“You don’t know how lucky you are that your parents are dumb. It’s awful to be the only dunce in a family of geniuses,” Shelley sputtered.
“I prefer the term intellectually challenged, rather than dumb, when it comes to my parents. And you’re not a dunce, Shells.”
“Yes, I am. You heard the report.”
“That report is just one small fraction of who you are. Fine, maybe you’re not good at math or history. But you’re good at other things, things they don’t write about in those reports,” Jonathan said, placing his arm around Shelley’s shoulders.
“Like what?”
“You have a wild imagination,” Jonathan answered. “Remember the time you told me that you wanted to come back as a sloth in your next life so you could nap every twenty-five to thirty minutes?”
“Sloths rule,” Shelley said quietly before adding, “I guess my imagination is pretty unique.”
“And you’re an optimist. You look on the bright side of everything. A raccoon dies in a garbage can and you think, Hey, at least he died doing what he loved—eating trash. As a lifelong pessimist, I know firsthand what a difference optimism can make.”
Shelley’s shoulders relaxed. She lifted her head, wiped away her tears, and cracked the faintest of smiles. This was yet another great thing about Shelley: She recovered quickly.
“Who am I kidding? I’m incredible, aren’t I?” Shelley declared as she transitioned into her superhero stance—shoulders back, hands on hips.
“You’re amazing, Shells. And I mean that.”
“Would you say I’m your own personal role model? Someone you think of in times of struggle?”
Jonathan couldn’t help but smile. “If it makes you feel better, sure, why not.”
OCTOBER 23, 8:12 P.M. BAE HEADQUARTERS. LONDON, ENGLAND
Randolph appeared more disheveled than usual. Slightly matted on the sides, his hair was in need of a brushing. Pacing back and forth in front of Jonathan, Shelley, Darwin, Oli, and Hattie, he emitted an anxious air. Not that Jonathan and Shelley were focused on Randolph’s stressed demeanor; they were far too preoccupied with his glass eye, which was currently stuck looking down at his nose.
“Teeth, I’m quite certain that Nina is going to make contact with the ministers—namely those from Sussex and Kent—soon, as the vote to drill in nature preserves is fast approaching.”
“You needn’t worry, Darwin. Security measures are already in place,” Randolph answered as he continued to pace.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I’m your boss and because you continue to call me Teeth!” Randolph barked.
“What is the plural of Teeth? Teeves?” Hattie asked from the corner of the room.
“Teeth is the plural of tooth, remember?” Jonathan answered, inwardly thrilled to finally be able to correct a BAE agent.
“Ah, yes, that’s right,” Hattie said before resuming her newfound hobby of staring off into space.
“Remember, Randolph,” Oli said as he stood up. “‘It ain’t what they call you, it’s what you answer to.’ W. C. Fields.”
“Come on, Teeth, you’re making too big a deal of it. You don’t hear Glasses or Khaki complaining, do you?” Darwin said.
“Actually, I’ve complained,” Shelley stated, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Quite extensively, as a matter of fact.”
“Your name is Teeth?” Hattie asked Randolph as she fingered her pearl necklace. “Dear me, I do believe I’ve been calling you by the wrong name for quite some time. Not to worry, Teeth, I shall make it up to you with a mince pie. Or a chocolate bar. I love chocolate, don’t you? Wait. What was I talking about? Ah, yes, cavities. They’re dreadful, aren’t they?”
Eyes bulging with fear, Jonathan leaned in and whispered to Shelley, “One drop of bat saliva and I’ll make my parents look like Nobel Prize winners.”
“My name is not Teeth!” Randolph snapped at Hattie before regaining his composure. “My apologies, Hattie, I know you are not yourself these days.”
“I think someone needs a hug, maybe even two,” Shelley said as she approached Randolph, arms extended.
“The situation must be very dire, for that does not sound entirely horrendous,” Randolph said as he dabbed his perspiring brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. “The prime minister is losing patience. We need to find Nina before she infects someone else.”
“We all want to find Nina,” Oli replied. “We just haven’t a clue where to look.”
