The Nerdy Dozen #3: 20,000 Nerds Under the Sea

by Jeff Miller

  “Then we should split up,” Harris said. “We can cover more ground separately, and it doesn’t sound like we have much time to waste.”

  “How do you suggest we do that?” said Sam.

  “Well, we’ve got my chauffeured jet here. Vinny’s twin sister, Winnie, drives it. Sam, why don’t you and Biggs go in there?” Harris said, pointing to the plane. “And Neil and I, we’ll pick up the other half of the group in my helicopter.”

  “Deal. We’ll just take the helicopter,” said Neil, trying his best to be cool. It wasn’t as if he had any other modes of transportation to offer up. To his name, he owned a scooter he’d outgrown and a bike with two flat tires.

  “The chopper’s in the courtyard. I’ll warm it up,” Harris went on. “And since I only got my license a week ago, I’m calling dibs on Andertol as my copilot. No offense.”

  “None taken,” said Biggs. “Does the jet have peanuts?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Neil, let’s go. We might just have to battle a few ostriches first,” Harris said.

  “So it’s settled. You get a few, we get a few, and we’ll meet back here before sunset to stop Jolly. Easy.”

  Yeah, easy.

  NEIL AND HARRIS CLIMBED THE BRICK STAIRS THAT LED TO Corinne’s front door. Next to the doorbell a sign read: EVERY TIME YOU PUSH THIS DOORBELL, A QUARTER IS DONATED TO PUBLIC RADIO.

  The home itself was a charming cottage nestled into a small patch of pine trees. Neil pushed the doorbell and listened to the sound of a few chimes. After a minute the door was opened by a man Neil assumed was Corinne’s father. He looked confused.

  “Hi, hello, sir,” Neil stammered. “I was wondering if Corinne might be home.”

  “Who might I tell her is here?” said Corinne’s father. He was a stout African American man with trim hair and a gray mustache. He wore a tan suit coat with brown patches on the elbows and had a newspaper curled under his left arm.

  “My name is Neil Andertol.”

  “Oh, Corinne,” her father called out. “A Neanderthal boy is here to see you.”

  Really?

  Her father unfolded his newspaper as he walked them toward the small kitchen. After a moment Corinne appeared in the doorway. She wore flannel pants and a baggy BEE CHAMPION T-shirt. Shocked to see Neil and Harris, Corinne ushered them to the living room.

  “What do you want?” Corinne said. “Do you need help moving onto Reboot’s yacht?”

  “OK, I deserve that,” Neil said. “And I’m really sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I let the idea of meeting Reboot get the best of me.”

  “You can apologize all you want, but I used all my allowance money for three years to go on that trip,” Corinne said. “And I barely spent time with everyone.”

  “Well, the good news is that we’re getting everyone back together,” Neil said. “Another mission.”

  Corinne’s eyes lit up. She looked at her father, whose attention was on his paper’s crossword puzzle. She sat down on the bench by her glossy upright piano. She crossed her arms and leaned back on the off-white keys. An ominous tone played, startling a cat sleeping in a nearby window.

  “We need your help,” Neil whispered. “That game at RebootCon wasn’t a game. The creator was just finding people to use to capture sharks. Every shark.”

  “He’s telling the truth, as crazy as it sounds,” Harris added. A clock chimed in another room of the house. “Plus I’ll give you five thousand Beed Airlines miles. You can go wherever you’d like.”

  Corinne wriggled her nose.

  “Well, OK,” said Corrine. “But you’ll have to get this approved by my father somehow.”

  “Whatever that means, sure,” Neil said.

  “He’ll demand one thing.”

  “What? A kidney? A spleen?”

  “A spell-off.”

  “Right now?” Neil asked.

  “Y-E-S,” Corinne spelled out, cracking her knuckles to warm up.

  “OK then,” Neil said. “A spell-off it is.”

  “Dad, come here, please. Neil would like to speak with you.”

  SAM AND BIGGS HUDDLED ON THE GROUND, SURROUNDED by the vibrant colors of freshly fallen Montana leaves. Dried twigs crunched under their bodies as they crawled behind a fallen maple tree.

  Phwap! Phwap!

  Blue paint splattered just above their heads.

