“I am NOT smarter than you!” I yelled at him. “It’s you that always has the good ideas. It’s you that always figures out how to do stuff! It’s you that knows what’s cool and what’s dorky and keeps me from making a fool of myself. It’s you who had everything! It’s you who was, like, my—”
I gulped, leaving the end of that sentence unsaid.
Travis was shaking his head. Shaking it, and shaking it, and shaking it.
“And you showed everyone my journal. Why’d you do that?”
Travis squirmed. “Jeez…I don’t know. You were always going on about it. And it was just sitting in my backpack. I could feel the dumb thing pressing into my back and…I dunno. I just did.”
“You just did. Real nice. Brill.”
“I know,” Travis said. “I know.”
I shook my head. “These last few days…they’ve been, like…the worst days of—”
He got up from the table.
“Look, I’m sorry. Okay? Really. I don’t blame you if you never want to speak to me again. Amber and I shouldn’t have done what we did. I was just so damn mad at you for turning on me like that.”
I took a deep, ragged breath.
“I’m sorry too. I should never have done what I did either. It was wrong.”
“Do you think we can be friends again?”
“I don’t know,” I said, my eyes sliding back to my stack of Oreos. “We’ll have to see.” I pushed my chair back. “Look, I gotta go. Lu and Opal will be waiting for me.”
Travis put his hand on my arm. “You know there’s still one more mission to go, Dirk. Practically begging for you to do it.”
I stopped in my tracks. Travis’s fingers tightened on my bicep.
“You know it in your gut, Darren. It’s the right thing to do. Your toughest mission yet. And the most important.”
He was right. There was one more mission. It demanded completion.
“Let me quarterback it. For you,” Travis said. “Please.”
Our eyes met. A long, debt-tallying, promise-making eye meet.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
Travis’s voice buzzed in my ear. “Team 1?”
I glanced over at Agent Jewel. Shot her a questioning eyebrow. She gave me a curt nod.
“We’re a go.”
My ear buzzed again.
“Team 2?”
I heard a giggle, also in my ear. “We’re good too.”
“Team 3?”
“Can you just call me Amber, Trav? It’s kind of stupid for you to call me a team when I’m alo—”
“Roger that, Amber. Sounds like you’re all set too. Now pay attention, teams. Because action begins in…3…2…1…go!”
On cue, Agent Jewel and I entered the schoolyard.
“So it was the most awesome birthday ever!” she said, her voice pitched loud and high. “I got this new purse—you like it, D? It’s a Miss Sixty! And I got cash—oodles of it—from my gramma Sal and my aunt Jo. She’s the rich one.” She smiled broadly, waving her purse exaggeratedly in my general direction. “Goin’ to the mall right after school to spend it!”
As Agent Jewel kept running out her line, I scanned our surroundings. Left, right, left, right, I checked for our prey.
Yes, there they were, two of the goons from the Detention Gang. Snouts snuffling the air.
“I saw these awesome bright red boots last week. They cost, like, $300, but I can buy ’em now! Woo-hoo! My aunt was, like, soooo generous!”
The enemy smelled our lure. They were drawn to us like speckled trout to a tied fly.
“First nibble,” I whispered into the mic clipped inside my jacket collar.
“Roger that,” Travis said.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted Team 2, Agent Fury and Agent Waldo, hard at work. Simulating a romantic conversation on the swings. I noted the excellent prep work: Fury’s backpack was flung carelessly on the ground, her Hello Kitty wallet poking out the top. Greenbacks flashing like spinning spoons.
And sure enough, there were Lorne and Micah, Detention Specialists, swimming closer to the irresistible lure…
“Looks like Team 2 has got something on the line too,” I said into my jacket.
“Good. What about Amber? Do you see her?”
“Negative.”
“Amber?” I heard Travis say. “You okay?”
No answer.
My gut tightened.
We had to get this right. Everything depended on it. If our mission failed, we’d be swimming with the fishes.
“So what do you think, Darren? If you had a few hundred bucks to spend, would you buy a netbook or an iPad?” Opal rambled on.
