by Luke Sharpe
Mom squeezes the ring and it pops open into a pair of pretty tough-looking handcuffs. Neat! Next she picks up the clear piece of plastic.
“Drew actually invented this one.”
(Drew is another inventor at Spy Academy, though we didn’t exactly get along.)
She presses the plastic between her palms and it expands, growing into a clear shield that surrounds her whole body.
“This shield is bullet proof, laser proof, and—”
“ZOMBIE PROOF?” Emily asks.
“I guess we’ll find out,” Mom says, smiling.
Drew is a good inventor, too, but he is also the nephew of Alistair Swiped, a rival inventor who used to steal ideas from Sure Things, Inc.
“Drew, huh?” I ask.
“Yes. Ever since Manny exposed his plan to put Sure Things, Inc. out of business, Drew has been a model student, a good spy, and a very clever inventor,” Mom explains. Then she smiles and stops rummaging through her things. “Oh, here’s what I’m looking for.”
Mom pulls out a unique-looking contraption. It looks kind of like a phone with a small fishbowl full of water sitting on the top.
“Drew also came up with this one,” Mom says. “It’s my PAUL-O-PHONE! It translates English into Octopus, and the other way around, so I can talk to Paul. Man, before this, I had no idea Agent Paul was so funny.” Mom laughs, obviously remembering something. “I’ll give him a call.”
She presses three buttons on the Paul-O-Phone. The thing lights up and starts flashing, and the water in the tiny fishbowl starts bubbling.
“B-b-b-b-hello?” says a bubbly voice through the phone’s speaker.
It sounds like Agent Paul is talking underwater, but I can actually understand what he’s saying!
“Agent Paul, Agent Sure here. We’ve got a problem and I think you can help,” Mom says. She quickly outlines our serious situation.
“Well, it’s nice to meat you, Emily.” Agent Paul laughs, when he learns that Emily is in the room. “This definitely sounds like I’m the right octopus for the job. I’m on my way!”
Team Sure on the Job
AGENT PAUL ARRIVES AT OUR house first thing the next morning, and the four of us head to Fillmore Middle School. I hope today is going to be better. I wake up to a “good morning” text from Jada!
Normally, snooping around the building during a regular school day would be nearly impossible—even for professional spies like Mom and Agent Paul. There’s just not much you can get past middle school kids. But today no one notices us.
We slip into the school and scoot past zombie students. They wander aimlessly through the halls. Since we aren’t carrying any lunch meat, they don’t seem to notice us at all.
“Aren’t there any real classes going on?” Mom asks. She’s obviously concerned.
At that moment Mr. Jennings, Ms. Nading, Ms. Soo, and Ms. Ekuma all come walking down the hall. Their skin is green, and they shuffle, stiff legged toward us, muttering, “LUUUUNCH MEEEEEAT!”
“Not without teachers,” I say, pointing. “And those are my teachers!”
Mom’s face turns serious. I’m not sure that she had a true idea of how bad this situation really is.
We make our way down the hall, with Agent Paul’s tank rolling along beside us.
“We’ve got to get our hands—and tentacles—on the school records,” Mom says seriously. She kind of sounds like we’re in an action film.
“Those would be in Principal Gilamon’s office,” I say. “This way!”
The closer we get to Principal Gilamon’s office, the more nervous I get. I mean, why would you ever want to sneak into the principal’s office? We pause outside his door, then slip in.
Mr. Hairston sits at his desk, head down, scribbling on one of his official appointment forms. His skin somehow looks even GREENER than it was yesterday! He definitely doesn’t notice three people and an octopus sneaking past his desk.
Ah well. I’ll have to worry about Mr. Hairston later. I open the door to Principal Gilamon’s office. Principal Gilamon sits at his desk, mindlessly stamping the same form from yesterday over and over. He, too, doesn’t notice the team sneaking past his desk. I wonder if he’s been here all night, just stamping.
“This is even worse than I imagined,” says Mom. I see her do a double take at Principal Gilamon’s hair. “We’ve got to move fast!”