  “Guys, do we really have to do this?” yelled Sam from behind a bulky safety mask.

  “Sundays are for paintball! Nothing else!” yelled Dale. Bits of bark fell on Biggs’s head as more paintballs peppered their tree bunker.

  “But we need your help!” said Biggs, his hair dusted with tiny blue paint blobs.

  “If you guys want us to help so badly, you’ll have to earn it,” said Dale from behind a giant spruce tree.

  “I’d love to play all day, but we don’t have time,” said Sam, keeping her head tucked behind the makeshift bunker. “A lunatic ketchup pirate is threatening to kill every shark on the planet.”

  “With her own monster shark,” Biggs said, poking his head up before a splash of orange paint tagged his curly hair.

  The volley of paintballs stopped as Biggs heard the two boys step out from behind their shelter. A few birds chirped from hidden nests in the thick branches above.

  “Did you say monster shark?” asked Waffles.

  Biggs stood up, his clothes covered in new splotches of wet paint. Sam joined him, her hair now a neon blue.

  “Monster metal shark, my dudes,” said Biggs.

  “Well, in that case, we’re on board,” said Waffles, lowering his bright-orange paintball gun. “Sundays are for paintball and sharks.”

  AS THE ENGINES LOWERED HARRIS BEED’S PRIVATE JET onto a field, people in capes and chain mail scattered in all directions.

  “Lo, what metal bird is this?” shouted a villager, spilling the heavy bucket of cream he’d been carrying. “Get thee to thine horses!”

  The plane had landed in the center of the Renaissance fair, Riley’s home away from home. Once again, he had found himself in the stocks. His stubby arms and head poked between wooden slats in the center of the town.

  “Riley!” yelled Sam, stepping out from the jet and running toward him.

  “Look how the flying woman moves just like one of us,” said a frightened villager, never once dropping character. “What be this wizardry you share with us, magicke woman?”

  “Ye olde jet plane,” Sam said, popping the lock of Riley’s stocks with a bobby pin. “Give it another hundred or so years; you guys will love ’em.”

  “While I appreciate this rescue, my fair compatriots,” said Riley, “I’m not sure why ’tis happening.”

  “We’ve got a mission to complete!” yelled Biggs over the whirring of the jet engine.

  “A mission? But whither is Jones?”

  “Our own mission,” said Sam. “We’ve got to find everyone else and put a stop to a crazy homeschooled pirate.”

  “Pirates?” said Riley. Other villagers shuddered at the very mention.

  “Scallywags! If ’tis pirates you battle, then you will have my help,” Riley exclaimed. “Onward, my friends!”

  “Agreed! Whatever all that meant, I agree!” yelled Biggs.

  The citizens of the fake historical village continued to scream in terror as Riley was freed. Rubbing his wrists and neck, he walked after Sam toward the aircraft.

  “Huzzah!” shouted Riley. “Send a pigeon to my mother; let her know I will return before the school bus cometh!”

  The crew strapped into the safety harnesses of the plane and flew toward the San Diego airport, looking to retrieve Yuri and the Jasons.

  “I hope there’s still time,” said Sam.

  “I . . . S . . . T . . . H, UH, M . . . ,” SAID NEIL, HIS EYES FIXED ON the ceiling above. “Can you use it in a sentence again?” he asked Corinne’s father.

  Neil’s pulse pounded. Not only from the pressure of his first ever spelling bee, but from knowing t
hat every passing second left another shark in danger. And once the sharks were gone, what would stop Jolly from going after anyone else who wronged her—animal or human?

  “‘Isthmus,’” said Corinne’s dad. He was seated on the beige living-room couch with a huge dictionary resting on his stomach. He drank a small glass of rice milk, which left traces in his fuzzy mustache.

  “The volunteer fireman found a pony on the isthmus.”

  What? Is that a sentence that someone has ever said in real life?

  “Well, OK, ‘isthmus,’” Neil shrugged. “I-S-T-H-M-U-S. ‘Isthmus.’”

  “That is correct,” said Corinne’s father. “Now on to round fifty-seven. Corinne, your word is ‘adrenaline.’”

  “Corinne, Father of Corinne, I hate to be rude, and believe me I would love to sit around here and spell and drink rice milk with your dad,” Neil said, getting a glare from the spelling bee’s judge, emcee, and timekeeper. “But we really need to go. I know I’m never gonna beat you in spelling anything.”

