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Pee-you. Megan, your uncle…”

  “I know, I know, I know,” she said, scowling at him because she was the only person in the world who was allowed to speak ill of Uncle Fred. Ever. “It stinks. So will you please help me clean it up?”

  “What, woman’s work?” said Joey, and even though Megan knew he was just trying to annoy her, she threw a piece of dried-up waffle at him, which was rash because he was eight months older than she was, and two inches taller, and the star pitcher on his Little League team. So if he’d chosen to hurl the waffle back, it might have done permanent damage.

  If the house had felt hot, the street was worse. After Megan and Joey cleaned up most of the kitchen, they had to walk two blocks to their summer jobs, and the air tasted like the exhaust of a giant bus belching super-heated gasses into their faces.

  “This has to be the hottest summer ever,” said Megan, tugging on her soggy T-shirt to unglue it from her back.

  “You think you’re hot,” said Trey, on her shoulder. “Try it if you can’t sweat and you can’t take your coat off. No zipper.”

  “Poor old Trey.” Megan reached up to stroke him while he leaned against her neck, which did nothing to cool either of them down. “All the more reason for you guys to fix it.”

  “Yeah, fix it, Trey,” said Joey. “What’s taking so long?”

  “Hey, we’re only mice,” sad Trey. “Not miracle workers.”

  If it hadn’t been so hot, Megan might have argued about the miracle bit, because ever since Trey had approached her in the night last year—ever since she’d become the first human in the history of the world to know the truth about mice—there had been one miracle after another. Like the series of spells the mice had arranged to manipulate Joey, in Operation Mouse Magic (with Kindness). Spells to help Joey’s dad do well at his job, spells to fix his grandma’s leaky roof, and spells to find his lost cat at the speed of light.

  It was never real magic, of course. As Trey often said, “You don’t need magic when you have mice.” But if mice had managed to arrange all those good deeds, couldn’t they please move a bit faster on cooling the planet?

  “Have patience,” said Trey. “It’ll take a year or two.”

  They’d made a good start, through Operation Cool It. Mice with tiny Thumbtop computers had already persuaded at least two senators to change their votes on important climate bills. At least one famous radio guy had stopped saying climate change was a hoax. And there were signs that just plain folks in America were starting to save energy because of all the helpful hints that popped up
in front of them, thanks to their resident mice.

  In fact, Cool It was becoming so successful that a billionaire who made his money from oil and coal was offering rewards for information about the mysterious organization that was cutting into his profits.

  But that didn’t do much to help cool down the Cleveland streets right now. Megan and Joey were glad to reach their destination, which looked like an ordinary house except for the sign in front that said:

  Planet Mouse

  Home of the Thumbtop

  and the Blob

  Made in Cleveland by Mice

  Which was okay to say, because who’d ever believe it?

  In the office, the air-conditioning was set fairly high for the sake of the planet, but it was still much cooler than the street. And a fan was helping out, with three mice parked in front of it, their ears and whiskers blown back by the wind.

  Megan and Joey knelt down beside the mice, who turned to greet them. Julia headed for Megan’s shoulder and leaned against her neck, while Curly and Larry made a beeline for Joey. Curly had been his special friend ever since Joey had held him captive for a short time last year. And Larry…well, Larry was a mouse who could bore you to tears on the subject of almost any sport you could name, and right now he was focusing all his attention on Joey and his team of Little League all-stars.

  “Yo,” said Jake, who was lounging behind the desk, looking cool, as always. “All done with summer school? Both of you official computer geeks? Ready to help the Cool It team with their algorithms?”

  “I wish,” said Megan, because there was no way. The mice who ran Cool It had spent years watching human nerds in the great computer companies of Silicon Valley, and were truly amazing at writing computer programs. No way a kid could catch up after one summer course.

  “How do you like this heat?” asked Jake. “Can’t wait to get to Oregon? Me too.”

  “But you might not be coming, right?” said Megan. “If Joey’s team keeps winning. If he goes all the way to the State Championship and the Regionals and the World Series, then you’ll both have to go to Pennsylvania or wherever.”

  “Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it,” said Joey, leaping up and dancing around the room with his hands over his ears, deeply superstitious about what might happen if you predicted victory. “No way we’re that good. Oregon, here we come.”

  Curly couldn’t take that, because mice never predict defeat. He jumped onto the desk so he could look Joey in the face as he tapped his head with his left paw, meaning “Think” in the silent language used by all but a handful of mice. Then he thrust his right paw into the air. The sign for “Positive.”

  “Okay, I should think positive,” said Joey, smiling down at him.

  Then Larry took the conversation one step further and launched into a long series of signs that none of the humans recognized.

  “Trey!” said Megan. “Help!”

  Trey wasn’t really into baseball, but when you’re one of the very few mice who have been trained to talk, it’s your job to translate.

  “Larry thinks Joey’s team can win the State Championship, then the Regionals, and then the World Series, but only if they shake things up a bit, like have Joey bat cleanup, put Chad at shortstop, try Frankie in right field—really, you don’t want to know.”

  Megan reached out to stroke Larry, to show that she loved him even if he was the most boring sports nut in the world.

  “Do you want us to help?” Trey asked. “Like make sure Joey’s team gets to the World Series? Or make sure it doesn’t?”

  “No way!” shouted Jake and Joey together, laughing.

