The Nerdy Dozen

by Jeff Miller

  “Weird. I just saw my first ostrich,” Neil said. “I think it belonged to a guy named We—” Neil stopped abruptly, remembering how Weo had asked Neil to keep his island home a secret. Penny looked surprised and sharpened her attention on Neil.

  “Don’t worry, sonny. I keep Weo’s secrets over there on Ostrich Island,” Penny said, and began kneading pizza dough. “Every day at noon he delivers the eggs fresh and takes a pizza in exchange. We both figure it’s a good deal.” She laughed. “Okay, Mr. Plain Cheese. You go sit down and get ready for the best pineapple pizza you’ve ever tasted in your life.”

  “The only pineapple pizza I’ve tasted in my life,” Neil muttered.

  “The biggest pineapple pizza we’ve got, with extra pineapple and a side of grilled pineapple. Coming your way, Mr. Plain Cheese.”

  Neil took a seat at one of the long, glossy-coated wooden tables. His eyes were soon drawn back to the video game in the corner of the restaurant. He didn’t recognize it, but it was colorful and intriguing, covered in pictures of ostriches and their giant speckled eggs. What’s with all the ostriches around here? Neil thought.

  FEATHER DUSTER read the name on the console. From the description, the game promised high stakes, action, and “controls so lifelike, you’ll even smell like an ostrich.” Neil thought Biggs might like that aspect.

  “Anybody up for a game?” Neil asked the group of recruits. Sam, Yuri, and JP all immediately volunteered.

  “Oh, yeah . . . Feather Duster. I remember hearing about this—it was supposed to be great but got pulled off the market,” said Yuri. “I wonder why.”

  The four each positioned themselves behind a player station of two buttons and a joystick. They all firmed their grip on the joysticks—which were shaped like ostrich heads, their beaks pointed at the monitor—and pressed start. The screen went black, and an ostrich egg appeared before each player. Neil could feel the familiar tingling of excitement stirring in his stomach he got whenever he played a game for the first time.

  The game’s camera perspective zoomed out to show a giant maze with egg-shaped holes serving as targets. Neil set off, guiding his egg past treacherous edges and dead ends. If he could roll it into one of the holes, he’d be promoted to the next level. But no matter the force he applied to the controls, he could only manage to make his egg wobble slowly forward.

  “I thought this was a racing game,” JP said, sounding annoyed after barely thirty seconds of unsteady egg teetering. “I’m gonna go wait for my pizza.”

  Neil, Sam, and Yuri decided to keep playing, and all three challengers made it through the first level. Neil figured out that by finessing the controls instead of slamming them with all his strength, he could get the egg to roll where he needed it to go. Level two opened up to reveal the same exact course, but with more obstacles.

  “Seriously? The same thing? This is so boring,” Sam said, bailing from the game, too.

  “Yeah? I don’t know. It’s a little slow, but I kind of like it,” Neil replied. He hated giving up on a game before he knew all its secrets. “Come get me when the pizza’s here.”

  “That’s the only game on the island, and it’s a piece of junk,” commented a local, who was finishing a slice of pizza. He licked his fingers and wiped them with a napkin, throwing it in the trash before heading outside.

  Neil and Yuri continued to play, making it past levels three and four. Finally, in level five, their eggs both hatched into young ostriches that lived on a small farm. As Neil’s ostrich reached the farm’s entry gate, he met an older ostrich named Wayoh, who explained that Neil’s bird could learn tricks to receive treats. It taught Neil how to execute a backflip, which Neil promptly executed for extra points. Maybe this game isn’t so bad after all, Neil thought.

  Biggs sauntered into the pizza place, at last coming in from the bonfire. “Whoa, nice going, ManofNeil,” he said, coming over to see what Neil and Yuri were up to. Neil was already halfway toward setting a new record. Biggs leaned over Neil’s shoulder and watched as Neil paid a second visit to Wayoh, where he learned another game secret.

  “Psst, kid. Meet me here later if you want to get off this farm and into the races,” said the grizzled old bird. Neil would be the only challenger racing, though. Yuri had given up, choosing the option that allowed his feathered avatar to retire to Ostrich Island, which offered an unending supply of things to peck at. As Yuri left, Sam came over to let Neil know the pizza was ready.

