NERDS: National Espionage, Rescue, and Defense Society

by Michael Buckley

  “We call this the supply closet. We come here to learn to fight and defend ourselves. I spend at least four hours a day here honing my combat skills.”

  Matilda took a hit of her inhaler.

  “Honing your combat skills?” Jackson chuckled. “You look like you need help getting out of bed.”

  “That’s exactly what makes me a great secret agent. No one suspects I can kick butt. I’ll show you. Pick a weapon and attack me with it.”

  “Forget that. I’m not going to hit a girl.”

  Matilda’s inhalers blasted hot flames and she rose several feet off the ground. “Good, then this will be a lot easier for me.” The littlest of the spies shot forward and clotheslined Jackson across the chest. He crashed onto his back and cried out in agony.

  Once his head cleared, he turned to Matilda. “I wouldn’t do that again if I were you.”

  Matilda soared across the room, reached down with one arm, and bodyslammed him back to the floor. Jackson’s lungs burned. He slowly got to his feet. This time his fists were clenched.

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Are you?” Matilda asked as she spun around like a ballerina in the air and landed on his shoulders. She slammed the flats of her hands against his ears, sending a shock of pain into his brain. “I’m beating you senseless and you’re just taking it.”

  Jackson staggered about and waited for the ringing in his skull to subside. While he was recovering, Matilda floated back down to the floor.

  “Grab a weapon and fight back.”

  “I’m not going to hit a girl!” Jackson repeated.

  Matilda twisted his arm around his back and held it there. The agony in his shoulder felt like a bonfire and, worse, he was helpless.

  “So, if you come face-to-face with a major-league bad guy who happens to be a girl, you’re going to let her kill you?”

  She wrapped her arm around his neck, pushed forward, and slammed him face-first into the hard floor. “I call that a bulldog,” she said proudly as she rose back into the air. She flew around him, circling like a hungry hawk.

  “That’s your problem, Braceface. You judge others by what they look like. You’ve spent your life putting people into little categories—nerd, geek, athlete, cheerleader, weakling—and you can’t imagine they might be more than what you think. People are always more than what they appear. You have a lazy mind, kid, and it’s going to get you killed one of these days.”

  She turned one of her inhalers on him and a blast of energy hit him in the belly, knocking the wind out of him.

  “Fine, you want to fight? Let’s do this!” Jackson cried when he could breathe again. Without looking, Jackson reached behind him and snatched a weapon off the wall. When he saw what it was, he frowned—a bamboo back scratcher. He turned for a new weapon, but the walls flipped over and the weapons were gone.

  “Hey!”

  “One weapon at a time, chump,” Matilda said, landing in front of him.

  “That’s not fair! Let me pick again!”

  Matilda shook her head. “Now you’re putting the weapons in categories. A good secret agent can use anything as a weapon. A back scratcher can be just as deadly as a chain saw. It shouldn’t matter what you choose. I once took out a dozen terrorists with a jelly donut and a cup of cocoa.”

  She spun around like a top, then kicked him in the arm. In anger, he lashed out with the back scratcher, but Matilda pressed the plungers on her inhalers and soared out of his reach, easily dodging the blow. Startled, Jackson left his defenses wide open, and Matilda kicked him in the ribs. Enraged, Jackson slashed at the flying girl. Unfortunately, he only managed to hit himself in the ear.

  Matilda landed again. She studied Jackson with pity. “Fine. I’ll take the back scratcher. You take another weapon,” she said, then clapped her hands twice. The walls flipped over and the weapons reappeared.

  Jackson raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Really?”

  Matilda held out her hand. Jackson passed her the back scratcher and eagerly scanned the walls for something, anything, that would get Matilda to stop kicking his butt. There were pitchforks, nunchakus, sabers, throwing stars, bazookas, spears, and crossbows. Finally he spotted what he needed—a Louisville Slugger! He yanked it off the wall, knowing he’d never hit Matilda with it, but he thought perhaps she’d be intimidated enough to back off.

