“Come on, Mom. Be careful with that! It’s not what you think!”
“Oh, so it’s not pee, then?”
“Well, er, no, I mean, yes, but…”
I grabbed again for the jar.
Our hands collided.
Catastro-pee22
Transcript of phone message left by Mrs. Helen Troy on Preston Middle School’s voice mail. UB40U2 De-encrypted. 11/18 08:32:25.
Hi. This is Helen Troy calling. Darren Dirkowitz’s mom. He’s in Miss Templeton’s class, Room 5. He won’t be coming in to school today. He got something in his eye last night and today he has pinkeye, so I’m going to keep him home until it’s cleared up.
Thanks.
Travis could not stop laughing.
“Are you done yet?” I said, squeezing my pillow into a small, compact knot. Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release.
“Don’t think so.” His eyes streamed, and he clutched at his belly and rocked back and forth. “I think I just might pee myself!”
“Get the heck off my bed first, then.” I shoved him off, hard, with my foot. He fell to the floor, still laughing, still clutching his sides.
“And now you have peenk eye24” he howled, rolling around like a pea in a salad spinner.
“Call me when you are done being a cretin.” The sound of the door slamming behind me made the walls shake.
I took a long, slow walk around the block. I needed it, to let my anger dissipate. Okay, so it was pretty stupid, I admit it, to get pee in your own eye. Day-old pee, no less. But Travis didn’t have to be so schmucky about it, did he? A little ribbing, sure—I could take that. But being laughed at was not exactly my idea of a fun way to spend an afternoon. Besides, my eye hurt like a bugger. I wanted a little sympathy, not humiliation.
The walk helped though—I could feel my heart rate gradually slow and my rage fade. This was Travis we were talking about, after all. My best buddy. It wasn’t the first time he’d pushed my buttons. But we always worked it out.
He’d realize he’d gone too far this time. He’d let it drop and pretend like it never happened.
I could be cool with that. We’d go on like before. Friends again. The whole pee thing just so much—ha-ha—water under the bridge.
When I got back home, Travis was sitting just where I’d left him, on the floor.
I plunked myself down across from him. “You finished your laugh fest yet?”
Travis didn’t look at me. He just sat there, staring at his feet, like a big lump. Regret was written all over him.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing he felt bad made it easier for me to forgive and forget. I could be gracious and move on.
“I’ll take that as an apology,” I said.
“I think it’s you who owes me the apology, dude.”
What????
Anger bloomed in me all over again. I felt my fists tighten into hard knots.
“For what? For making you laugh so hard you got a bellyache?”
“For this.” Travis reached under the bed. His hand came back up holding a can of spray paint. Red.
“I found this behind your computer, Darren. I can’t believe you would do that to me. Un-freaking-believable.”
The floor seemed to drop away beneath me as I stared at the long slim canister. How could I have been so stupid as to keep that thing?
“Wait! Let me explain!”
Travis jumped to his feet and loomed over me. “Explain what? That you spray-painted Surfer Dude on that bathroom door? That you set me up? For a month of detention? That you lied to me? Stabbed me in the back? Screwed me over royally?”
“Waldo made me do it! He wanted a spy in detention, and I couldn’t be the one. It would never have worked!”
“Waldo? Waldo??? No, Darren. You did this.” His finger jabbed me in the chest. “To me. So screw you. This ‘friendship’—isn’t that a joke—is over.”
He tossed the can of paint at me. Instinctively, my hands went up and I caught it. Red-handed, so to speak. I sat there, wordless, holding the incriminating can like it was a nuclear device set to go boom.
My pinkeyed eye began to sting like mad. The not-pinkeyed eye too.
Travis brushed past me, then reconsidered and stopped. He bent over so his mouth was right at my ear.
“And another thing,” he said, his breath hot and harsh. “This means war. When I’m through with you, you’ll wish Waldo was still your worst enemy.”
Creep…creep…creep.