  “I figured you wouldn’t want to leave this weird game, so I brought a piece for you,” she said. “We should go soon, though. It’s getting really late.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll be done soon,” said Neil, barely paying attention. With that, Sam went back to the table and Neil played on, following Wayoh off the farm to an ostrich racetrack. As they walked along paths illuminated by the setting sun, Neil took a bite of his pizza, forgetting for an instant that fruit, of all things, was on his slice.

  “Puphfffpplle!” he said, but then he kept chewing. The fresh pineapple was sweet, adding a new and delicious flavor to the cheese and the sauce. Neil finished his slice quickly, just as Wayoh explained the rules of the race. Neil swallowed the last bite of pizza and wiped his hands clean on his pants.

  Wayoh led him to a starting line nestled in the cove of a beach of tropical white sand and palm trees. At the sound of the bell, Neil and a few other ostriches set off. The controls took some getting used to, but Neil quickly got the hang of it. Neil won the first round and then kept on winning.

  “Yes!” Neil whooped as he won another round. A few of the islanders in the restaurant began taking note, and a crowd started to form around him. Soon Neil found himself at the final race and even closer to beating the previous high score. His challenger was Ozzie Tritch, described by the game as “a real no-goodnik from the wrong side of Ostrich Town.”

  The start bell rang, and the ostriches bolted onto an open beach. Neil took the lead, his ostrich skimming over shallow water to sandbar checkpoints that rose out of the crystalline waves.

  “This is awesome,” Neil said, maneuvering the controls every which way. His attention was so focused on the screen that he didn’t notice a group of burly guys coming into Penelope’s all dressed in uniforms of black pants and muscle tees. They kept glancing behind them, as if waiting for the entrance of someone important.

  A local kid who had been watching Neil’s game broke from the circle and tapped Neil on the shoulder. “Listen, don’t ask questions, but you should go. Harris is about to be here, and he’ll want to play,” he urged.

  “But I’ve still got two lives! And I just got a talon upgrade!” Neil replied. He was racing toward an island where a tall waterfall flowed. The finish-line beacon flashed just behind it, and Neil knew the only way to win was to splash through to the other side. His tongue curled to the corner of his mouth in concentration.

  Ignoring the kid, Neil had his ostrich take three running strides, then jump through the falling water and over black volcanic rock. Flowing lava peeked out from underneath cracks in the ground, and a pitch-black tunnel led to the level’s finish line. But despite Neil’s attempts to dissuade the other boy, he kept tapping on Neil’s shoulder.

  “Seriously,” the boy insisted, his voice strained.

  But then in walked a tall, gangly, pimply boy of no more than fourteen. His hair was wild and unruly, like he had just woken up. His left arm rested in a sling.

  “You need to get out of here,” said the local boy.

  “Can’t this guy wait until I’m done?” Neil turned to see the scared expression on the boy’s face. “Um, okay,” Neil said, feeling a little nervous. He ended the game and typed his name in all caps into the high-score slot, just beating the previous score-holder, who also held the other top eight spots. Then he turned and walked away, catching a glimpse of the newcomer—Harris, as the local had called him—staring him down from the corner. For a moment, their eyes locked. Neil shivered at the cold intensity of Harris’s gaze bef
ore following the rest of his fellow recruits out the doorway.

  AS THE GROUP STARTED BACK TOWARD THE BARN, SAM lingered to walk with Neil. He trotted to catch up with her, and they set out together in the cricket-filled night.

  “So, did you take top score, ostrich racer?” she said, nudging him.

  “You know it,” Neil replied. It was weird, talking to Sam and knowing that she knew all his secrets, including the time he accidentally wet his pants twice at the same science fair. But it was a good kind of weird, he thought. And the silence between them wasn’t awkward. The two walked together in step, gazing up at the stars that glistened like tiny holes in a fort’s sheet cover.

  “Nice—you can really see Cassiopeia without any light pollution,” said Sam, her mouth barely open as her head leaned backward.

