Tessa sneered. “I was kidnapped by a lady who wears a skull mask. She wants me to lead a team of kids for her and says she can give me superpowers. You can see why I might think you’re crazy.”
“I AM NOT CRAZY,” Miss Information bellowed. She did not like that word. She was perfectly sane. Tessa had better watch her words. There was always the tiger cage! But then she saw the fear in the girl’s eyes, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. “I’m very sorry. Listen, if you want proof that what I’m saying is true, then I’m happy to show you.”
She clapped her hands, and a small round hole opened in the wall. Benjy zipped through it and into the room.
“Benjy, I would like Ms. Lipton to meet our team,” Miss Information said. “Are they ready?”
“Yes. The upgrade chair you designed this morning has been constructed and is operational. The four operatives you chose have all been through the process successfully.”
Miss Information clapped like a happy child. “Have the fire alarm sounded in the school above us. I need their gymnasium.”
Benjy chirped and spun. “The alarm has been triggered.”
Miss Information pushed a button and the ceiling slid open to reveal a long dark tunnel. With a loud rumbling noise, the floor beneath them rose like a massive elevator. It went higher and higher, until the room came to an abrupt stop. The four walls fell over as if they were the walls on a house of cards. They had arrived in the middle of an empty basketball court. A basketball rolled across the floor.
“Bring them out, sweetie,” Miss Information said to the floating orb.
It spun around and clicked. A door on the far side of the gym opened, and a boy with toadlike features and limp, greasy, shoulder-length hair walked into the gym. His face, clothes, fingernails, and neck were filthy, and he smelled like mildewed towels.
“This is Rash Maver,” the orb said. “While some people are wanted criminals, Rash is ‘unwanted’ in nearly fourteen states due to his lazy approach to personal hygiene. He’s been banned in nearly fifty middle schools and more than a few petting zoos. His upgrade allows him to direct a cloud of his own stink to do his bidding. We call him Funk.”
“‘Upgrade’?” Tessa asked Miss Information.
“It’s what gives him his powers—tiny robots, darling.” Miss Information pushed a button on the console and leaned into the microphone. “Mr. Maver, can you demonstrate your abilities?”
A rancid green cloud seeped out of the boy’s clothes. It swirled around like a poltergeist, giving off a pungent odor like the smell of rotten eggs slipped into crusty gym socks soaked in spoiled mayonnaise and brown sugar. Funk gestured with his hands and the gas formed different shapes: a cannon firing at a nearby wall, a snarling dog, and an enormous fist. With a flick of his wrist, the mist lifted Funk off the ground and flew him around the gym’s rafters.
“That’s totally disgusting,” Tessa said, gagging.
“Isn’t he fun? Wait until you meet the next one,” Miss Information said.
Another door swung open and a second boy stepped through. This one had a head of bright white hair and was as skinny as a cornstalk. His finger was buried up his nostril all the way to the knuckle.
“This is Manson Cane,” the orb said. “As you can see, he’s fond of a peculiar pastime. There are no known photographs of him without his finger in his nose.”
Benjy beamed a holographic image in front of them. It was a photo of Manson as a baby. His tiny newborn finger was stuffed in his little baby nose.
“Charming,” Tessa grumbled.
“We call him Snot Rocket,” Miss Information.
Snot Rocket leaped into action, pressing one finger against his left nostril and blasting enormous globs of mucus out the other. The repulsive rockets crashed into a wall and exploded on contact, demolishing the wall. Mucus missiles from the other nostril allowed him to create elaborate structures made of snot. With a couple of blasts, he created a flight of stairs to race up. A third honk shot a phlegmy tendril across the room, where it stuck like glue. He slid down the booger rope like it was a zip line.
“I’m going to barf!” Tessa cried.
“Clench that belly tight, Ms. Lipton. The next two members are just as obnoxious but not nearly as gross.”
A third door opened and a large girl wearing a princess dress and a sparkly tiara appeared. Her pie-shaped face had a sour expression and was bright red.
“This young lady is Tammy Tots. She has a bad reputation and an even louder voice. She’s been tossed out of every library and movie theater on the East Coast. I like to call her Loudmouth,” Miss Information said as she handed Tessa a pair of earplugs. “You’ll need these.”
