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to learn here.”

Chapter Eight
    â€œI’m beginning to think the mayor isn’t the only person engaged in an epic battle for the walls of this city,” I said as we stared up at the latest street-art piece.
    â€œAnd it’s a battle between a half-wit and a true wit,” Julia added.
    â€œSo obviously you like it,” Oswald said.
    â€œI like it a lot.”
    We were looking at a new piece by the Wiz. It was as tall as a billboard, occupying the whole side of a building. There were about twenty sheep in it, and in the middle there was a big black wolf. The wolf was wearing a sheepskin and saying, “I’m just like you—I like sheep.” Off to one side were two more sheep, one saying to the other, “He always drools when he says that.” The face of the wolf looked a lot like the mayor’s.
    â€œThat wolf really does look like Dumfrey—that same smug, self-satisfied little smile,” Julia said.
    â€œHe did capture him pretty well,” I agreed.
    â€œAnd even the words he’s saying. He said that at our school, didn’t he?” Julia said.
    â€œHe said he was a sheep?” Oswald asked.
    â€œOf course not!” Julia said. “He said that he was just like us, right?”
    â€œI think so,” I said.
    â€œWait…does that mean that the Wiz is a student at our school?” she asked.
    â€œWow, I hadn’t thought of that. It must be.”
    â€œI guess the cat is finally out of the bag,” Oswald said. “I’m sorry for keeping it from you, but I’m the Wiz.”
    â€œYeah, right,” Julia said. “And I’m really Catwoman.”
    â€œNo, really I am,” Oswald said.
    â€œIt’s more likely it’s me,” Julia said.
    â€œThat would make perfect sense,” I agreed. “All that stuff about you hating it was your cover, sort of like Bruce Wayne not speaking well of Batman.”
    â€œI bet it’s one of those artsy kids, the ones nobody pays any attention to,” she said.
    â€œI can identify with that,” Oswald said.
    â€œWait a second,” I said. “It might not be somebody from our school. I bet the mayor says pretty much the same speech all the time. I can’t imagine him making up a new one wherever he goes.”
    â€œYou’re right. I think I’ve read some of those same comments in the newspaper and heard little clips from him on the news saying just about the same things,” she agreed.
    â€œBut it just would have been cool if the Wiz did go to our school,” I said.
    â€œVery cool,” Oswald agreed. “But one thing is for sure—I think another shot has been fired in the epic battle for the walls of our cities. And speaking of shots, could you take my picture with it, please?”

Chapter Nine
    I turned up the volume on the TV . I’d already caught a little of the story on the early news broadcast at 6:00—Julia had called and told me to tune it in—but I wanted to see all of it on the 11:00 news.
    â€œIn local news, our election has taken a most unexpected turn,” the announcer said. “It appears that the greatest challenger to our mayor isn’t even on the ballot.”
    The scene shifted to Mayor Dumfrey, standing in front of “his” mural along with a woman—a very attractive woman—holding a microphone. This was the interview I’d seen a little of. The cameraman had angled the shot so that you could see the mural being painted over, but the wolf in sheep’s clothing hadn’t been covered yet. The resemblance between the mayor and the wolf was amazing.
    â€œMayor Dumfrey,” the interviewer began, “what are your comments on what we see going on behind us?”
    â€œAs we can all see, I’m keeping my word to battle the misguided young person or people who are defacing our city.”
    â€œYou must admit that there is a certain amount of talent