Hammett pulled the toothpick from his mouth. “We have pictures of you vomiting next to the food truck.”
“Exactly. I loved it… until I threw up… and then—”
“Then you didn’t love it so much,” Jonathan chimed in with a self-satisfied grin that made Shelley’s nostrils flare.
“I have a very strong gag reflex, so I vomit easily. Very, very easily. It just shoots out of me,” Shelley explained.
“I don’t want to talk about vomit,” Jonathan said dismissively.
“Well, vomit doesn’t want to talk about you, so burn.… You know what? That really didn’t make any sense. I’m going to need to retract that comment.” Shelley trailed off.
Jonathan furrowed his brow. “You want to retract your comeback?”
“You’ll get used to it. I retract comments pretty regularly. I can’t help it. My mouth talks, and three to five seconds later I realize what it said and sometimes it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“You can’t retract comments. That’s not how life works. People are responsible for what they say,” Jonathan asserted.
Shelley threw up her hands and then turned to Hammett. “I think it’s pretty obvious that I am nothing like this unspecial boy next to me.”
“Unspecial isn’t a word,” Jonathan piped up.
“Well, it should be!” Shelley retorted.
“I hate to break it to you, doll,” Hammett interjected, “but you’re not special either. No one remembers you. Your talents leave you in the middle. And while you’re strange, that doesn’t change your unexceptional status. As a matter of fact, we have a lot of talentless weirdoes in our program.”
Hammett then slipped his hands into his pockets and started tapping his left foot, his face awash with tension. “Now, as I mentioned earlier, we’re in dire straits. Things are bad, real bad, which is why we had to move up your recruitment to the League of Unexceptional Children. You see, we’ve been following you two on and off for years, waiting until we thought you were ready, but due to an incident last night, we couldn’t wait any longer.”
“You’ve been following me? I feel like I should apologize. I’m a really boring subject,” Jonathan said sheepishly.
“You are, kid, but it’s one of the many reasons you are primed to save your country from the brink of disaster,” Hammett responded.
“I’ve got to say, Hammy, Harold, whatever your name is—you really had me going there for a while. This is a prank, isn’t it? Come on, spill the beans! Who put you up to this?” Shelley prodded Hammett with a knowing grin.
“I’m going to be as blunt as an old razor. Neither one of you has any friends, or even foes, for that matter, so who would prank you—your pet goldfish?”
“How did you—” Shelley started before being interrupted by Hammett.
“That’s right, doll, we know about your secret goldfish, Zelda. And frankly, we don’t think her quality of life is very good in that closet of yours.”
As Hammett spoke, Nurse Maidenkirk entered the sick bay carrying a clipboard under her right arm.
“I knew a woman named Zelda once. She’s dead now,” Nurse Maidenkirk stated as she removed a slip from her clipboard and passed it to Hammett. “Died from an infected paper cut. The first case in history.”
Jonathan stared at Nurse Maidenkirk, wondering if the sour-faced woman had ever experienced a happy thought. Not that he was known for his optimistic approach to life, but even Jonathan found reason to smile from time to time.
“Someone could really use a puppy. Or a leprechaun with a pot of gold. Or better yet, a leprechaun with a pot of puppies,” Shelley whispered to Jonathan as Nurse Maidenkirk exited the room.
“That dame’s a fine spy, one of the very best. Put Maidenkirk in with a target for five minutes and they’ll spill their guts just to get her to stop talking,” Hammett stated with genuine admiration. “But don’t let her give you any shots, you hear?”
Shelley and Jonathan nodded as it dawned on them that Nurse Maidenkirk wasn’t actually a nurse. She was like an actress on television, just pretending. It was a frightening thought for many reasons, not the least of which was her propensity for using students like pincushions.
“I need both of you down at headquarters after school, but before I can give you the address, a few facts need to be reviewed,” Hammett said as he unfolded the slip of paper from Nurse Maidenkirk. “Neither of you speak a foreign language, correct?”
