by Luke Sharpe
Best not to start off with the whole zombie thing. It would probably sound pretty crazy.
“So, um, everyone is getting sick and I’m really worried and Manny and I went to test the lunch meat and . . . and . . . ”
And that’s when I notice that Principal Gilamon hasn’t said a word. He hasn’t looked up from his papers. He hasn’t even acknowledged that I’m here.
Oh no. . . .
“Principal Gilamon?”
It’s my worst fear.
Principal Gilamon has become a zombie too! Mayday. Mayday. This is NOT a dream!
I race from the office, run past Mr. Hairston, and dash out into the hall. The crowd of zombie students seems to have grown. I push my way past them. They don’t seem to notice.
I’ve got to find someone to help me. I’ve got to get to the bottom of this. But also, I can’t solve this all by myself. If only Manny hadn’t eaten that lunch meat!
As if to make matters worse, Jada finally answers my text. It’s been three hours. She’s never taken this long before. She says she got burgers with—you guessed it—Kevin. I feel a pit in my stomach. What makes Kevin so important?
I’m thinking about Kevin and zombies in my next scheduled class, English. Ms. Nading is the teacher. Maybe she’ll be able to help me.
I slip into her classroom and take my seat. Looking around, I see that every student in the class is green. The students sit, swaying back and forth, MOANING and GROANING in unison.
It sounds to me, for the first time, like the kids are actually trying to say something. Like they are trying to form words, not just grunts.
“Louuukkkkk maaaayyyt!” they seem to say at the same time.
What does that mean? What are they trying to say?
As I ponder this, Ms. Nading walks into the room.
And she’s green too! She walks, stiff legged to a laptop which is connected to a projector. She clicks on a movie.
A movie? In English class? On the second day of school? I mean, I guess a zombie teacher can’t really do much else, but . . . this is English class, and it’s a movie about—you guessed it—zombies!
I sit through the movie, listening to my classmates groan. I wish I could text Jada about all of this, but she’s probably off eating burgers with Kevin.
“Luuncckkkkk maeaaayyt!” my classmates yelp.
When the bell rings, I bolt from the classroom.
My next class is science. Once again, every kid in the class is a zombie. Once again, they groan that same, weird language in unison.
And again, the teacher, Ms. Soo, is also a zombie. And she also puts on a movie.
Don’t get me wrong, I generally like watching movies in class. I’m sure you know the feeling—getting into class on a day when you feel like it’s going to be hard, but then, surprise! There’s a screen up. It usually means a pretty easy class. But now, today, with what’s going on, I would really love someone to talk to, someone to help me figure out what to do!
The movie ends, the bell rings, and I go out into the hall . . . where it looks like every kid in the school has gathered.
Something is different about these kids, though. As soon as I step into the hall, they all turn and look right at me. Before, they acted like they didn’t even see me. Now they all march toward me, arms extended!
It looks like they’re coming after me. But what do they want?!
“LUUUUNCH MEEEEEAT!” the whole mob says at once.
Did they just say “lunch meat”?
“Luuuunch meeeeeat!” the mob says again.
They come closer, stiff legged and arms outstretched.
“Luuuunch meeeeeat!”
Is this a dream? Maybe it’s a dream. I grab hold of my arm and pinch it really hard just in case, but all it does is make me say “ow.”
Nope. Definitely not a dream.
I have to get out of the school. I have to find help somewhere else.
But how?!
The mob blocks the entire hallway leading to the front door of the school. There’s no way I can slip past them. I’m TRAPPED!
Help On the Way
WITH THE WAY TO THE front door blocked by lunch meat–craving zombie students, I turn and run down the hall in the opposite direction through a back door. It’s a good choice. I end up right in the parking lot and spot my bike—but a zombie-kid is on it. “Go away!” I screech, and grab my bike quickly away from him. I’ve got to get home and save the day!
Before I even realize it, I’m pedaling as hard as I ever have, going faster than I’ve ever gone on a bike. My heart is racing. It seems that my speeding mind has made my feet speed up too.
Calm down, Billy. Panicking will not help. Think. Think!