“The school records room is right there,” I say, pointing to a door at the back of the principal’s office. Back when I was Mr. Gilamon’s GOLDEN BOY for being a famous kid inventor, he gave me a tour of his office.
“Well, what are we waiting for, then? Let’s go search the school files!” says Emily.
“Wait,” Mom says. “You can’t just waltz into the records room and search the files, Em. I mean, you can’t, as a student, but I can, as an official spy. So can Agent Paul.”
“Um, Mom, have you noticed that we are in the MIDDLE OF A CRISIS here?” Emily asks.
“Rules are rules, Em,” says Mom. “However, it would be okay for you and Billy to help us search through the files, if you get permission from Principal Gilamon. And I think that for time’s sake it would be best if all four of us could search.”
“I have an idea,” says Emily. She switches on the voice recorder app on her phone. “Principal Gilamon, this is Emily Sure. I’m with my brother Billy and two OFFICIAL GOVERNMENT SPIES.”
I can tell that Emily likes saying “official government spies”!
“We would all like your permission to read the files on your staff at Fillmore Middle School.”
Principal Gilamon grunts. We’re not sure if he’s reacting to what Emily just said or if he’s just randomly grunting.
Emily continues, “We believe something mysterious is going on at the school, and we want to find out the truth. Is that all right with you?”
Principal Gilamon grunts again.
“Will you give us official authorization to search the school’s files?”
Another grunt.
I can see that Emily is frustrated. She turns to me.
“Billy, if he won’t give us permission to go through the Fillmore files, I don’t know what to do! We need to help Mom find out more about this LOONY LUNCH LADY. But we can’t find out about her without permission to look!”
I see Emily’s dilemma—no, our dilemma!
What are we going to do?
Past Meets Present
EMILY’S RIGHT. WITHOUT PERMISSION WE’RE stuck. If only we could get Principal Gilamon to agree to let us look at those files.
Then it hits me. “I have an idea.”
I lean over Principal Gilamon’s desk. The closer I get to him the worse he smells—like rotten lunch meat! Yuck! Holding my nose, I lean in close to his ear.
“Principal Gilamon,” I say. “May my sister Emily and I please have permission to read the files for Fillmore Middle School? If the answer is yes, just grunt.”
I wait for a second. Nothing happens.
Then zombie Gilamon looks me right in the eye and grunts.
Emily squeals with delight.
“Brilliant, Billy! This is perfect! And I recorded it so we have the proof!”
I turn to Mom. “Is that okay?” I ask. “Does that count as official permission?”
Mom hesitates, but nods. “Excellent spy skills, Billy!” she says. “Come on!” (Though I should mention, unless the principal at your school has turned into a zombie, do not by any means go through your school’s files.)
We all go into the records room. Old metal file cabinets line every wall. There must be twenty of them! The room is dark. It has no windows, and the overhead fluorescents make everything look yellow.
Mom opens her briefcase and pulls out what looks like a large coin, maybe the size of a half-dollar. She flips the coin over and it expands into a flashlight, shining a bright beam.
“One of Xavier’s inventions?” I ask.
Mom nods.
She sweeps the light around the room
. It reveals file drawers labeled TEACHERS, EXAMS, CLIPPINGS, and on and on. Many of the drawers have no labels at all.
The four of us dig in, opening drawers and grabbing files at random. Mom, Emily, and I start flipping through them, one by one. Agent Paul does the same thing, and I immediately see why he is an important part of this spy mission.
While the three of us each use our two hands, Agent Paul uses all eight of his arms and suction cups to flip through eight files at once, being careful not to get any of the papers wet.
“I think I found something!” Mom exclaims a few minutes later, aiming her flashlight at a far corner of the room.
The small pool of light reveals a drawer labeled: CAFETERIA PERSONNEL.
Mom pulls open the drawer. It squeaks and whines as it slides along its rusty track. The drawer is packed with files on decades of former Fillmore Middle School employees. As Mom grabs a handful of files, dust falls off the sides.
No one has looked at these for a long time!
“Okay, we’ve narrowed our search,” Mom says. “Everyone grab a handful—or a tentacleful—and start looking.”