  “That’s true,” said the former spelling bee champion. She looked at Neil, then at her stern father. “If you really need my help, let’s go. We’re a team, right?”

  Neil smiled, “We’re a team! T-E-A-M.”

  She and Neil celebrated with a salute. Her father cleared his throat.

  “I’ve never seen someone last so long in a heads-up spell-off with my Corinne. Nicely done, Neil.”

  Neil scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

  “Nobody can beat your daughter, sir,” Neil said. “To be honest, I was guessing on most of those.”

  “OK, Dad, I’ll be back before curfew,” said Corinne to her father. She quickly tied her shoes and zipped up a thin blue jacket.

  “Now where was it you kids were going?” said Corinne’s father, looking over the opened dictionary. Corinne gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Oh, just to study,” she said as the group skipped outside. “Be back soon!”

  THE LATE-AFTERNOON SUN WAS TURNING THE SKY A LIGHT orange as Harris’s helicopter touched down in a cul-de-sac of a residential neighborhood. Tall evergreens shook as the rotor blades slowed their spinning.

  “You two go get our man,” said Harris. “I’ll stay here and watch the bird. If somebody puts a dent in this thing, my dad will take away international travel privileges.”

  Neil laughed and quickly unbuckled his safety harness.

  “And try and get ahold of someone. The White House, Jones, anybody who might help.”

  Neil and Corinne ran out from the helicopter, hunched over as they headed toward the open door of a light-blue garage.

  It was JP’s, and he was inside, standing over a long table. It filled the space designated for two cars and was littered with random pieces of electrical wiring, several computers, and countless notepads filled with scribbled calculations. It was like a mad scientist’s laboratory.

  JP was hard at work on his science-fair magnets but looked up as Neil knocked on the frame of the open garage door.

  “JP!” panted Neil. “We need you.”

  The boy genius was quiet.

  “Oh, really? You don’t say,” JP answered. He had a small tray in his hands. It carried a few large potatoes. Yellow and blue wires curled out from the spuds. “You definitely didn’t need me when you skipped out yesterday.”

  “That’s totally fair that you’re angry, and I’m sorry,” Neil said. “But right now we truly need your help.”

  “I can’t help you. I have to win the science fair,” JP said proudly. “This week is nationals, Neil. The best presentation wins a scholarship. I have to dedicate every moment I have to this.”

  “JP, I’m begging you,” Neil said.

  “You can’t leave a team to go to a yacht, just to come back in and flash a smile and win everyone over, Neil,” JP said sternly. “Even if someone told you to do it. That’s not being a good friend.”

  Neil let out a defeated sigh. They’d have to return to meet everyone without JP.

  “JP, you have to trust him,” said Corinne. “We need you. Every shark in the world could use your help.”

  JP looked puzzled.

  “What’s that?”

  “We need your smarts,” said Neil. “There’s a lunatic with a metal shark roaming the oceans right now, ready to change life as we know it.”

  “Hmm, like that game?” JP said. He continued to tweak the wires connected to tiny silver disks. “From RebootCon?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Even so, I can’t leave—these magnets have been my life for months,” JP said. “Today I had a breakthrough with the directional technology. I can pinpoint any magnetic metal up to five hundred yards away.”

  “Magnets are magic,” said Neil. “I get that.”

  “Right? Aren’t they exciting?”

  It was becoming clear JP wouldn’t be interested in anything nonmagnetic.

  “So show me. Target . . . the helicopter rotor blades,” Neil said, pointing to the aircraft outside.

  “Yeah!” added Corinne. “Your project’s already good enough to win, JP. I know it.”

  JP held up his potato display. “Behold.”

  After he plugged a few wires into the potatoes, the metal tray became a magnet. He leaned over his creation and pointed a metal disk at Harris and his chopper, aiming with his left eye. After flipping a small black switch, the magnet buzzed to life with a high-pitched ringing. After a second, the metal blades atop Harris’s helicopter began to spin.

  “Wow, that’s awesome!” said Corinne.

  “Thanks,” JP said, a happy grin on his face.

