•A lobster man that he was secretly keeping just alive enough to have a never-ending supply of lobster to feed on (Dillon again, much to Danielle’s horror and gagging)
•Seventeen twenty-three-year-old Whoppers from Burger King that he was using to grow an army of preservative-laced (and thus indestructible) super bacteria that would eventually incite the apocalypse (take a wild guess)
•Special diet lunches and/or a stockpile of vitamins (another popular theory with the general student body, given that Mr. Lepsing was an unabashed health freak)
•A stash of gold bars and other valuables that he’d recovered while treasure hunting across the US (Mr. Lepsing was a proud amateur treasure hunter, but Dillon was really the only one who believed this)
Okay, so clearly most of the theories came from Dillon. But the point was, Mr. Lepsing definitely kept something locked inside that supply closet that he didn’t want any students to see or find. He kept the key on a chain around his neck, after all. Who does that? Answer: someone hiding something very valuable—or very sinister.
2. Gus Agriopoulas: eighth-grade student. He made the list primarily for being the sort of kid who would probably be first in line to sign on for a plot of total world domination. If our middle school voted on awards at the end of each year, like Most Likely to be Famous or Most Likely to Succeed, Gus Agriopoulas would have definitely won for Most Likely to Become an Evil Villain Planning to Blow up the Sun. It wasn’t just that he was a bully; our school, like any other, had plenty of kids who were mean to other kids from time to time. It was the way Gus bullied kids that made him such a threat. He went after kids with reckless abandon—nothing was off-limits. Gus was the sort of kid who’d make fun of a kid whose parents had just died in car accident. In fact, he did that once when I was in third grade and he was in fourth. I wish I were exaggerating. One time, Gus lit a girl’s ponytail on fire at recess. And the thing was, he almost always got away with it. He was the best athlete at every sport, he got straight As, his dad was one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the world, and all of these things generally gave Gus a free pass. No one wanted to believe that Mr. Small Town Superstar Rich Kid could be such a completely evil psychopathic jerk. That, and if Gus got expelled or sent away to juvie or something, the hopes for our town ever winning the state high school football championship would have been dashed. And that stuff is pretty important to people from small towns with nothing else to worry about.
3. Ophelia Perkins: fifth-grade student. She had made the list by being cousins with Jake Tyson-Gulley, and so was also Medlock’s niece. That was pretty strong evidence for sure. But at the same time, it was the only reason she made the list. Nothing else about her seemed even remotely suspicious. In fact, everything else about her made her the least likely person, on or off the list, to be an enemy spy. She always followed all the rules, and she was always making a spectacle of herself, which aren’t exactly the best traits for a secret evil spy. She would tattle on other kids for just about anything; she once tried to tell on a kid for dropping a green bean on the floor in the cafeteria at lunch and not picking it up. She almost cried once when she accidentally sneezed in class during a test, because she was so upset she broke the silence rule. The teacher had to reassure her four or five times that it was okay. But, even considering all of that, we simply couldn’t ignore her bloodline connection to Medlock.
4. Mrs. Food: gym teacher. She made the list because of her alleged past connections and experiences. I’ll explain more about that in a bit, but first I should clarify that her name really isn’t Mrs. Food, it’s Mrs. Canterbury. Mrs. Food is just what people call her, going way back to when my dad went to school there. That’s how long Mrs. Food has been teaching. Apparently there was this old TV host called Mr. Food, and she looks a lot like him. The funny thing is, Mr. Food is most famous for his big gray beard. Mrs. Food doesn’t have a beard, but somehow the resemblance is there. It’s hard to explain. But that’s beside the point. She didn’t make the list for being a seventy-year-old woman with a passing resemblance to a famous TV chef. Mrs. Food made the list because she claimed to be a former special ops double agent. She said her assignment was so top secret that even Presidents Kennedy, Johnson, and Nixon didn’t know she existed. She supposedly served as a KGB double agent in Russia and across Eastern Europe. Mrs. Food always had all these crazy spy stories that she told while making kids do army crawls and insane military training stuff instead of normal calisthenics. For instance, she once claimed that she had been given the green light to assassinate Leonid Brezhnev, who was apparently a Russian president or something. She said she had slipped poison into his drink and then had to run back across the room and slap the glass from his hand at the last second when the hit was suddenly called off. Anyway, I was pretty sure she was just a weird, harmless old lady who loved telling stories to kids, since everyone knows that real double agents can never give up their identity, even after retirement. But just the same, we’d have been stupid to overlook her as a possible target, given her alleged past.