We all take a few files and start flipping through the papers. It’s like HAUNTED LUNCH MENUS OF THE PAST in here—we find recipes for tuna supreme, hot dog casserole, pork and bean surprise. And I thought Dad makes weird food!
After another few minutes Agent Paul speaks through the Paul-O-Phone.
“Take a look at this,” he says.
Floating to the top of his tank, Agent Paul reaches a tentacle out and hands me a file. I look it over and see that it is labeled COOKS, CASHIERS, DIRECTORS OF CAFETERIA SERVICES. There’s a stamp on it—from this year!
I pull out the file on the current director of Cafeteria Services.
“Her name is Johanna Brown,” I say. Same last name as Petula—well, I suppose I could have guessed that. “Hmm . . . she was a student here at Fillmore about twenty years ago. But I don’t see anything strange about her on this info sheet.”
Emily flips my sheet over. Nope. Nothing.
“Well, if she was a student at Fillmore Middle, she must have a permanent record,” Emily says. “Here—let’s search the student archive. Maybe we can find something there.”
Emily and Mom dart to the other side of the room. They’re quick. Soon enough, they pull out a big messy file on Johanna Brown. I guess my teachers weren’t kidding—you really do have a permanent record!
Emily takes out a newspaper clipping.
“Bingo!” she cries. “Look at this. It’s a clipping from the print edition of Right Next Door from twenty years ago.”
Everyone huddles round Emily. Agent Paul peers through the glass of his tank.
ALL-STAR ATHLETE EXPELLED FROM SCHOOL
by Kathleen Silvestri
Fillmore Middle School’s beloved all-star track athlete, Johanna Brown, was expelled today. As it turns out, this track diva is more than just a superstar athlete—she’s a bit of a scientist in disguise, too!
Brown was conducting an unauthorized experiment in her chemistry class at Fillmore Middle School when her formula went wrong. She set out to create a new sports drink for runners to use after a race, but when she tested it on the track team, it burned off the hair of many kids in class—plus the principal’s hair—and almost set the whole school on fire!
What will be next for this former all-star? Who knows? Only time will tell, though if you ask this reporter, I don’t think that’s the last we’ll hear of Johanna Brown.
“Oh, wow,” says Emily. “Kathleen Silvestri must be Kathy Jenkins before she got married. On my class schedule it shows that her middle initial is S.”
“Kathy has been writing for Right Next Door for a very long time,” says Mom. I think she’s a little impressed—Mom changes missions so often, the idea must sound really foreign to her.
“Getting expelled sounds awful,” I say, suddenly feeling sorry for Johanna. “I mean, she was just an inventor trying to make something to help people. Kind of like what I do. I get it that her invention went really, really wrong, but I’ve been there before too. Expelling someone is pretty harsh. I wonder if there’s anything we can do to help her?”
“That’s sweet, honey,” Mom says. “I’m all for helping Johanna, but right now, she may be taking out her revenge by hurting a lot of innocent people. Now that we know the history, Suspect A has become even more of a suspect. We need to go right to the source of our current problem and figure things out.”
“TO THE KITCHEN!” Agent Paul screeches.
Mom, Emily, and I all nod. “Let’s go,” we say together.
We move quietly past Principal Gilamon, who continues to stamp papers and groan softly. As we leave, I see Mr. Hairston is still scribbling on some forms. He doesn’t look up.
As the four of us hurry through the halls, we squeeze past zombie students. No one is surprised at all to see a high schooler, a parent, and an octopus here.
In the cafeteria the main lunchroom is empty. Huh, I guess that makes sense—it’s still an hour away from lunch period, after all. Hurrying through the big room, we push open the swinging doors and head right into the cafeteria’s kitchen.
Once there, I stop in my tracks. Everyone on the lunch staff is now GREEN!
The cafeteria staff is all zombified. They work together slowly, moving stiffly, groaning and grunting as they put together the day’s lunch.
And just like in Principal Gilamon’s office, no one seems to notice that two teenagers, a parent, and an octopus have just waltzed right into their kitchen. Looking over the staff, I spot a woman who doesn’t look like the others.