  “Cassowhat?” Neil asked.

  “Cassiopeia. Come on, you don’t know what that is?”

  “No. I only know like, a dipper. Maybe two,” Neil confided. “I know there’s something like a rabbit and twins and a lion that runs a zoo? Is that right?”

  Sam burst out laughing and did a double take back at Neil.

  “Are you serious? I can’t believe you don’t know them. I love constellations.”

  “Lemme guess—they’re one of your seventeen favorite things?”

  “Yeah,” Sam said, but her tone faded into a bit of seriousness.

  “Oh, um, sorry,” Neil stammered, worried he’d said something wrong. “I think it’s cool that you have seventeen. I didn’t mean anything by that.” The barn slowly appeared in the distance, and the waves of Jones’s snoring rippled out over the coarse grass.

  “No, it’s not that,” Sam replied, back from whatever thought she’d been temporarily lost in. “Just . . . growing up and moving a lot, I liked knowing that something stayed the same.” Neil nodded. “Okay. So that, there? That’s Ursa Major. It’s pretty big. You should be able to remember that. See how it looks like a bear?” She pointed, and Neil squinted an eye to follow.

  “Totally,” he fibbed. But he repeated the name in his head three times, just to make sure it stuck. He looked down to see the ancient barn’s outline as they caught up with everyone else.

  Carefully peeling back the same loose slat of the barn as before, Neil held it open as the others began to crawl in silently.

  Once everyone was back inside, Neil replaced the slat and made his way to his noisy sleeping bag. Adrenaline was still coursing through him, making him feel wide-awake. A hypnotic bongo drum and an ostrich race looped in his brain, but somehow, eventually, his eyes closed for the night.

  A second passed—or what seemed like a second—before Jones was above Neil’s face, shaking him awake.

  “Rise and shine!” Jones said. “Change of plans.” He was in full SEAL-grade stealth scuba gear, as were Wells and Lopez behind him. They wore black wet suits and sleek backpacks for tanks and supplies, as well as comically large flippers.

  “You’re looking spry today, Jonesy,” said Biggs. “If I may call you Jonesy.”

  “It’s Major Jones, sir.”

  “Sir, yes, sir, Major Grumpy Gus.”

  Neil looked down at his military-issued watch, which read 0427 hours. His eyes had been shut for only a few hours, but they stung so much it felt like even less.

  “Soldiers, get ready,” Jones announced. “Going off our previous recon, we found the heat signatures of our men. They’re being held captive on the island connected to this by a suspension bridge, inside an old warehouse.”

  I knew it!

  “While we can’t be certain, we’re assuming, as we thought before, that’s where we’ll find our plane as well.” Jones stood over the still-sleepy recruits in front of him and tossed around packs of MREs to a chorus of groans. After all, everyone had just eaten pizza mere hours before.

  “We’ve been able to get diagnostics on their warehouse, and we’ve found a weakened entry point,” Jones continued. “It’s on the northwest side, only accessible from the shoreline.”

  “What about that grid preventing our communication? Have we done anything to fix that?” JP asked.

  “It is what it is, kid, and there’s nothing we can do to fix it. We tried unplugging everything we have, then plugging it back in, and nothing worked. We’re on our own for this one.”

  “Really? Because if I could just try to take a look, I’m pretty sure—”

  “Listen, kid,” the major cut in. “We don’t have time for whatever thing you learned at computer camp. It’s time for action. Now, pay attention, because I’m only saying this once.” Jones’s eyes were lit up with a feverish excitement, just the way he’d looked earlier at the Decider. “The mission should go as planned. None of you will leave your assigned Chameleon. You fly us there; we secure our soldiers, find the missing fighter, and head back to the USS Martin Van Buren. Got it?”

  Neil noticed how confident in the plan Jones seemed, glossing over things like how to break into a protected warehouse and find an aircraft that was specifically designed to be untraceable to the human eye. But Jones just kept on explaining, highlighting the fence outlining the perimeter of the warehouse.

  “This chain-link fence covers up the remains of an old shipping dock,” the major said. “From the looks of it, it was completed only recently, and not very well. There’s a small gap between the fence and the ocean’s floor—this will be our point of entry.”