And then they were on us. Circling like sharks.
“Morning, Opal. Morning, Dirk,” Crandall Higgins sniggered.
“Happy birthday, Opal,” Tom Chee said with a sneer.
“How old are you now? Like, 10?” Crandall said, giving her shoulder a shove.
“Hey! Leave her alone, Crandall!” I said loudly.
They both laughed. “Whatcha going to do to us, spyboy? Vaporize us with your stun gun?” They laughed again.
“Get lost,” Opal said, clutching her purse to her chest.
“Why should we?”
“Yeah? Who’s gonna make us? Sounds like you had a big payday,” Tom said, reaching for the purse.
“Get your hands off me!” Opal yelled. “Don’t touch my purse!”
The next thing I knew, Crandall had me in a headlock, and Tom had pushed Opal to the ground. He was ripping open her purse and rifling through it.
“Where’s the cash, kid?” he said with a snarl.
“Can you say that a bit louder?” I said as politely as I could with my jaw pinioned between Crandall’s forearm and bicep. “They can’t hear you in the bleachers.”
Both goons followed my gaze. About half the student body was sitting in the stands. They had been quietly filing out through the gym doors. Under the direction—no, command—of Agent Amber.
“What the—!” Tom said.
What the what the what the! The echoing words rang out from the PA system, filling the schoolyard with the humiliating sound of a bully bleating.
Didn’t I tell you Travis was a genius? At the crack of dawn, he had come down to the field and hooked up the PA speakers to his computer. Don’t ask me how.
Tom’s eyes went wide. Crandall gulped.
“Holy crap (crapcrapcrap)! What did you freaks do (doodoodoodoodoo)?” Their words were amplified a thousandfold by the loudspeakers. The bleachers roared with laughter.
Opal grabbed her purse back from Tom. “We ‘freaks’ decided it was time to shine some light on your secrets (retsretsretsrets). And end your reign of terror (rorororor). Once and for all (allallall).”
I threw one hand up in the air and spun my wrist three times. The signal for our B teams to advance.
Vero, Louie and Henry came trotting over. Did I mention they had just made the football team?
Together, the five of us made a human net around Tom and Crandall. We escorted our catch to the football field—50-yard line.
At the same time, Waldo and Lucinda, with a little help from their own backup team, had gotten a hold of Lorne and Micah. They carried them by the wrists and ankles over to us. Dropped them at our feet with an audible thump (umpump).
“That’s it, guys (guysguysguys). No more shakedowns (downsdownsdowns). You’re finished (ished-ishedished),” Opal said, wiping her hands.
Another roar rose from the crowd.
Waldo pumped his fist in the air. “Come on, Preston (tontonton)! Let’s hear it (ritritrit)! No more shakedowns! No more shakedowns! No more shakedowns!”
The kids in the stands took up the chant. “No more shakedowns! No more shakedowns! No more shakedowns!”
The combined roar from the kids and loudspeakers was deafening. And might I add fantastic? Abso-freaking-lutely fantastic.
I drew my hand across my throat—my signal to T-Bone t
o cut the loudspeaker connection. He gave me a thumbs-up from the top bleacher, then started making his way down the stairs. He belonged with the rest of us now, at our moment of glory.
“We got you guys red-handed,” I told our netted fish. “We got eyewitnesses.” I pointed to the stands. “Audio recordings. And video too.” I showed them the mic, and the camera, disguised as a button on my sweater. “Your jig is up.”
“Don’t think you’re going to get away with this,” Crandall said, struggling to his feet. A smashed tuna sandwich, thrown by someone in the stands, was stuck in his hair. “There are lots of dark alleys in this town, kiddies.”
“Dark alleys don’t scare me,” I said with a wink at Opal. “I’m Dirk Daring, Secret Agent.”
“Me neither,” she said. “I’m Allegra Montefiore. Alleys are my specialty.”
“I’m Agent Fury,” said Lucinda, giggling.