When Tessa’s ears were protected, Miss Information pressed the button on her microphone.
“All right, Tammy. You’re up.”
Loudmouth opened her jaws as wide as possible, and screamed. What she was saying was incoherent but rageful—something about wanting a kitten for Christmas and about a boy named Larry who laughed at her hands. A fierce wind poured from her mouth, ripping up the hardwood floor, tearing down the backboard, and collapsing the bleachers. Miss Information couldn’t have been more proud.
“And finally, I present the muscle of our group—Thor Hardwick.”
The fourth door in the arena didn’t get a chance to open. It was blown apart. As the shattered pieces flew in every direction, a boy as big as a professional wrestler—over six feet tall with a neck like a tree trunk—emerged. His arms and feet were three times the size of a normal person’s and twice as long. His knuckles dragged on the floor and sent up a shower of sparks as he walked. He had what looked like a flattop haircut until Tessa realized the top of his head was actually flat. You could land a helicopter on it.
“That can’t be a child!” Tessa said. “Does he have a beard?”
“Thor comes from a long line of lumberjacks and pro wrestlers … and that’s just the women in his family. He’s brutally strong and psychotically violent, to boot. I was going to give him a code name, but when your parents name you Thor, you really can’t do better than that.”
Thor punched a wall and it came down in a mighty explosion. He smiled and took a bow as if he’d just done a magic trick. Then he grabbed the rolling basketball and popped it with one squeeze.
Beneath her mask, Miss Information was beaming proudly. She had a great team, and Tessa would make it complete. Plus, Tessa was exactly what she needed to lure her enemies into the open. And when they came, she would crush them like bugs.
“Tessa, I can give you powers like I gave them.”
Tessa cringed. “Just like them?”
“Slightly less gross. I hope,” Miss Information said. “I know you have your doubts, but no one has given these kids a chance in this world. They need someone like you—someone with your unique ability to motivate. They need a leader.”
“I don’t want my dad to get hurt. I just don’t want him to be president anymore.”
“Understood.”
“OK, I’m in,” Tessa said.
“Fantastic! Welcome to the Brotherhood of Unstoppable Liars, Lowlifes, and Intimidating Enemies of Society!”
“That’s what you want to call us?” Tessa muttered. “Shouldn’t it be something scary and intimidating?”
“How about if we just call you the BULLIES?”
“The BULLIES,” Tessa said, savoring the name like a spoonful of ice cream. “I like it.”
“Muffin?” Miss Information asked, offering another treat from her tray.
This time Tessa picked a muffin and took a bite.
TOP SECRET DOSSIER
CODE NAME: BREEZY
REAL NAME: NIGEL PUNJAB
YEARS ACTIVE: 2005–09
CURRENT OCCUPATION: OWNER OF NIGEL’S HOUSE OF NICETIES
HISTORY: NIGEL’S FAMILY OWNED A
VERY POPULAR INDIAN RESTAURANT
SPECIALIZING IN SPICY DISHES
OF LENTILS, POTATOES, AND
/> CAULIFLOWER. SO NIGEL HAD
INTENSE AND OFTEN FRIGHTENING
GASTRIC ISSUES. IN FACT, THE BOY
WAS SO GASSY, HE BARELY NEEDED
ANY NANOBYTES TO ENHANCE AN
ALREADY POWERFUL POOT. HE WAS
AN INVALUABLE MEMBER OF THE
TEAM, SINGLE-HANDEDLY STOPPING
THE INFAMOUS FLOWER POWER
CRIMINAL RING. NIGEL
RETIRED SHORTLY AFTER
HIS FAMILY CLOSED THE
RESTAURANT AND OPENED
A HALLMARK CARD STORE.
UPGRADE: BREEZY’S UPGRADES
TURNED HIS ALREADY FORMIDABLE
FARTS INTO HOUSE-LEVELING BLASTS
OF WIND AND STINK. MANY OF HIS
FARTS WERE CAPABLE OF REACHING
AN F2 LEVEL ON THE NATIONAL
WEATHER SERVICE’S TORNADO RATING.
Ruby woke the next morning with her parents and baby brother hovering over her bed. They looked sweaty and nervous. Even Truman the dog looked anxious. He buried his furry head under her blanket.