Silent as a mouse, but much more deadly. For I am a ninja, trained in the art of silent approach. In remaining unseen in plain sight.
Unseen, unnoticed, unremarked, overlooked.
Discounted, dismissed.
Discarded.
Dissed.
My dismal reputation does not bother me. In fact, I revel in my very dullness. For dullness is, in reality, the keenest weapon in my ninjan arsenal. After all, attracting attention in Preston Middle, this Arena of Antipathy, remains the surest route to defeat. One for which the only remedy, for a true ninja, is hara-kiri. Suicide.
But today was not a good day to die. In fact, it was a perfect day to perform my mission. I had no “ally” alongside me to betray me. I was abandoned, forgotten—on my own.
Excellent.
So I donned my ninja cloak of invisibility. And crept closer, ever closer, to my target. Unseen. Unnoticed. Overlooked. Just the way I like it.
There—my prey. Naturally, she was completely unaware that her doom loomed. Clueless. But she was not innocent. No, no, no—she was certainly not innocent.
Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot, I crept. Closer, ever closer.
I ignored all distractions (a shout of “heads up!”—an errant ball bouncing across my path). Nothing could break my focus.
And then—
I pounced.
“Boo.”
Startled, she made a little gasp. An Archie Digest plummeted into the dirt at her feet. I bent over. Picked it up. I handed it to her, then wrapped my fingers nonchalantly around the swing’s chain.
“Oh. Hi, Darren,” she said absently. She f lipped through the book, trying to regain her page. She obviously didn’t think of me as a threat.
Was she ever mistaken. Badly mistaken.
But that was how Dirk Daring liked it—his prey lulled into a sense of security, unguarded. Unaware of his true ninja purpose. Until it was too late.
“Can we talk for a sec?” I said, smiling politely. Meekly, even. I was Good Ol’ Darren.
Heh.
Heh.
“Sure…”
I went for her throat.
“You’re blackmailing Waldo, aren’t you?”
A tiny squeak emerged from her lips. Her eyes darted frantically—left, right, left, right.
“What are you talking about?” Her voice came out high, stifled.
So I had been right. It had been her laugh I heard through Waldo’s phone!
When I spoke again, my own voice was low, sure. Threatening. No more Mr. Nice Guy. No more meek little mouseman. Heh heh heh.
“I know you are blackmailing him. I want to know about what. And why.”
She squeaked again and jumped off the swing. Then she quick-stepped away from me.
“You’re crazy, Darren.” She tossed her hair.
I grabbed her shoulder before she could escape. I squeezed.
“Tell me. Now!”
“Ow! You’re hurting me!” She tried to shake off my grip, but it was too strong for her. For I was Dirk Daring, Secret Agent, Aikido Specialist, Ninja.
“Tell me now. Or I’ll tell Travis that you still wet your bed!”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Would too.”
“It’s not true!”
“So what?”
Lucinda’s chin jutted forward as she considered her options. There really weren’t any. Her shoulders dropped.
A hint of satisfaction, of pride even, crept into her voice. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“Waldo’s secret. What is it?”
“He’s been cheating on his math tests.”
My mind reeled. It was so unexpected. So unbelievable. I had to probe deeper. Get the real goods.
So I laughed at her. Hoping to wound her pride enough to pry the truth loose.
Lucinda shook her head briskly. “It’s true. He’s been at it all fall. Buying last year’s tests.”
“Oh yeah? From who, then?”
“No clue. But I caught him going over them. In a booth at Bo Diddley. I just happened to be there and… well, let’s just say you’re not the only one with good spy skills, D.”
She got a hard, bright look in her eyes. She was telling the truth, I was certain. She was far too smug to be lying. Dirk Daring, Secret Agent/Ninja, could sniff out a liar from fifty paces.
I grabbed the swing’s chain again, this time to steady myself. Because Lucinda’s story was shocking, if it was true. Shocking—and cataclysmic.