“Why don’t Johno and I check out Nina’s dorm room? Maybe we’ll find something you guys missed,” Shelley said.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Oli responded curtly. “We were very thorough. We are, after all, professionals.”
“As are we,” Jonathan pointed out.
“I don’t see any harm in letting the Americans give the room another glance,” Randolph declared, prompting Oli and Darwin to exchange tense looks.
The BAE boys’ reaction piqued Jonathan’s and Shelley’s curiosity. Were they really that competitive? Or could it be something else?
OCTOBER 24, 10:00 A.M. EVERGREEN BOARDING SCHOOL. LONDON, ENGLAND
Weathered limestone buildings surrounded by perfectly manicured hedges made up the campus of Evergreen Boarding School. Formal with a hint of stuffiness, the ambiance immediately rubbed Shelley the wrong way.
“Is it me or are these kids looking down their perfect little noses at us?” Shelley asked Jonathan as the two made their way toward boardinghouse number three.
“How could they be judging us when they don’t even see us?” Jonathan replied.
“You may have a point,” Shelley conceded before looking up at the gray sky. “This weather makes me think global warming might not be such a bad thing.”
Jonathan ignored Shelley entirely, which in and of itself was not such an extraordinary thing. After all, listening to her blather on all day long was no easy feat. However, on this particular occasion Jonathan had not zoned out, but rather zoomed in—on two people, to be precise.
“I know you’re probably not going to believe me after the incident at the zoo, but someone’s following us,” Jonathan announced.
“Let me guess—you’ve noticed a girl in a red-and-gray uniform trailing us,” Shelley said with a smirk as she looked around the quad teeming with girls in red-and-gray uniforms.
“No, it’s Darwin and Oli,” Jonathan said as he looked across the lawn. “Only they keep losing sight of us. Trailing unexceptionals is hard work, even for trained professionals.”
“They’re worried we’re going to find something they missed, which makes me really hope we do!”
OCTOBER 24, 10:15 A.M. NINA’S ROOM, EVERGREEN BOARDING SCHOOL. LONDON, ENGLAND
A wooden bed. A dresser. And a closet. Nina’s dorm room was a stale and impersonal space, barring a couple of plants and photos.
“Ferns remind me of doctors’ offices and liberries. Two places I’ve never cared to spend a lot of time,” Shelley said as Jonathan shook his head and resisted the urge to tell his friend that the word was actually libraries.
While looking at the potted plants along the windowsill, Shelley noticed a picture of Nina’s grandmother in front of a bakery. “This must be the place mentioned in the e-mail, Petit Four and Petit More.”
“Hmm,” Jonathan said as he opened the closet doors.
“What does hmm mean?”
“Aerosol cans are terrible for the environment,” Jonathan said as he held up aerosol deodorant, hair spray, and room freshener.
“Obviously, Nina doesn’t know that.”
“Shells, if I know that they’re bad for the environment, trust me, Nina knows.”
“Then maybe she confiscated them from other people, sort of like what I’ve been trying to do with your khaki pants collection.”
“Maybe,” Jonathan muttered as he spotted the trash can in the corner.
The medium-sized wicker basket was overflowing with crumple
d papers, a couple of half-eaten sandwiches, and a slew of empty soda cans.
“Shells, something isn’t right. A radical environmentalist who doesn’t recycle aluminum cans and uses aerosol deodorant and hair spray? I don’t think so.”
Shelley’s eyes widened. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I just told you what I was thinking. Remember?”
“How much easier would life be if we could read each other’s minds? Although, reading your mind could also be seriously boring, like, I’m getting tired just thinking about it.”
“Shells?”
“Yeah, Johno?”
“Will you please just tell me what you were thinking?”
“We should pay Nina’s grandma a visit. They seem close; she could know something.”
“That’s actually a good idea.”
Shelley smiled and then playfully punched Jonathan’s shoulder. “Don’t feel bad. I’m sure one day, you’ll have one too.”
OCTOBER 24, 2:35 P.M. MRS. MITFORD’S HOUSE. CASTLE COMBE, ENGLAND
“I hope you don’t find this inappropriate,” Shelley said to Mrs. Mitford, Nina’s well-maintained grandmother, over tea in the sitting room. “But you smell really good, like butter cookies and cinnamon.”