“No, but that will be dealt with shortly, as it’s on my to-do list,” Shelley answered as Jonathan shook his head.
“Have you ever received an A on a test after the second grade? Anything prior to the second grade is meaningless, since we all know they’re only grading on a kid’s ability to nap and maintain bladder control.”
“No,” Shelley and Jonathan replied.
“Have you ever been accepted onto a team? And remember, if a team doesn’t reject someone, it isn’t a real team.”
“Definitely not,” Jonathan answered, followed by Shelley’s “No.”
“Has anyone other than blood relatives ever attended your birthday party?”
“No,” the two answered in unison.
“Have you ever taken part in a school play? It should be noted that an exception will be made if you played a tree, a rock, or any other background object without lines, as those are universally accepted to be pity parts.”
“No,” the two replied yet again.
“In that case I’ll see you at four p.m. sharp,” Hammett said as he pulled a silver case from his pocket, popped it open, and handed them a card.
“Famous Randy’s Hot Dog Palace. Order a double dog with a side of mustard, two sides of relish, a can of diet Fanta, fourteen packets of ketchup, two straws, and seven napkins. Got that?”
“Uh… kind of,” Jonathan mumbled as he scribbled the list on the back of the card.
“And, kids, keep your wits about you and your mouths shut. The future of this nation depends on it.”
OCTOBER 15, 3:28 P.M. THE METRO. WASHINGTON, DC
Jonathan sat next to Shelley on the orange subway seats, still amazed by what he was doing—he was on his way to “headquarters” to become a spy.
“What do you think is going to happen today?” Jonathan wondered aloud.
“I think they’re going to try and get to know us a little better, to find out things they might have missed while trailing us,” Shelley hypothesized.
“Like what?”
“Like who are our personal heroes.”
“Well, who is your personal hero?” Jonathan asked, pondering whether he even had one.
“Neil Armstrong, the first guy to go camping on the moon.”
“Um, he was the first guy to walk on the moon, but he definitely didn’t go camping,” Jonathan stated with a burst of confidence; it was a rare occurrence when he got to feel like the “brains” in a situation.
“Of course he did! No one goes all the way to the moon and then just turns around,” Shelley said, shaking her head.
“I’m getting a C in history, but even I know Neil Armstrong didn’t sleep on the moon.”
“What a wimp! He was too afraid to pitch a tent and sleep out there, wasn’t he?” Shelley exclaimed.
“A wimp? He flew to the moon!” Jonathan countered.
“Why did I say that?” Shelley muttered with sudden regret. “I’m afraid to pitch a tent in my own backyard. Clearly, I’m going to need to make another retraction.”
“Again?” Jonathan remarked before releasing a long sigh.
“Cut me a little slack, would you?” Shelley asked, throwing her hands in the air. “I’ve spent my whole life talking and no one has ever listened. Not even my own family. And when no one listens, mouths tend to go a little haywire, saying crazy things just to keep life interesting.”
At this point, Jonathan’s attention had shifted to making sure they didn’t miss their station.
“See, you’re not even listening!” She
lley huffed as Jonathan stood up.
“Come on, this is our stop.”
OCTOBER 15, 3:46 P.M. FAMOUS RANDY’S HOT DOG PALACE. WASHINGTON, DC
The League of Unexceptional Children headquarters was hidden beneath Famous Randy’s Hot Dog Palace in the heart of Washington, DC. Not that anyone could tell that from the outside. No, from the outside, Famous Randy’s looked like a regular little fast-food joint with a counter and stools that ran along the walls, a couple of red booths for larger parties, and a condiments bar.
“Who should order?” Jonathan asked as he pulled out the card and went over the list of items.
“Talk about a no-brainer. Shells to the rescue,” Shelley said as a large group of teenagers entered, lining up behind them.