  “Oops,” Trey said. “Only asking. But don’t worry, we’ll leave it all up to you and your slider, or whatever you call it. Paws off.”

  Megan laughed with the others, but she couldn’t help being a bit conflicted on the issue of Joey’s team winning or losing. On the one hand, of course it would be so great if Joey went all the way to the Little League World Series in Pennsylvania. Who couldn’t want that? But the alternative would be great too, wouldn’t it? The three of them going to Oregon? Especially if they drove there by way of her mom’s camp, which was something Jake had suggested.

  To see her mom in that place, with those people? Wouldn’t that be one of the best things ever?

  t was in one of their regular videoconferences, at the beginning of summer, that the Big Cheese, leader of the Mouse Nation, had announced his plans for sending Megan’s mom away.

  The humans had put the Susie Miller question on the agenda, as they had done several times before. Could they please tell her the truth, finally? Because Susie had no clue about mice. And when your mom, or your sister, or your friend doesn’t know the most important thing about you—doesn’t know the biggest secret in the history of the world—that can be a problem.

  It was Megan who’d made the pitch one more time, because she was the only human who’d ever met the Big Cheese, and she felt there was a bond.

  “It’s really hard for kids to keep secrets from their mothers,” she had said. “For one thing, human mothers are very good at guessing when you aren’t telling the truth. And my mom’s getting suspicious.”

  It was true. Like the time her mom had come into her bedroom, bare feet making no sound, while Trey was in the middle of a sentence. Megan had quickly switched to a Trey-voice, the way a six-year-old might pretend her doll was talking: “I am a mousie and I want my mousie dinner!”

  Which got her a very strange look from her mom.

  “I am aware of the impediments in your parental situation,” said the Big Cheese. His signs were being translated by Talking Mouse Five, who called himself Sir Quentin—a mouse who had learned to talk with the help of old British historical dramas. And he never used a short word if a long one would do. This sometimes drove Megan and Joey nuts even though, as Jake said, it was good for them because by the time they had to face the SAT in high school, they’d know ten times as many long words as anyone else.

  Sir Quentin continued his interpretation: “I am cognizant of your parent’s propensity to prioritize her promulgations with a preference for verity, for which I believe the following anecdote will be illustrative.”

  That was way too many syllables even for Jake, so he turned down the sound and let Trey interpret the Big Cheese’s signs.

  “The boss is worried because Megan’s mom is way too truthful,” Trey whispered. “We had a guy eavesdropping at Cleveland State when she was teaching there, and a friend asked what she thought of her new dress. Your mom told her it made her look kind of fat, which didn’t go down at all well.”

  Megan smiled. That was so like her mom. She hardly ever shaved corners off the truth.

  “Until such time as she can suppress this tendency to tell the truth,” the Big Cheese continued, “I cannot take the risk of telling her our secret, a secret that you will agree is of planetary importance. However…”

  He paused for effect, and there was a gleam in his eye. “However,” he continued, “I have found a temporary solution to your problem. Indeed, I have devised an excellent plan that will kill two cats with one stone.”

  “It’s birds,” Joey said. “Kill two birds with one stone.”

  The Big Cheese gave the webcam one of those whisker-shriveling looks that all mice (and a few humans) dread.

  “I am well aware of your metaphor,” he said. “But we have no quarrel with birds, nor a wish to kill them, with the possible exception of hawks and owls. My plan should achieve the following objectives: First, it will remove the parent from Cleveland, so there will be less danger that she might stumble upon our secret. Second, it will test her ability to keep important information to herself. Finally, it will place her where she can use her considerable talents for the benefit of the planet.”

  “Wow,” said Uncle Fred. “That’s three cats, by my reckoning. What sort of job is it? Tracking polar bears? Checking up on penguins? Back in Australia with those—”

  The
Big Cheese held up his paw in the universal sign for “Stop.”

  “Trust us,” was all he’d say. “Have faith. To say more might be to risk spilling the crackers.”

  “Shouldn’t that be beans?” Joey asked. “Spilling the beans?”

  “The bean,” said the Big Cheese sternly, “plays havoc with the mouse digestive tract. We prefer crackers in our metaphors, as in our diet.”

  And it happened, a few days later.

  Megan was in her room when she heard a great whoop of astonishment and delight. She ran downstairs to find her mom walking from one side of the kitchen to the other, running her hand through her springy fair hair. From time to time she stopped to gaze at the laptop on the kitchen table, as if it took a great many gazes to convince herself that the words were really there.

  “I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it! Someone sent my resume to… Oh, read it yourself,” she commanded.

  Megan looked quickly at the sender of the e-mail, and no, it hadn’t come from anyone at mousenet.org—the e-mail address of the Mouse Nation. This was from a real human in a real foundation that did real work to stop climate change, and it said:

  We apologize for the short notice, but a comprehensive search has shown that you are the best candidate for the position we would like to offer you.

  And it went on to ask Megan’s mom to please come to a remote valley in the Rocky Mountains because:

  Our foundation has established a “summer camp” for movie stars. Perhaps more than any others in our society, such people have easy access to the media. And many are deeply concerned with environmental problems, including that of climate change. At Camp Green Stars, scientists like yourself will provide the necessary training so that when the stars talk in public—or are interviewed by reporters—they will know how to lead the conversation around to climate change. And they will know how to present the facts in the way that best educates their “fans.”