  He turned to Matilda. She was spinning the back scratcher in her hands like a baton. “I’ll even let you go first.”

  “Your funeral,” Jackson said as he stomped toward her. He tried to swing the bat but never got the chance. Matilda brought the scratcher down on his nose so hard tears welled in his eyes and blinded him. Helpless to her assault, Jackson cowered as Matilda slapped him in the lips, on top of his head, and then on his Adam’s apple. Next she went to work on his chest, his elbows, his belly, his rump, and finally his knees. As he gasped for breath, he saw the small girl fly into the air, spin around in a circle like a cyclone, and then plant her foot on his jaw. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was Matilda standing over him with a proud smile. “I love this job,” she said.

  RESULTS: FAILURE

  After a serious smackdown from Matilda, Jackson was instructed to meet Heathcliff at the far end of the school building, on a tiny playground reserved for kindergartners. Heathcliff had a smug grin on his face that even his enormous buckteeth couldn’t hide.

  “What are we doing here?” Jackson asked.

  “Trust me, it’s not my idea. I wouldn’t help you if it weren’t a direct order. I’m supposed to train you to deal with an unpredictable situation.” Heathcliff’s disdain for Jackson dripped from every word. “A good secret agent must be prepared for anything. It’s the ability to think on your feet that will keep you alive.”

  “Well, I don’t want to brag, but I saw a lot of unpredictable situations when I was leading the Tigers to the state championship. I don’t think your little training session will be much of a challenge.”

  Just then, a bell rang and the door flew open. A sea of five-year-olds flooded the playground. They were as hyper as Flinch after a fluffernutter sandwich, and they ran about screaming, kicking balls, chasing each other, and singing like maniacs.

  “What’s this all about?” Jackson said, trying to avoid a soccer ball to the head.

  “You’ll see,” Heathcliff said as he turned to the children and smiled, flashing his giant teeth. “Get him, kids!”

  The children stared at Heathcliff like he was as transfixing as a talking ice cream cone, then grew very still. All at once, they whipped their heads in Jackson’s direction and screamed in anger.

  “Have fun,” Heathcliff shouted as the children rushed toward Jackson. With balls, jacks, rocks, and lunch boxes, they rained fury down on Jackson.

  He was stunned at first. No one expects to be attacked by a bunch of hypnotized five-year-olds, but that was exactly what was happening. When a NASCAR lunch box cracked him in the skull, he knew he had to defend himself. But how? He didn’t feel right about fighting back, especially since the children were not in their right minds. He wondered if his braces could help. He tried to focus on the metal in his mouth, and suddenly it was swirling. A moment later, four long tentacles emerged from his lips, dipped down to the ground, and lifted him into the air, making him into a human spider. He picked his tentacled way through the crowd of children, but his escape only seemed to enrage them more. They chased after him, flinging their toys at his back, and shouting threats.

  Worse still, he couldn’t outrun them. No matter which direction the legs carried him, the children were right behind, their hypnotized faces twisted in rage. He made a dash across the playground. Suddenly, his metallic legs tripped and he fell face-first into a set of monkey bars. His braces were tied up, and no matter what he did, he could not free them. It was the break the zombie children needed, and they fell on him with jump ropes, dollies, and finger paints. As they beat him senseless, he could see Heathcliff standing over him, laughing.
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br />   RESULTS: FAILURE

  When Jackson could walk again, he staggered over to the older kids’ playground, where Duncan was waiting.

  “What happened to you?” the chubby boy asked.

  Jackson frowned and waved off the question. “I’d rather not talk about it. What’s next?”

  Duncan gestured to a tetherball pole and led Jackson to it.

  “We’re going to play tetherball?” Jackson asked hopefully.

  “Not exactly,” Duncan said. He reached into his pocket and took out what looked like a remote control. He pushed a button and the tetherball lifted off the chain like the head of a curious snake. “The tetherball is going to play you.”

  “What’s all this?”