  “Well, good luck in the science fair, I guess,” said Neil. “Let’s go, Corinne. We’ve got to get back.”

  Neil and Corinne began walking down the smooth blacktop of JP’s driveway.

  “Wait,” said JP.

  Neil and Corinne turned to see their friend leaving his garage laboratory, carrying a red duffel bag full of his experiments.

  “I can call this experimenting in the field,” JP said. “I’m always there for you guys. We’ve got sharks to save.”

  Neil was beginning to feel like a hero once again.

  “What took so long?” said Harris when they got back to the helicopter. “I called the White House three times. Got a message they’re closed on Sundays. Looks like we’re on our own.”

  Sounds good to me. We can do this.

  NEIL WAS THE LAST TO STEP OUT OF THE HELICOPTER AND back onto Harris’s island. The four friends dodged ostriches as they walked to Weo’s office.

  On the ride over, Neil had made a satellite call to his mother, claiming he was getting a sneak peek at Reboot Robiskie’s latest helicopter-themed game. Surprisingly, she’d already talked to Biggs’s mom, who had filled her in about the gracious offer from the Robiskie Foundation and that they’d been given the VIP treatment. Neil’s mom seemed worry-free about Neil’s arrival and was looking forward to seeing Biggs’s mom at this year’s Quinoa and Gluten-Free Summit.

  “Back up and running?” Neil asked Weo.

  The rest of the team joined Corinne, JP, and Neil in Weo’s office. His desk was in disarray, covered in wires as he attempted to fix the phones and the internet connection.

  “Not yet,” Weo said. Neil looked around at his friends. But as he counted everyone, he saw there were only nine of them. Eleven with Weo and Harris. Either way, they were still short.

  “Wait, where are the Jasons? And Trevor?” Sam asked, the roar of engines finally dying down.

  “We thought you guys picked them up. Weren’t they stranded at the airport?” said Harris.

  “We thought you guys picked them up!” replied Biggs.

  Neil felt a pit in his stomach. He knew there was only one person responsible for his missing friends—Jolly Rogers the Third.

  “SO TREVOR AND THE JASONS ARE JUST MISSING?” SHOUTED a panicked Yuri. “I was at that airport. I thought they got home.” He leaned forward in a leather office cha
ir.

  “I wouldn’t say they’re missing,” Neil explained. “More that they’ve been taken by a madwoman, and she’s probably making them do her evil bidding.”

  “That’s reassuring,” said Yuri. The whole crew looked at Neil expectantly.

  “So tell us, who is this girl again?” asked Corinne.

  “Her name is Jolly Rogers,” Neil said.

  “The Third,” added Sam.

  “She created that shark game we played at the convention,” said Neil. “Or at least kind of. She made Harris and other people build it for her.”

  The convention—wow, that seems so long ago.

  “OK, what else? We were promised metal sharks,” said Waffles. He wore his favorite camouflage bandanna, and still had splotches of paint on his left cheek.

  “What?” said Riley. “Metal fish, Sir Neil?”

  “Pretty much, yeah,” Neil said. He paused for a moment to begin his best Jones impression. “Jolly Rogers has created a shark-submarine monster, and she’s using it to find every shark in every ocean.”

  “And whither once these sharks are netted?” asked Riley.

  “Well, her plan is to ultimately capture them all. After that, I can’t imagine she’ll do anything good with them.”

  “Who would want to eliminate every shark?” asked Dale.

  “Someone whose family has a long history of death by shark,” said Sam.

  “Yeah, that’ll do it,” said Dale.

  “I’m sick of people like Jolly hating on sharks!” shouted Biggs. He didn’t seem to be himself, constantly wringing his hands and cracking fewer and fewer jokes. Neil felt bad for his friend. He knew that for someone who loved Earth as much as Biggs did, the idea of wiping out a whole species had to be terrifying.

  “After we left Reboot’s yacht, Jolly kidnapped us to force us to do her dirty work,” Neil continued.

  “So she used you for your gaming skills?” asked JP.

  “Exactly,” Neil said. “Luckily, we escaped. We damaged her shark, Magda, but something tells me she’s going to be harder to stop than that.”

  Yuri raised his hand, and Neil pointed to him.

  “Was Reboot’s yacht cool?” he asked timidly.

  “Very,” said Neil.