“So we’re doing introductions, then? You fellas already know me. I’m Waldo. Agent-in-arms AND school president.”
Travis came running up, breathing hard. “Agent T-Bone reporting. What did I miss?”
“Nothing. Just these losers wetting themselves,” Waldo said. “Nice work on the pa system, by the way.” He gave Travis a fist bump.
A sudden murmur swept through the crowd.
I looked left, right. There, coming from the gym doors, was Amber. And Bonaparte. They marched over, flanked by two security guards.
“Here you go,” Amber said. “Those are the true troublemakers at Preston Middle School. The ringleaders of the so-called Detention Gang.”
Bonaparte’s seagull eyes grew even beadier, if possible, more seagull-y, than normal. “Crandall. Micah.” He spat out their names. “I should have known you’d be involved in something like this.”
“I tried to tell you,” Travis said. “But nooooo, you said I was making it up to try and save my own skin. Well, now you’ll have to believe me. We got them in the act. On tape.”
“And now you’ll have to do something about it,” Amber said.
Waldo stepped forward. “Our school code says there will be zero tolerance given to any student involved in a criminal act on school property. And theft is a criminal act…so you’ll have to expel them.”
Bonaparte shot him a beady glare. “You can rest assured we will follow all appropriate procedures. Now get to class, children. The bell is about to ring.”
Bonaparte nodded to the security guards to haul the Detention Gang away. Then he turned on his heel and marched back to the double doors.
Meanwhile, kids streamed down from the bleachers, surrounding us in a sea of high fives.
I stood there, a big idiot grin on my face. I looked left, right, left, right, from the face of one friend to another.
Opal, Lucinda.
Travis. Amber.
Even Wal-. Even Jason.
Who’da thunk it? Our little band of misfits, it turned out, made a pretty good team.
The activation email arrived on April Fools’ Day. I knew, however, it was no joke.
It read, Bo Diddley. 4/2. 16:00:00.
Even as I read the words, the message disappeared.
Poof.
Gone from my screen. Inbox. Hard drive.
As always.
At the designated time and place, I ordered my usual meal—a cheeseburger and fries. No pickle. No onion.
I picked up the burger gingerly. Bit into it gently. Chewed slowly, looking left, right, left, right. No one was watching.
SNZZT! My teeth chomped on something hard. Metallic.
I lifted my napkin to my mouth. Spit the object into it surreptitiously.
It was a phone memory card.
I made no sudden moves. I simply finished my burger. Paid my bill. Sauntered from the Diddley, the memory card concealed within my palm. Sat on a park bench and slipped it into my phone. Turned it back on.
A text message appeared on my phone’s screen.
I turned off the phone. Removed the memory card and put it in my mouth. I bit down on it, and bit again, until the card was nothing but broken black and coppery grit. I spit the debris into the garbage pail as I reached for the retainer case. Wiped the remainder off my tongue as I kicked the ball high into the air. Caught it, on its return to earth, in my arms.
Tomorrow I’d be running down Main Street, dribbling my soccer ball. When—oops! I’d “lose control”
of it, and it would roll under a car parked in front of the theater. I’d get down on my hands and knees to retrieve it, simultaneously affixing the GPS device to the undercarriage.
No one would suspect that the unassuming boy with the errant soccer ball was Dirk Daring, Secret Agent. None would suspect the car had been compromised, and the enemy agent who used it would now be in full sight of The Agency.
Because sometimes the most difficult missions are literally child’s play. And who better to engage in such play than a child?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to gratefully acknowledge financial support from the Ontario Arts Council Writer’s Reserve program.
Helaine Becker is the bestselling author of more than fifty books for children and young adults, including the “enduring Canadian Christmas classic” A Porcupine in a Pine Tree and the giggle-inducing Ode to Underwear. She’s also a three-time winner of the Silver Birch Award and a two-time winner of the Lane Anderson Award for Science Writing for Children. Helaine lives in Toronto with her husband and her dog, Ella. For more information, visit www.helainebecker.com.
Dirk Daring, Secret Agent Page 9