“They’re here,” her mother whispered. She looked terrified.
Ruby could hear someone pounding on the front door.
“Who?”
“Our family,” she said. Her father pressed a finger to his lips. “Be quiet. They’ll hear you and come after us.”
“They’re early! I haven’t finished the bathroom schedule or color-coded the snacks!” Ruby whispered.
“They took us by surprise.” Her father was actually whimpering. His panicked eyes darted from the door to her windows.
Ruby heard someone knocking on the back door.
“Just stay quiet, and maybe they’ll go away and come back later,” he said.
Without warning, a mob appeared outside Ruby’s window and gaped at her family. They smiled and laughed and tapped on the glass.
“Surprise!” they cried.
Ruby’s mother cringed and opened the window.
“You’re early,” she said.
“We couldn’t stand to wait another second,” said Grandma Rose.
“Oh, Ruby, you’re so grown up!” said Aunt Suzi.
“Hey, Rubester! What grade are you in now?” Uncle Kevin shouted.
“Sarah, you look like you’ve put on some weight.”
“I hope whatever we’re eating tonight is kosher.”
“Can we come inside? I gotta use the can.”
“I have to get out of these shoes.”
“I call the bathroom for the next half hour.”
“Sarah, I noticed a Christmas tree in the window but not a menorah.”
Aunt Laura poked her head through the window. “Francis, you are celebrating Christmas, right? It’s not just the candles and the little wooden tops this year?”
“Laura, they’re called dreidels,” Ruby’s father said. “And yes, we celebrate Christmas. We also celebrate Hanukkah.”
“Of course you celebrate Hanukkah!” Grandpa Saul chimed in. “Who needs a holiday that is only one day long? Hanukkah lasts eight days! It’s simple math. More presents, right?”
“Yes, every kid in the world dreams of a handful of stale chocolate coins,” Aunt Suzi said.
“All right, let’s not start the Battle of the Best Holiday. You’ve only been here five minutes,” Sarah said.
“Technically, we’re not here until you let us inside,” said Cousin Finn.
Ruby’s family shared a brief but conspiratorial look that said, We could just close the window and go back to bed, but then Sarah flinched.
“Of course. Come around to the front door and we’ll let you in,” she said.
“Traitor,” Ruby grumbled.
“At least you get to go to school,” Sarah said. “Your father and I took the day off to get everything ready. Now we’re stuck.”
“We all need to work together. Mom, call the deli on Hamilton and get some bagels and lox over here for breakfast. When you’re done, start pouring coffee and juice. Dad, I need you on pancake duty.”
“OK. Where’s the batter?”
“The cabinet over the stove, second shelf, next to the flour. Blueberries are in the crisper, bottom shelf of the refrigerator. Syrup is in the condiment caddy on the door. If you get lost, there are charts posted everywhere, or you can check the family guide I made that’s attached to a chain swinging from a kitchen table leg. I’m on toilet paper duty. If Grandpa Saul called dibs on the bathroom, we need to be prepared. Truman and Noah, you’ve got the toughest job of all—you have to be cute. Turn on the adorable, and maybe everyone will forget how much they can’t stand one another. Any questions?”
Little Noah burped. “Gooby-moo-moo.”
Ruby clapped her hands. “Good. Team Peet—let’s do this!”
Ruby’s family sprang into action.
Soon the members of her extended family were filing into the house like clowns stepping out of a tiny car. When hats, coats, gloves, and galoshes were taken, hugs, kisses, and pats on the back delivered, and updates on everyone’s bad knees, agita, and high blood pressure were announced, the family eased into a slightly tense camaraderie fueled by food. Ruby had learned the hard way that these two, loud, obnoxious clans were a lot easier to manage when they had snacks in their mouths.
According to her parents, the tense relationship between Sarah’s and Francis’s families had started right away. For Sarah and Francis, it was love at first sight; but for their families, it was a nightmare of biblical proportions. Francis was a Boston-born Protestant raised by a huge family of big, strapping folk who loved to eat, shout about the Red Sox, and argue with one another in a way most people might find threatening but that they referred to as “chatting.” Sarah’s family was Jewish and from Long Island, New York. Their loudness rivaled that of the Peet family, plus they were die-hard Yankees fans and claimed to be freezing no matter what temperature the thermostat was set at. Sarah and Francis tried to accommodate everyone with a Christmas tree and a menorah, but each year someone would say something that offended someone else and all the holiday cheer would turn into a holiday fight.