I force my feet to slow down. Somehow, that helps my mind clear a bit as well. I know what I have to do. I have to find someone else who has not been turned into a lunch meat–craving zombie to help me. I can’t do this alone. But who can help me? Everyone at my school seems to be affected.
Well, there are people who DON’T go to your school, I think, and then it dawns on me. JADA PARIKH AND NAT DEFINITE! Their school year hasn’t started yet. And they are both really smart!
As I pull into my driveway, I jump off my bike and take out my phone. I set up a group text to Jada and Nat. Surely, Jada can’t ignore this one . . . no matter HOW cool Kevin is. . . .
Major emergency! No joke. Meet me at HQ in an hour? Manny can explain better than me.
You know what they say. “One zombie is worth a thousand words.”
Okay, maybe they don’t really say that.
I say an hour because Manny should be home by then. Then I feed Philo and grab myself a snack—I’m not hungry, but I’ve got to make sure I’m still eating.
As I pedal my way toward the World Headquarters of Sure Things, Inc. (also known as HQ), I wonder how Philo is going to react to ZOMBIE MANNY. The poor dog was confused enough when Manny and I traded work stations this summer, what’s he going to do when he sees zombie Manny?
I pull up to HQ. Jada and Nat are waiting outside.
“Are you okay?” Jada asks. Is it bad how happy I am to see her?
I guess . . . well, I guess I look a little green, but for a totally different reason! I’m nervous! At least having Jada around makes me feel more comfortable now.
“I’m fine,” I say. “But I’m just about the only one at Fillmore Middle School who is.”
“You said you had a MAJOR EMERGENCY,” says Nat. “What’s going on, Billy?”
“I gotta show you,” I reply. “Come on, let’s go in, but be prepared for a bit of a shock.”
Nat, Jada, and I enter the World Headquarters. Manny is sitting at his desk. His back is to us. From behind, he looks perfectly normal.
“Hi, Manny,” says Nat. “Nice to see you.” She blushes.
Nat used to have a big crush on Manny. Okay, I get the feeling she still does.
“Urrgg . . . ,” Manny groans.
“Manny?” Nat says, walking around to the front of his desk.
Jada and I join her. That’s when Jada and Nat see that Manny has turned green! He stares at his computer screen, pointing vaguely every few seconds.
Philo walks slowly over to Manny and sniffs him. He whines, then quickly heads back to his doggy bed, where he buries his head under his paws.
“Something is very wrong!” Nat says. “We have to do something. Billy, what is this all about? And more importantly, what can we do about it?”
I quickly fill them in on what’s been going on at Fillmore Middle School.
“This reminds me of an epidemic straight out of Sandbox XXL,” Jada says. “Level eighty-four, extended discontinued Japanese edition. Kevin and I had to help each other on this one. We need to invent a cure. And who better than you two to do that?” She looks at Nat and me.
“GOOD THINKING,” says Nat. “Billy, do you have a sample of the mysterious lunch meat for us to analyze?”
Now I’m really glad that I thought to take
that piece of lunch meat from the cafeteria.
“I have one right here,” I say, opening up my backpack and pulling out the plastic sandwich bag. I hand it to Nat, who sits at my workbench.
“Be careful,” I say.
“I’m a professional,” she replies.
Nat slips on protective yellow goggles, gloves, and stretches a mask across her mouth. She looks a LITTLE SILLY! She opens the bag.
As soon as Nat takes the sample meat out of the bag, Manny sniffs the air a couple of times, turns his head, and starts to stand up.
“Luuuunch meeeeeat!” he growls.
“Nat, you’ve got to work fast!” I cry. “Or Manny will end up eating our only sample, and we can’t leave the office—it’s the only safe place for these tests!”
“Luuuunch meeeeeat!” he groans again, stumbling toward Nat.
Nat works furiously, mixing ingredients and taking tests. She is about to soak the lunch meat in her bubbling chemical concoction when Manny reaches for the bench.
“Faster, Nat, faster!” I shout.
“I’m a professional, not a magician!” Nat cries.