5. Peter Nilsson, aka Junior: seventh-grade student. He made the list for hating Mr. Gomez even more than I did, and thus likely to agree to a plan in which Gomez would be framed and extracted from the school in such an embarrassing and extreme manner. Other than that, I didn’t think he was really capable of being a spy. In fact, I didn’t think he should make the list at all; it was only at Danielle’s insistence that I added him. For one thing, Junior was not the smartest cookie in the jar, or whatever. He was mostly known for being the school’s biggest class clown, a goof-off of epic proportions. Whereas I had a reputation for carrying out elaborate, precise, well-planned pranks, Junior was known more as the kid making fart noises in class, usually by actually farting for real as loudly as he could. Or for picking his nose and wiping the boogers on the kids around him. He also invited kids to dare him to drink entire bottles of glue, which he always did even when they insisted that he shouldn’t. Other stunts of his included sticking pushpins into his ears, sucking the ink out of those multiflavored scented markers, making suicide school lunches (where you mix together everything on your lunch tray into one massive blob of food and eat it), and doing cartwheels down the school hallways in between classes. See what I mean? How could that kid possibly be an enemy spy? But Danielle insisted that we not overlook any student with a connection to Gomez, and it was true that he was in the principal’s office almost as much as I was. And so here he is on the list.
6. Tyrell Alishouse: eighth-grade student. He made the list because he was pretty much a spy already. He’d transferred here after getting expelled from his old school, and had already developed a reputation for being an amateur sleuth. According to kids around school, he was a master of disguise and sneaking around and doing covert surveillance. He’d supposedly already gotten one teacher in trouble when he caught her on camera smoking behind the school Dumpsters. He once told a kid in my homeroom that he’s only seen when wants to be seen. I mean, any kid who says that sends off immediate red flags for being a possible spy. He seemed like the most obvious name on the list, especially since he was a new kid and could have easily been planted there by Medlock directly. But something inside my gut told me I was wrong. I could tell that he had a strong moral code, even if he was a bit shady.
Danielle and I split up the list. We each took three names.
“Now, what about investigating Ms. Pullman?” I asked.
“Why don’t we wait to make a plan until she’s officially started working at school,” Danielle suggested.
I agreed. Besides, Director Isadoris had made one thing very clear before I’d left Agency HQ that afternoon: The primary objective was tracking down the unknown enemy agent. And so that’s where we’d start, beginning first thing in the morning.
As long as the morning didn’t start with me getting expelled.
CHAPTER 12
IT’S NEVER THE SWISS
I DIDN’T GET EXPELLED THE NEXT MORNING.
&nb
sp; At least, not right away—I still had no idea what the rest of the day would bring. First and second period came and went and nobody got called down to the office. The school was still abuzz from the bizarre and exciting events of the day before. But by the start of third period, things had begun feeling normal again. Middle school kind of had a way of sapping the energy and fun out of even the craziest events pretty quickly.
Third period also brought along the start of my investigation. It made it easy that the first name on my list also just happened to be my third-period social studies teacher, Mr. Lepsing.
I should probably mention that at one point during our sixth-grade year, Dillon had been entirely convinced that Mr. Lepsing was a Swiss spy.
“Swiss?” I had said at the time. “Why would Switzerland have a spy in our school? It makes no sense.”
“Exactly!” Dillon had said. “Nobody ever suspects the Swiss! Which is precisely how they’re getting away with taking over our government from the inside using brain-control fine chocolates, expensive watches, and rogue sentient bank accounts!”
I obviously didn’t believe any of that for a second. But since becoming a secret agent I found out that Dillon had been right about way more stuff than I ever would have imagined. And so I figured there was a chance that he had been right about Mr. Lepsing being a spy, even if he wasn’t a Swiss spy.
I thought I’d start my investigation by showing up to class as early as I could and trying to catch him coming into or out of his supply closet. But he was already seated behind his desk when I arrived.
Mr. Lepsing was tall and thin. Not just thin, but thin in a way that made you suspect he was really a giant praying mantis wearing a human skin for a disguise. He was mostly bald, except on the sides where long, brown stringy hair dangled down from his shiny scalp like tentacles. He wore glasses so thick that when he looked right at you, his eyes practically filled his entire face. He always wore skinny ties; sweat-stained button-up shirts; and old, thick pants with heavy textures from the 1970s.
Mr. Lepsing was generally a nice guy and a good teacher, despite being one of the weirdest people at the school. Most of the students really liked him, since his oddities at least made his class slightly more interesting than other classes. Even if the entertainment was mostly unintentional.
But his likability meant I needed to tread lightly. The rest of the class was already filing in, and if they thought I was making fun of Mr. Lepsing in some way, they’d turn on me. Being allowed to get away with somewhat obnoxious behavior was an advantage I didn’t want to lose. And the best way to lose such a thing was to annoy your classmates.
“Mr. Lepsing.” I raised my hand just after he’d handed out a reading assignment. “Can I come up and ask you a question?”
“You can’t ask me from there?”
“Not really.”
“Okay, come on up,” Mr. Lepsing said.
I went to his desk, bringing my textbook with me so the class would think my question was related to social studies. Of course it wasn’t. Or, well, I guess technically it was, but you’ll see what I mean.
“I was wondering . . . where were you this past weekend?” I plopped my book onto his desk.
“I don’t really see how that’s pertinent to the downfall of the Roman Empire, Carson,” Mr. Lepsing said, motioning at my textbook.
“Well, it’s not, it’s for another class,” I said, words just tumbling out of my mouth without any thought or planning. “I’m investigating a crime that occurred here sometime between Friday evening and Monday morning. You know anything about that?”
His expression shifted from mild curiosity to something much closer to surprise, and perhaps even suspicion. He sat upright.