“Why was Ruby still in bed when we showed up? The sun has been out for fifteen minutes,” Grandpa Tom grumbled. “When I was a kid, it was my job to wake up the roosters so they would crow. She’s wasting the day.”
“Ruby has a lot of things on her plate at school,” her father explained. “She needs all the rest she can get.”
“Too many extracurricular activities aren’t good. Let a kid be a kid, I always say,” said Uncle Kevin.
Cousin Leaf chuckled. “I know what she’s doing up so late. She’s writing love letters to boys.”
“Don’t tease her, Leaf,” Aunt Denise said, taking the baby from Sarah. “Look at this beautiful boy.”
Yes, do your job, Noah. Take the attention off me, please, thought Ruby.
There was a knock at the door and she heard Uncle Eddie shout that he’d get it. A moment later he returned. “There’s a man here to see Ruby.”
“Me? Who is it?”
“He says he’s your principal,” Uncle Eddie replied. “Are you in trouble, kid?”
“Ruby?” her father asked suspiciously.
“Um, no, he’s just very dedicated,” Ruby lied as she snatched her coat. “It’s probably about the winter dance. He wants me to be on the decorating committee.”
Moments later, she was outside on the front step, talking to the principal. A curious relative’s face peered out of every window of her home.
“Looks like you’ve got a full house today, huh?” the principal said, staring at the prying eyes.
“Jewish mother, Protestant father—all of Israel and England is here,” Ruby explained.
“It’s hard to believe they get along,” the principal said.
“Really hard to believe because they don’t. So … what’s going on?” Ruby asked, cutting to the chase. “Is there news on Tessa?”
“No, not a peep.”
“Then why
not use the com-link?”
“Because I didn’t want anyone else to hear what I’m going to tell you. We have a huge problem,” the principal said. “I think we’re about to be exposed.”
“Exposed? By whom?”
“Savage,” he said. “I got a call on the secure line. He told the president about the team. Not about the upgrades—not yet—but the big guy knows we exist.”
The news felt like a blow to her belly. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know. That’s why we’re going to talk to Alexander Brand.”
“Are you going to ask him to come back?”
“No,” the principal said. “He won’t. But I think he’ll be able to tell me what to do.”
Ruby felt a little guilty leaving her folks alone with the mob they called family, but not that guilty. She grabbed her things, pulled a hat over her head, and climbed into the principal’s Jeep. Soon, they were driving southwest along a scenic highway lined with snowy fir trees. After an hour, they turned onto an old country road that ran next to a crystal lake and then past tiny little cottages with ribbons of smoke escaping from their chimneys. The farther they drove, the more breathtaking the scenery. Ruby felt like they had entered a beautiful painting.
Then came more turns that forced them to make a few stops and reroutes. Ruby and the principal were ready to give up when they suddenly stumbled upon a mailbox hidden behind a thorny bush. The principal stopped the Jeep, got out, and shoved the branches aside. The mailbox had a name painted in red: A. BRAND.
They drove up the overgrown driveway path made from years of tire tracks and coasted beneath a canopy of leafless trees until a tiny log cabin appeared on the shore of the lake. As soon as the principal cut the Jeep’s engine, he and Ruby’s eardrums were assaulted by what sounded like the painful death throes of a very large animal.
“What is that?” Ruby asked.
The principal shrugged. “Could be anything. A moose … a bear. We should be careful. The most dangerous animal is the one that’s dying.”
The two spies crept around the corner of the house and immediately spotted the source of the noise. At the end of a long dock sat a lone figure who appeared to be strangling a cat. Ruby took off her glasses and wiped the smudges off the lenses, then slipped them back on to get a better look. She could see the man was not hurting an animal but rather playing an oboe—badly. When he blew on the woodwind’s reed, it emitted a sound like a duck exploding inside a kazoo. His screeches terrified the lake birds, who flew away, panicked.