But no—I could not let it rock me. I had to be strong. I had to steel myself to think and to absorb the implications of what I’d just heard.
If Waldo were caught cheating on exams, he could be expelled from school. Certainly he’d be stripped of his school presidency.
Lucinda, it seemed, had stumbled upon Waldo dynamite.
Trying not to let the hope, the excitement, color my tone and thereby reveal my secret glee, I probed further.
“Do you have any proof?”
Lucinda shook her head again. “No. I’m pretty sure he’s destroyed the old tests. Just my word against his. But I could still make his life pretty miserable. And he knows it.”
The strangest look crossed her face. At first I wasn’t sure what it meant, but then it clicked.
Lucinda was loving this—all of it. The power. The mind games. Her hand on the puppet strings.
Our eyes met, and I saw something new there.
Something I recognized.
A half smile played across her lips, and she nodded at me.
Yes, she too was ninja. Unnoticed. Overlooked.
Middle School Mulch.
So we understood each other, then.
But I could not be distracted by this newest revelation. It was irrelevant to my purpose. I still had hard information to collect.
“So what did you ask him to do for you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Darren. You can be so thick sometimes.”
“Just tell me,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Isn’t it obvious? I told him to keep you away from Travis.”
I gawked at her. “Whatttt??? Why on earth would you do that?”
She rolled her eyes again. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Apparently so. Spill. And spell.”
I knew she considered chuckling, but one look at my darkened brow and the giggles died in her throat. Instead, she just sighed. “You know how I feel about Travis.”
Now it was my turn to roll my eyes.
“Well, you’re always there! Darren! I can never get any time with him! It’s always you butting in, involving him in your stupid schemes. Getting in the way! If you weren’t around him so much, I’d have him to myself. And then maybe he’d see…”
Her eyes glistened. Were those actually tears beading in the corners? She turned her face away before I could be sure.
I almost—almost—felt sorry for her. Because, of course, she had no chance. Travis couldn’t give two hoots about Lucinda. No matter how much time she spent with him, he’d always think she was a freaky, puzzle-loving, loud laugher with about as much charm as a molting hyena.
But you had to admire her cunning. Her determination. They were Superior Spy Skills. Ones I could employ.
For my own purposes, of course.
The enemy agent was in his cell. Engaged, no doubt, in the mindless rituals of those in solitary confinement.
Scratching.
Picking.
I did not begrudge my ancient foe these small, physical pleasures. For his last few precious moments of “before” were quickly drawing to an end. The hour had now arrived for me to conduct the interview, as we in the spy trade euphemistically call it. To force his confession of his dark deeds.
The poor fool was as yet unaware of the persuasive powers I would be bringing to my task. The psychological “rack.” The emotional “thumb screws.” For in the art of mental torture, I was highly skilled. I was the Inquisitor. Torquemada. Saw.
Once I was finished with him, it would always be “after.” After he had crumbled, unable to withstand my impeccable technique. After he had begged for mercy on his knees…
How I looked forward to this—to cracking him like a hazelnut between my remorseless fingers. Wringing the truth from him like dirty water from a string mop. Making him sing.
There would be no mercy, of course. Not from Dirk Daring, Secret Agent. For the tables had turned. The balance shifted.
And now I, Dirk Daring, had the upper hand.
I burst into his room. Closed his bedroom door behind me. Let a glimmer of a smile dance devilishly across my lips.
“To what do I owe this unexpected visit, little bro?”
“I thought we’d play a little game of Truth or Dare tonight.”
He laughed. “Sorry, kiddo. I got studying to do. Maybe next time.”
I stepped closer to him.
“Au contraire, mon frère. I think we’ll play now.”
Waldo gave me an amused look. One that said, “I’ll humor the little twerp.” He put down his pen.
“Fine. What’s your dare then?”
I shook my head. “No—we’re playing truth this time. For the first time. So let’s have it.”