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Mitford responded as she fiddled with a loose string coming out of the sofa. “I must admit I have something of a sweet tooth, always have. I can’t quite explain it, but biscuits and cakes bring me such happiness.”
“You know what makes me happy? Popping open a Coke and jamming on my air guitar,” Shelley said.
“I don’t follow,” Mrs. Mitford said, clearly confused by Shelley’s ramblings.
“No one does,” Jonathan interjected. “Now, about Nina. Was she always passionate about the environment? Or was this a cause she took up recently?”
“The environment? You mean the outdoors?” Mrs. Mitford chuckled. “Nina loathes nature. She’s absolutely petrified of spiders and insects. As a child she used to cover her room in insect repellent. The whole house smelled like a chemical plant.”
“So Nina’s not into camping, but she’s dedicated, maybe even a little extreme, when it comes to protecting the planet from pollution and deforestation?” Jonathan pressed on.
“Nina would never help a corporation destroy the rain forest or drop chemicals in a river, but that’s not to say she gives much thought to such things,” Mrs. Mitford said, pausing to smile. “It was nothing short of a miracle when I finally convinced her to put her water bottles in the recycling and not the bin. Teenagers can be very lazy, as your parents will soon learn.”
“I know how you feel. My parents are actually pretty lazy themselves,” Jonathan added.
“So Nina wasn’t a tree hugger? She didn’t yell at people who wasted paper or left the tap running while they brushed their teeth?” Shelley asked, clearly confused by the conflicting reports on Nina.
“Oh, the shower! Nina leaves the water running for five minutes straight before getting in. She likes it to feel like a steam room,” Mrs. Mitford said with a laugh. “She really is such a wonderful girl—but a conservationist she is not.”
Jonathan couldn’t help but furrow his brow. The situation was starting to give him a headache. How was it that Nina’s coworkers and family had such different ideas about the girl? Who, if anyone, knew the real Nina?
“And just to be clear, you’re close to your granddaughter, right?” Jonathan asked.
“Very close,” Mrs. Mitford answered before adding, “These are most peculiar questions. Where did you say you were from again?”
“The Evergreen school paper. We’re doing a profile on Nina in our next issue,” Shelley explained.
“Well then, you ought to interview that boy she’s always talking about…Charles…no…David…no…Darwin, yes, that’s it. Darwin, like the evolutionist.”
Jonathan nodded apprehensively. “We’ll be sure to do that.”
OCTOBER 24, 4:48 P.M. TRAIN STATION. LONDON, ENGLAND
“Maybe the old lady just thinks she’s close to her granddaughter,” Shelley said to Jonathan as they stepped off the train and into a crowd of commuters trying to make their way home. “After all, teenagers hide things from their parents, so why not their grandparents?”
“Teenagers hide bad things, not recycling and trying to save the planet.”
“But Nina’s a spy. Spies are not just professional liars, they’re professional secret keepers,” Shelley reasoned.
“I don’t know, Shells. There’s something about this that doesn’t feel right.”
Shelley lowered her glasses and looked Jonathan in the eye. “When something smells funky, check the aquarium, because your fish is probably dead.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that when you think something’s wrong, it probably is. Or it just means that your fish is dead and it’s time to flush it,” Shelley explained as she stepped out of the way of a particularly fast-walking commuter.
“Your fish died? Would you like me to perform an autopsy?” a familiar voice interrupted from behind, prompting Jonathan and Shelley to turn around.
Nurse Maidenkirk was nearly unrecognizable in a sleek black pantsuit. Next to her, dressed in his usual pin-striped double-breasted suit, was Hammett.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to text us when you want to meet instead of constantly popping up?” Shelley wondered aloud.
“Text messages are a dangerous game. They’re easier to hack into than a box of mac and cheese. Now, follow me, kiddos,” Hammett said, leading them to a quiet corner, away from the hustle and bustle of the station.