Manny reaches out to grab the sample from Nat’s hand. She quickly slips the meat back into the bag and reseals it.
Manny stops, sniffs a few times and looks around. With the scent of the lunch meat no longer in the room, Manny shuffles back to his desk.
Nat, Jada, and I huddle around my workbench. For a brief second, Jada’s hand touches mine. A shiver goes up my spine. Okay, I kind of like Jada. More than “kind of.”
“I didn’t have long to analyze that sample, but I do have a theory,” Nat says.
“I don’t think this is lunch meat at all,” she continues. “I think that this—this—this stuff, is a NEW INVENTION specifically designed to turn people into zombies!”
A new invention?!
We’re dealing with another inventor here?
“But why?” I yelp. “It doesn’t make any sense. Petula’s aunt is the one who served this in the cafeteria. Is she behind this? Why would she want to turn everyone into zombies?”
“That’s the MILLION DOLLAR QUESTION, isn’t it?” says Jada.
“I’ll need to do a deeper analysis of this sample,” says Nat. “That might give us some clues about why Petula’s aunt would do this. But, obviously, I can’t do it here. Not with . . . not with Manny this way.”
Nat really likes Manny, and I can tell that seeing him this way is very upsetting to her.
“Why don’t I try working on this in my own lab?” she suggests.
“Good idea,” I say.
“I’ll get to work on it right away,” says Nat. “If I come up with anything, I’ll text you tonight.”
“Thanks, guys,” I say, and the four of us (Philo included) head for the door.
I might be imagining it, but it kind of looks like Jada is sad to see me go.
Just as I’m about to leave, I turn around and look at zombie Manny. “I miss you, partner,” I tell him. “We’re going to fix this. I promise.”
But as I bike home with Philo by my side, I’m not so sure.
Can we fix this? Or is this a food fight Sure Things, Inc. can’t win?
There’s something going on here. Something deeper than meets the eye. But how can I dig deeper to uncover unknown information? I’m an inventor, not a spy!
Wait a minute . . . a SPY!
That’s it! Last year, I found out my mom is a spy. Yup, a real spy, with real missions and cool gadgets. I may not be a spy, but Mom certainly is! Maybe Mom can help me solve this puzzle once and for all!
On the Case
I BURST INTO THE HOUSE. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it’s Mom. Mom is a real spy who works for the government. She can probably solve a small problem like her son’s entire middle school turning into lunch meat–craving zombies in a FLASH.
But on my way up the stairs to Mom’s office, I’m ambushed by Emily. She takes her pencil out from behind her ear and holds up a notepad.
“Billy Sure!” Emily shouts, as if she is surprised to see me here in my own house. “Billy Sure, can you give me the scoop? Any interesting stories? Breaking news? Anything going on I should know about?”
She’s ready to pounce on my every word.
I laugh. It’s not because I’m trying to make fun of Emily, or because I think she won’t make a great reporter—let’s be real, my sister’s been annoying me for answers since day one. It’s because at this exact moment she looks so much like Kathy Jenkins, it’s uncanny!
“So, what’s going on?”
Emily is persistent, I’ll give her that.
Hmm . . . a crazy thought HITS me. Emily is pretty good at digging deep, researching, and finding hidden information. Maybe she can help me uncover the truth of this story. In fact, maybe I won’t even need to bother Mom with this at all! Emily is technically Sure Things, Inc.’s Very Official Hollywood Coordinator anyway, so we can keep this as a Sure Things, Inc. and Definite Devices operative team.
“Okay, Em, I have a story for you,” I say. “And it’s not just a gossipy, plain ol’ ‘gotcha!’ type story. It’s a real mystery, and a threat to the very existence of Fillmore Middle School!”
Emily rolls her eyes at me.
“Are you making fun of me?” she asks. “Do you think I’m not smart enough to be taken seriously as a reporter?”
“No. This is real. And I need your help,” I say.
“Okay then,” Emily sighs. I can tell she doesn’t really believe me. “SPILL.”
“What if I told you that there is a new director of Cafeteria Services at Fillmore Middle School?”