His brows knit. The corners of his mouth curled down. “If you’ve got something to say to me, say it. Otherwise, I’ve got work to do.”
“I know about the math tests, bro.”
His face grew still.
“I know you bought them. And that Lucinda has been blackmailing you. I know she told you to keep me away from Travis.”
Waldo’s eyes were hard and cold for a moment, but then he looked away. “Okay. You got me.”
“So it is true…”
“It was only that once—I swear! And it was totally unnecessary too. I didn’t even need those stupid old exams—I knew the stuff cold. It was just that…with Dad on my case about my marks…well, I felt a little insurance was in order. So in a moment of weakness…”
His eyes landed back on mine. “You won’t tell, will you, bro?” I noted his new, pleading tone with pleasure.
I mocked him. Played with him the way a cat torments a mouse. “Who, me? Reveal a secret? Whoa ho ho, oh no…not when it’s as good as gold to me. And this is solid gold, my friend. Solid, mathematical gold.”
My eyes narrowed. “You know what I want, of course.”
“Aw, come on. You’re not going to blackmail me too, are you? We’re brothers. ”
I had to suppress a laugh at that. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. I simply smiled at him. Examined my nails. Hummed a little.
Waldo’s shoulders sagged even further. “So what do you want then?”
“My journal back.”
He gaped at me. “I gave that back to you weeks ago, dude!”
“The copy. Come on, give it back.”
“There is no copy, Darren. I never made one. I was just yanking your chain.”
Now I gaped at him. “You didn’t keep a copy?”
“Naaah…I was just messing with ya. Having a little fun. I’d never tell people about your journal. We’re brothers. That would be, well, beyond low.”
My knees went weak. I sank to the bed.
I was safe. I’d been safe all along.
“So you won’t tell my dad? About buying the test?”
“Not so fast, Waldo. Why did you agree to keep me away from Travis? You know he’s my best friend.”
My only friend.
“Hey—that was easy. I know you thin
k the world of him, bro, but Travis Sendak is a tool. You really need some space from him.”
Anger flared in me like an exploding letter bomb. “You don’t know anything about Travis, man! He’s been a great friend for, like, ever!”
Waldo shook his head.
“Clueless, clueless, clueless.”
“Oh yeah? Well, clue you, Waldo.”
I charged for the door.
“I bought them from him, you know.”
My hand froze on the doorknob. The back of my neck felt strangely hot. A line of sweat broke out on my upper lip.
I asked Waldo to repeat what he’d said. Unnecessarily, because my gut already knew the truth.
“Those math tests? It was your ‘good buddy’ Travis who sold them to me. He’s the real snake in the grass around here.”
I lay on my bed. Unable to move. Unable to think.
Could it really be true?
I remembered Opal saying, You know you shouldn’t trust this guy, right? He’s not exactly straight up with you.
And now this ugly tidbit: Travis was selling math tests.
What else was “my pal” Travis doing that I didn’t know about?
Travis was a guy I thought I knew better than myself. But clearly, I didn’t know diddly. Not anymore, anyway. The days when we could read each other’s minds were long gone.
So maybe it was just as well that Travis wasn’t speaking to me. Now that I knew the truth about him, I wasn’t speaking to him either.
After all, a lying, cheating, double-dealing, secret-keeping betrayer was not exactly my idea of a friend.
The playground. Morning recess.
We stood together under the bare branches of the big oak tree, a study in symmetry. Both of us had our hands jammed deep in our pockets. Both of us stared at the toes of our boots.
But it was me who called this meeting. And it was up to me to speak first.
“I know the truth now. What he’s been up to,” I finally managed to choke out.
Opal looked sad. “I’m really, really sorry, Darren. I didn’t want to be the one to have to tell you.”
“Well, you’re in the clear on that.” I had never noticed that smudge of dried dirt on my boot before. I should probably wipe it off. Sometime.
Dirk Daring, Secret Agent Page 5