“Why would you ask me such a question?” he said. “What crime are you talking about? If this is more of your infamous trickery, I’m not finding it very amusing. Besides, what I do on my own time is no one’s business but my own.”
I pressed on. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about framing, would you?”
“You are treading on some thin ice now, young man,” he said.
His eyes flickered wildly, as if he were looking for a way out. Maybe I was making him uncomfortable? Perhaps I was getting closer to the truth than I suspected. Even still, it was probably best to back off a bit. After all, even if I did get him to admit something here and now, what could I do about it in the middle of class?
“Mr. Lepsing,” I said, smiling, “you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m talking about framing a portrait. You know, like of a person? I got a print of a portrait of my favorite aunt, and I was wondering if you knew where I could get a custom frame job. Since you got all these history posters hanging all over your room.” I motioned to all the maps and historical posters on the walls.
Mr. Lepsing stared at me, trying to decide if I was joking or not. Or maybe he was wondering if I knew more than he thought I did. Or maybe he was trying to figure out if it’d be better to just kill me right then and there and be done with me, even if it meant breaking his cover.
“What did you think I meant?” I asked with a laugh. “Framing a person for a crime? That’s funny.”
“Carson, please take your seat before you end up with a detention,” Mr. Lepsing said calmly. “Something of which I’m quite sure you already have an ample supply.”
I nodded, conceding that the charade was over and returned to my seat. But the efforts had not been entirely fruitless. Not by a long shot. He’d acted suspiciously enough that I knew I had to investigate further. After that conversation, I wasn’t entirely convinced that Mr. Lepsing was nothing more than an extremely odd, yet mostly harmless, weirdo. There was only one way to tell for sure.
The question was: When and how would I actually get inside his supply closet?
CHAPTER 13
CARSON-FACED SANDWICH
ONE THING WAS FOR SURE: I WASN’T GOING TO BE ABLE TO sneak into Mr. Lepsing’s supply closet during morning classes. So I turned my attention to the next name on my list: Gus Agriopoulas, aka the Untouchable Mega-Bully. His reputation for fits of extreme violence meant I’d need to tread very carefully while investigating him.
Up to that point, I’d had nothing more than a few minor run-ins with Gus. I suspect this was because I think he saw me as a kindred spirit due to all my pranks over the years. He obviously couldn’t differentiate between harmless pranks and outright brutal violence committed against innocent kids, but just the same, I wasn’t complaining since it had mostly saved me from his cruelty.
That could change in an instant, though, if he suspected I was following him. Or spying on him. Or found out I thought he was an enemy agent, regardless of whether he actually was or wasn’t. If any of those things happened, he’d probably be eating a Carson-faced sandwich later that day for lunch, using my guts as the meat, my skin for the bread, and my brains as mayo.
I knew where Gus’s locker was. Everyone did. It’s one of the first things every kid mapped out on the first day of school every year, so they’d know which part of which hallway to avoid every day for the entire school year.
After third period, I rushed out of Mr. Lepsing’s class and directly toward Gus’s locker. I might have been the first kid in school history to make such a move. Even most of Gus’s “friends” tried to avoid him in the halls. School seemed to bring out his cruelty the most.
Gus was at his locker when I got there, but he wasn’t alone. He was trying to stuff some poor sixth grader inside it. There was no way the kid was going to fit, but Gus just kept cramming limbs into his tiny locker as the kid squirmed and groaned in pain.
Gus laughed like a seven-year-old frolicking through a sprinkler on a hot summer day as he continued to jam.
“Come on, man, we’ll be late,” said Cade, Gus’s best friend.
Strictly speaking, Cade wasn’t Gus’s best friend. But he pretended to be because being best friends with the star athlete and richest kid in school had its benefits. Avoiding the worst
of Gus’s torturous sense of humor was not the least of them. Getting playfully slugged in the arm or casually derided from time to time wasn’t nearly as bad as having the palms of your hands forcibly super glued to your cheeks. Which is something Gus had done to countless kids over the years. It was his signature move. He called it the phaf, or Permanent Home Alone Face.
“Let’s go, man.” Cade pulled at Gus, trying to hide his concern for the sixth grader who was folded up like a pretzel, half inside Gus’s locker.
“Whatever—keep your panties on,” Gus said, finally allowing the sixth grader to clamber out and run away.
He slammed his locker shut and walked with Cade toward where I was standing and gawking at them just fifteen feet away. I diverted my gaze quickly, trying to pretend that I was looking for something on the floor nearby.
“What are you staring at?” Gus asked me. “Want to give it a try yourself? See if you’ll actually fit?” He motioned back toward his locker.
“I’m good,” I said.
Gus snickered and kept walking past me. Then he stopped and pivoted on his heels, as if he suddenly remembered that he did want to at least snap my vertebrae in half, if nothing else.
He grinned. “Nice job with the goats yesterday, bro,” he said. “That was hilarious.”
“Thanks,” I said.
I finally remembered to breathe as Gus and Cade walked away, laughing.
How about that? Saved by fainting goats twice in two days. Not many kids could say that. I was starting to think that fainting goats might be my own personal guardian angels or something.
Crisis Zero Page 5