After catching Hammett and Nurse Maidenkirk up on the latest developments, Jonathan and Shelley relaxed. There was something comforting about Hammett, almost parental. They could rely on him, they could trust him, and right now they couldn’t say that about anyone else. Not in England, anyway.
“Go back to the origin of the environmentalist story,” Hammett said, pulling a toothpick from his mouth. “Who told you Nina was an environmentalist?”
“Prime Minister Falcon,” Shelley answered.
“And who told the prime minister?”
“Randolph,” Jonathan replied.
“And who told Randolph?”
“Darwin, Oli, and Hattie,” Jonathan responded.
“So someone misunderstood?” Hammett proposed.
“These aren’t the type of people to misunderstand,” Jonathan pointed out. “They’re annoyingly detail oriented.”
“It’s true. They’re even worse than Jonathan,” Shelley added.
“So maybe there’s more to this case than meets the eye,” Hammett declared as he popped the toothpick back into his mouth. “You need to find out. And fast. LIQ-30 is one scary virus, especially for your lot. Average, unexceptional kids can’t afford to lose focus or intelligence. Bottom line, you don’t have enough to spare.”
“What a long and interesting history we’ve had with viruses,” Nurse Maidenkirk mused. “Did you know the Spanish flu killed fifty million people?”
“No, I didn’t,” Jonathan answered flatly.
“Did you know that smallpox killed three hundred million people up through the twentieth century?”
“Nope,” Shelley responded. “And to be honest, I could have easily gone the rest of my life without knowing those facts.”
“Listen here, kiddos,” Hammett said as he placed a hand on both Jonathan’s and Shelley’s shoulder. “The nobodies of this world are counting on you. Don’t let them down.”
OCTOBER 24, 6:01 P.M. RESTAURANT. LONDON, ENGLAND
After talking to Hammett, Jonathan and Shelley realized that the only surefire way to get to the bottom of things was to spy on the spies, i.e., Oli, Hattie, and Darwin. And though Jonathan and Shelley were not even fractionally as well versed in espionage as the BAE agents, their forgettable nature made trailing targets a cinch.
“What are you thinking?” Jonathan asked Shelley
as they peered into the restaurant’s main dining room, where Oli, Hattie, and Darwin were seated.
“The coat closet,” Shelley said as she motioned toward a nearby door. “We’ll be out of the way and yet still able to keep an eye on them.”
“Good thinking,” Jonathan responded as the two slipped into the closet.
Crouched on the floor, peering out from behind the coats, Shelley whispered, “I don’t mean to be a pain, but I feel like spotting this location was more than good thinking, it was great thinking.”
“You know what I like about you, Shells?”
“Everything.”
“You’re not afraid to give yourself a compliment,” Jonathan said.
“What choice do I have? I’m an unexceptional. Who else is going to compliment me?” Shelley said as she watched a waiter approach Darwin, Oli, and Hattie’s table with a basket of bread and a bottle of olive oil.
Jonathan gasped. “Did you see that?”
“Of course I did!” Shelley replied. “But just in case I missed it, why don’t you tell me anyway?”
“Hattie laughed at the same time as Darwin when Oli finished speaking—she understood a joke. How could she understand a joke that quickly? Post-contamination, she’s averaging a two- to three-minute lag time for anything more complicated than a knock-knock joke, and that’s if she can concentrate long enough to even listen to the joke!”
“Maybe Hattie’s future laughing,” Shelley suggested.
“That’s not a real thing. We made it up to explain why you were laughing when you didn’t know who Neville Chamberlain was!”
Shelley nodded. “Oh yeah, that’s right.”
Jonathan suddenly grabbed hold of Shelley’s shoulder. “What if Hattie wasn’t contaminated with LIQ-30 at all? What if she’s faking it?”
“Johno, you know I love jumping to a conclusion more than just about anyone. It’s actually listed on my résumé as a hobby. Okay, that part’s not true, but you get the idea. My point is, so she laughed; is that really enough to say she’s faking LIQ-30 contamination? She might have been laughing at a joke Oli told five minutes earlier for all we know. Since we can’t hear them, it’s hard to say anything for sure.”
Get Smart-ish Page 7