  “You’re gonna dive down there?” questioned Trevor.

  “You better believe it, Grunsten. Me, Wells, and Lopez here could dive two hundred meters without a tank if we had to,” Jones said.

  “Hey, you guys be careful. I’m afraid of the bends, and I’ve never even done scuba,” warned Biggs.

  “Moonbeam, seal it. You will drop us off at an old shipping buoy offshore. Just inside the entrance to the complex there’s a grassy courtyard, maybe the size of half a football field. You will proceed there and wait in the camouflage-activated Chameleons. We’ll go in, do our thing, get out, and pile in with our men.”

  “What’s the mission’s name?” asked Waffles, who was the first one ready for action, already applying camouflage face paint. Most likely unnecessary face paint.

  “Name? This is search-and-rescue file number nine-eight-four-six. That’s the only name this thing will have,” Jones said, shrugging off Waffles’s question.

  “What? This thing’s gotta have some sizzle! You’re telling me we’re rolling in there without something awesome to call it, like Operation Hush-Up Scoop Job! Or Falcon Swoop Infinity?” Waffles exclaimed. “Those are just ideas, of course. We’re just brainstorming here. But something, right?”

  “Kid, this isn’t a mission that gets a name. The only thing we’re calling it is late, since their guards are switching duty soon,” Jones replied. “Now, man your jets!”

  He threw open the barn doors, and everyone scrambled into their fighters, Waffles still mumbling possible mission names. The pilots fired up the engines immediately and strapped themselves in, preparing to fly the most advanced fighters in history on a few hours of sleep.

  The three fighter jets took off and began circling the outline of the island. It was early morning, and the sun cast a foggy yellow glow over the islands while the Chameleons broadcast a perfect re-creation of the surrounding sky.

  The planes flew close enough for the recruits to see the warehouse, its tall concrete walls and spiraling barbed wire half covered in morning fog. On his mark, Jones signaled for the cockpit doors of each fighter to open, and the three scuba-gear-clad soldiers checked their helmets and dropped backward, completing a full rotation before hitting the water.

  Neil watched them sink into the waves below, making their way to the barricaded back entrance of the giant warehouse, where waves splashed loudly against the concrete walls and over giant square boulders covered in algae.

  Trevor flew lead in formation, directing the others to the large, grassy courtyard that Jones had described. The jets moved stealt
hily, careful to land as quietly as possible. Guards stood at each corner of the large enclosure and another at a tower above the compound’s front entrance. None of them noticed as the landing gear for each invisible Chameleon made soft contact with the ground below.

  THE RECRUITS SAT IN A SLEEPY FOG OF SILENCE IN THE invisible fighters, watching the guards pace back and forth on patrol, carrying extremely thin baseball bats. The guards were all in uniform, wearing khaki pants, brown boots, sunglasses, and short-sleeved button-down shirts with a blue-and-yellow patch on the right sleeve. Neil strained his eyes to examine the patches, which looked like blue circles with some kind of picture inside, but he couldn’t make out the details. He rubbed his eyes, still feeling the sting of their exhaustion. Late-night gaming sessions had put him in this state before, but he had always had the promise of eight hours of sleep in flannel sheets ahead of him. Now he struggled to keep his head from bobbing like a marionette’s.

  Around them, the giant concrete warehouse was completely sealed in, with tall fencing and loops of razor wire along the guards’ pathway on top. Only the highest floor of the building was lined in windows of black-tinted glass. Neil had played enough Super Chopper: Revenge of the Rotor Man to notice what looked to be a helipad on the roof. To the side, behind giant sliding metal gates, was a gravelly driveway that ended in a loop. Two rugged jeeps and a glistening convertible sat parked at the end.

  What could need all this protection? Neil wondered, drifting in and out of consciousness.

  He was just starting to nod forward when one guard, walking on the top of the building, seemed to flicker and disappear. Neil pushed his fists into his eyes and rubbed them.

  “Whoa, Trevor, are you getting this?” Neil asked. “Did you see that person just disappear?”