  Duncan flashed a knowing smile. “I’m here to teach you the fine art of stealth, or in layman’s terms, how to be sneaky. A good secret agent needs to be able to operate in the shadows, move undetected, and keep a low profile. I suspect you’ll have problems with this.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Duncan nodded. “You’re what my father would call a showboat. In today’s slang, I’d call you a glory hog. Think you can step out of your spotlight for a bit?”

  Jackson scowled. “Let’s just do this.”

  Duncan pushed another button on the remote, and the tetherball whipped around and snapped the chain that held it. Then it floated into the air above them. “This is the XP-400 Surveillance and Attack Sphere. I could talk for hours about its design—”

  “I bet you could.”

  Duncan ignored the interruption. “But to hurry this along, I’ll give you a brief explanation. You are going to hide somewhere in the school. This ball is going to find you. When it finds you, it’s going to shoot you with a high-intensity laser. It will hurt. A lot.”

  “A laser?”

  Duncan cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, Jackson. Are you afraid of a little ball? I thought you were an athlete. I read in the school paper that you hold our school’s all-time passing record. Now, I don’t know what that means, but I assume it means you’re fast. You can probably beat this thing, but if you’re scared …”

  Jackson was aware of how reverse psychology worked. After all, he had once had a mother. But the boy’s tone made him angry. This chubby jerk was questioning his athletic prowess.

  He had to prove him wrong. “Try to catch me, porky,” he shouted as he turned and raced into the school.

  “Good luck!” Duncan shouted. “You’re going to need it.”

  Jackson suspected his best chance of avoiding the laser ball was to find a room and lock himself inside. The XP-400 couldn’t zap what it couldn’t get to, and Jackson knew the perfect place: the library. He sprinted down the hall, threw open the library door, and closed it behind him. As he caught his breath, he smiled proudly. Finally, he had outsmarted one of these so-called spies—and it had been easy. Maybe these nerds weren’t good enough to be on a team with him. He sat down at a table, kicked up his feet, and contemplated a nap. That was until he saw something he would never have believed possible. The door to the library suddenly grew bright red, and a moment later it exploded. Chunks of wood and metal flew in all directions, and the library filled with a thick, black smoke. The explosion knocked Jackson out of his chair. He scrambled to his feet as the menacing orange ball floated into the room. Before he could dash away to a better hiding spot, the XP-400 fired and stung him in the rear. It felt like he had been bitten by a shark and he screamed in agony. Instinctively, Jackson leaped behind a shelf of books and rubbed his sore behind.

  “I told you it would hurt,” Duncan said. Jackson scanned the room for the chubby spy and spotted him walking along the ceiling, leaving a trail of sticky footprints.

  Jackson sprinted out of the room ahead of another laser shot. He ran down the hall and darted into the cafeteria. It dawned on him that he had not taken Duncan seriously. The nerd had mentioned that this was a test of stealth—not the ability to hide behind a door. Maybe the fat toad knew what he was talking about. As Jackson peered around the room, a stack of trays exploded behind him and showered down on his head. He leaped behind a table and tried to calm his breathing. It was then that he realized he could hear the machine. It made a subtle but audible hum. It was getting closer and would be on him in no time. He had to do something—and fast. It was then he recalled an old saying often used in his PeeWee football league: “Distraction wins games.” He leaped to his feet, snatched one of the trays from the ground, and tossed it to his right. He heard the sphere dart after the tray, so he dashed in the opposite direction. He was safely behind another table before the floating ball could react.

  “Stupid machine.” Jackson chuckled.

  “Hey, Jackson,” Duncan shouted. He was walking along the wall.

  “I’m beating your ball,” Jackson shouted back.

  “I forgot to tell you something,” he said. “The sphere can replicate itself.” “It can do what?”

  “It can make copies of itself!” the nerd shouted.

  Suddenly, the humming grew louder and louder. Jackson looked up. Ten tetherballs hovered over his head, and moments later, the lasers fired.

  RESULTS: FAILURE

  Jackson met Flinch in the parking lot of the school. The nerd’s face was covered in caramel, and there were a dozen or so candy bar wrappers lying at his feet. He had a cup of convenience store soda in his hand that was bigger than his own head. He was also trembling with caffeinated joy.