Her skin is green, but it’s not the same green as everyone else. It looks like she put green makeup on her skin, to disguise herself, maybe. She is busy slicing the nasty lunch meat, but I notice that she is wearing protective gloves.
This must be Johanna!
“I think we found her,” I whisper to Mom, pointing. I take a deep breath. I guess it’s time to get down to business. I decide to walk right up to her.
“Johanna? Johanna Brown?” I ask, as kindly as possible. Despite all the trouble she’s caused, I do feel sorry for her. “My name is Billy Sure. I’m an inventor too, and I’d like to talk to you.”
The woman looks confused. She also looks nervous. It’s obvious that she is not a zombie, though—aside from her green makeup, she clearly heard and understood what I just said.
She looks around anxiously, like she doesn’t want to get caught doing something wrong.
“I’m not Johanna,” she whispers quietly, looking back over her shoulder, then past me. “But if you’re looking for Johanna, I suggest you don’t. I suggest you leave RIGHT NOW. You don’t want to mess with Johanna. She’s very scary. I’m just pretending to be one of her zombie minions so she doesn’t know that I haven’t really turned.”
“Is there something scary about her besides turning everyone into zombies?” Emily asks.
The woman looks left, then right, her lips trembling.
“There are rumors about Johanna,” she says softly. “Terrible rumors. You should get out while you still can.”
“We know about Johanna,” I explain. “That’s why we want to find her. I think we can—”
The woman’s eyes open wide in terror, just as I feel a blast of COLD BREATH on my neck!
Emily shrieks. Mom takes a step back, assuming a combat-ready pose. Agent Paul spins around in his tank, thrashing, churning up the water.
I turn around and find myself face to face with a woman wearing a name tag that reads DIRECTOR OF CAFETERIA SERVICES.
It’s Johanna! She’s found us. Are we doomed?!
The Truth at Last
THE NERVOUS GREEN-SKINNED WOMAN WE’D been speaking with looks at me with sad, frightened eyes. Then she turns and hurries from the kitchen.
Johanna, a tall woman with dark graying hair and wrinkled (not green) skin looks us over.
“HMPH,” she grumbles. “I thought everyone a
t Fillmore would be a zombie by now. But I guess I was wrong.”
“So you admit that you’re the one trying to turn everyone into zombies!” I shout.
I honestly can’t believe that she just came right out and said it. I don’t feel sorry for Johanna at all anymore!
I turn to Emily, who has her phone in her hand.
“Em, are you getting all this?” I ask.
Emily nods. We’ve got a recorded confession and everything! This is turning out to be easier that I thought!
Johanna frowns.
“I’m only trying to prove to Fillmore Middle School what no one else allowed me to prove—that I’m the best inventor this school has ever seen, and the fastest runner!” Johanna screeches, scowling at all of us.
But she’s not finished yet.
“When I went to school here, I tried to invent a new sports drink to help athletes recover their energy after a tough race or a big game,” she says. “But it . . . it had some issues.”
“Yeah, we read all about it,” I say. “You were expelled. We know.”
“I was just trying to help, and to win for the school,” Johanna continues. “Did I deserve to be punished for that?”
“Maybe not,” I say. “But what you’re doing now is not right. These kids—my friends, my teachers, my business partner, and your niece!—they didn’t do anything to you. They don’t deserve this.”
Johanna is unconvinced.
“The school should have encouraged me, believed in me,” Johanna continues. “But they didn’t. They kicked me out right before the track championships. I had a chance. I could have won. But now it’s time for my revenge—now I’ve got to make sure that everyone here moves slowly. I’ll be the fastest, once again!” She laughs.
I can see that there is no way Johanna is going to listen to reason.
It’s funny: The crazier Johanna seems, the more I feel like I understand her. Maybe because she’s a fellow inventor? I mean, I had a terrible time trying to make some of my inventions work the way I wanted. The Cat-Dog Translator was a disaster and almost got me kicked out of Fillmore. Nobody gets it right all the time—but that’s also one of the fun parts of inventing.