Emily raises an eyebrow.
“Riveting,” she says coldly. “I can see the headline now. Breaking news—‘New Director, Same Bad Food.’ I need a little something more to work with, Billy. Yawn.”
“Well,” I say, “what if I told you that the new director is serving some REALLY WEIRD lunch meat?”
“Double yawn.”
“Okay,” I smile now. I may be worried, but I’ll never miss an opportunity to tease my older sister. “What if I told you that the weird lunch meat is turning all the kids at Fillmore Middle School into zombies?”
Emily stops writing.
She glares at me.
“ ‘INVENTOR BILLY SURE REALLY IS BANANAS, AND REPORTER EMILY SURE HAS THE SCOOP,’ ” she pretends to read the headline aloud.
“No, really. They are zombies, Em. Students, teachers, even Principal Gilamon have turned into zombies!”
Emily gets quiet for a moment. She taps her pencil on her notepad.
“Why aren’t you working with Manny on this?” she asks suspiciously.
“Because Manny is a zombie too!” I admit.
Her eyes open wide. For the first time I think she believes me. She knows I wouldn’t lie about Manny.
“Okay, okay, this is good, really,” she says, writing as fast as she can. “I mean, it’s bad, I get that, but . . . this is an excellent story, Billy! It might even get me on the high school paper! Or published on Right Next Door! Okay, let’s get to work.”
Emily and I sit at the kitchen table and start to think through all the possible explanations for the zombie epidemic. But until we have more information, we’re kind of stuck.
“How about this?” Emily says. “Tomorrow, during my investigative journalism time, I’ll stop by your school and we’ll see if we can figure this out. We’ll have to start with the first step of journalism—going directly to the source, the director of Cafeteria Services. And then maybe we can solve this ZOMBIE EPIDEMIC!”
For someone about to dive head first into a zombie epidemic, Emily is a little too cheery.
“Did I just hear someone say something about investigating zombies?” says Mom, walking into the living room. “Are you guys in another movie?”
Hmm . . . well, I guess I’ve got to tell Mom now.
“No,” I say. Then I quickly fill her in on the details of the VERY
BIZARRE first few days of school.
“Well, this sounds like spy work to me,” Mom says. “If I were identifying a suspect, I’d say the director of Cafeteria Services—Petula’s aunt—is SUSPECT A. Everything changed after she took charge of the cafeteria food. We’ll need to research her background, see if she has any connection to Fillmore, and use that information to see if we can figure out a motive. Once we know a motive, we’ll know more. Or we can disprove that she’s involved at all, and start a different approach.”
That’s my mom, the superspy!
“Things have been quiet on the whole ‘saving the world’ front at work, so I’m happy to help figure out what is really going on here.”
“That’s awesome, Mom!” I say.
Emily scribbles on her notepad, “WHEN NOTED SPY CAROL SURE JOINED THE INVESTIGATION, THINGS GOT REALLY INTERESTING.”
“Are you writing the story before it’s even over?” I ask.
“Just being prepared,” Emily says, going back to her pad.
“Um, part of being a successful spy, Em, is remaining anonymous,” Mom points out. “So, I’m happy to help, but I think it would be best if you leave my name out of any article. Also, leave out Agent Paul’s name too.”
“Agent Paul, your spy partner?” I ask.
A few months ago I helped my mom on a mission to save Agent Paul. Oh, by the way, Agent Paul just happens to be an octopus.
“Yes, I have a feeling he’ll come in HANDY on this case,” Mom explains with a laugh.
Mom then brings out her briefcase and starts searching through it. She pulls out a tiny silver ring and a clear piece of plastic about the size of a credit card.
“What are those things?” I ask.
“Oh, just a few things the kids at Spy Academy came up with,” Mom explains.
She picks up the small silver ring that looks like it would barely fit onto my pinky finger.
“If I squeeze this just right it becomes a pair of handcuffs,” Mom says. “Xavier invented it.”
Xavier was one of the kids I met when I spent some time at Spy Academy. He’s a really smart inventor, though he kinda scared me at first.