  “So, I suppose you’re going to beat me up too,” Jackson said. He could still feel the burning laser stings on his behind, the bruises from the back scratcher, and the place where the kindergartener’s lunch box had hit him in the skull.

  Flinch shook his head wildly. It seemed everything he did was over the top. “No way! We’re going to play a game of catch, bro.”

  “Catch? OK, that’s something I’m very good at,” Jackson said.

  “But you’re going to use your superbraces to do it,” Flinch said. “All that technology in your mouth is awesome! We have to teach you how to use it. Luckily, a lot of it is responsive to what’s going on around you. Here, I’ll show you.”

  Jackson watched Flinch step over to a teacher’s car. He turned the dial on his harness and then, in one swift motion, leaned down and picked the car up off the ground. He held it over his head like it was a feather pillow. Then he tossed it at Jackson.

  Jackson screamed and instinctively ducked, though he knew it wouldn’t do much to prevent his impending death. What he couldn’t have imagined was the braces in his mouth springing to life. They forced his mouth open and several strands of metal caught the car in midair.

  “Hombre, that is awesome,” Flinch shouted. “Throw it back.”

  Jackson didn’t have time to think before the braces hefted the car back at the little boy. Flinch snatched it out of the air and set it back down in its parking space.

  “You just threw a car at me!” Jackson yelled.

  “Fun, isn’t it?” Flinch shouted as he shoved a peanut butter cup into his mouth.

  “Fun is not the word I would use to describe it,” Jackson replied.

  “Heads up!” Flinch shouted as he tossed another of the teachers’ cars at him. This time the braces seemed ready and stopped it long before it closed in on his head. Still, the experience was heart-attack inducing. Jackson set the car down just in time to spot another sailing through the air at him.

  “Cut it out!” Jackson shouted as he caught it and set it back on its four wheels.

  “I’m strong like bull!” Flinch shouted, oblivious to Jackson’s complaints. “Let’s make this interesting.”

  He snatched a car, tossed it, then snatched another, then tossed it, and on and on and on. The cars sailed through the air fast and furious. Jackson’s braces spun around in his mouth like a blender as they attempted to catch them all, but there were too many. The best he could do was try to swat them away. His efforts did little, and soon one of the cars crashed to the ground next to him. Then
another landed right behind. Soon the cars were piling up around him, locking him inside an automotive pyramid. He was safe and unharmed, but he was trapped.

  “You are supposed to catch them,” Flinch shouted. Jackson stewed with anger. “Get me out of here, you freak!”

  RESULTS: FAILURE

  Flinch pulled Jackson out of the car pyramid and told him to go back inside. As painful, humiliating, and downright scary as his experiences had been that day, they faded in comparison to the nerve-racking tension of meeting Ruby Peet. Pufferfish hadn’t exactly hidden the fact that she hated him.

  Much to Jackson’s surprise, the only things in the room in which he found her were a small black box with several suction cups attached to it, a desk, and two chairs.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” she said.

  “So, what’s all this?” he said apprehensively.

  Ruby smiled and attached the little suction cups to Jackson’s temples. “Nothing to worry about. I know the others have been a little rough on you, but I can assure you that nothing in this room will hurt you.”

  “Good.”

  “Unless you tell a lie,” Ruby said.

  “Oh, is this one of those lie detectors?” Jackson said, eyeing the little black box once more. He noticed it was plugged into the electrical socket on the wall.

  “No, I’m the lie detector. I’m allergic to lying,” Ruby said.

  Jackson giggled. “Allergic to lying. That’s hilarious.”

  Ruby smiled. “The point of this exercise is to train you to stay calm under pressure and teach you how to tell a lie effectively. A good spy is called upon to lie from time to time. If you have valuable information, you will need to convince our enemies that you don’t know anything. You may have to lie to save a life. You may have to lie to save the world. Lying is a skill that takes a lot of practice. This machine will help you hone this talent.”