“I didn’t ask to be rescued, I was just trying to be polite,” Jonathan said as Shelley walked up to the girl, no more than seventeen, behind the counter. Snapping her chewing gum and fiddling with her iPhone, she clearly wasn’t interested in her job, let alone Shelley and Jonathan.
“We’d like to order,” Shelley announced loudly.
“So order,” the girl grunted.
“Okay, we are now going to order,” Shelley said dramatically, as if to give the girl a heads-up that they weren’t just any old customers.
“May I suggest you skip to the actual ordering,” Jonathan advised as he handed Shelley the card with the list written on the back.
“We would like a double dog with a side of mustard, two sides of relish, a can of diet Fanta, fourteen packets of ketchup, two straws, and seven napkins.”
The girl’s entire demeanor instantly changed. She swallowed her gum, tucked away her phone, stood up straight, and made eye contact.
“Unfortunately, we’re out of diet Fanta at the moment. But we have some other choices if you’ll follow me to the back.”
And so Jonathan and Shelley walked behind the counter, past the cash registers, and into the kitchen.
“A double dog with a side of mustard, two sides of relish, a can of diet Fanta, fourteen packets of ketchup, two straws, and seven napkins!” the teenager yelled at the kitchen staff.
Hot dogs and buns were left to burn on the grill as the employees ran to an oversized refrigerator, flung open the doors, and removed the shelves containing pyramids of hot dogs.
“Hop in,” the girl instructed.
“You’re locking us in the fridge?” Jonathan asked with a horrified expression.
“Get in and push the back wall,” the girl barked impatiently. “I’ve got a line growing out front.”
“Okay,” Jonathan said reluctantly as he crawled into the large fridge.
“Keep it together, Shells, and remember: Getting into a refrigerator is like riding a bike; it never gets easier, so you might as well just do it,” Shelley whispered to herself as she climbed in, desperate for a burst of courage.
“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Jonathan asked Shelley as the teenage girl slammed the door behind them, leaving the two in complete darkness.
“Push the wall! Push the wall!” Shelley repeated anxiously.
“I’m pushing!” Jonathan yelped as he pressed his hands against the cold metal panel.
Within seconds, the back of the fridge opened, prompting both Jonathan and Shelley to sigh with relief.
“It’s kind of like Narnia, only with a lot of pork products,” Shelley remarked as she and Jonathan climbed out of the fridge and into a mundane office, complete with elevator music and an old secretary clacking away on a typewriter.
OCTOBER 15, 3:59 P.M. THE LEAGUE OF UNEXCEPTIONAL CHILDREN HEADQUARTERS. WASHINGTON, DC
The elderly secretary was humming to herself as she tapped away, seemingly unaware of their presence. However, just as Jonathan cleared his throat and prepared to say hello, she spoke.
“Have a seat, children. Mr. Humphries will be with you shortly.”
And indeed, the woman was right. Seconds later, Hammett marched into the room like a man on a mission.
“Come on, kiddos, move your stompers, we’ve got work to do,” Hammett said, and then pushed open a large wooden door, motioning for them to follow.
The sound of typewriters swishing, phones ringing, and people talking greeted Jonathan and Shelley as they entered the room. It was manic. Exciting. Headache-inducing. The League of Unexceptional Children headquarters looked more like a newspaper office from the 1940s than the center of a major modern espionage group. The main floor was filled with row upon row of telephone operators, all talking into headsets while simultaneously rapping away on large shiny black typewriters.
“I’ve never seen people work so hard, it’s like they—”
“Don’t have the Internet!” Jonathan interrupted Shelley.
“League—as we call ourselves for short, because who has time to say ‘the League of Unexceptional Children’ while solving issues of national security—uses old-school techniques to succeed in the digital age. Bottom line, no one can hack into your computer if you don’t have one.”
Hammett led Shelley and Jonathan into a wood-paneled room filled with approximately a hundred kids ranging in age from seven to eighteen. Within seconds every eye in the room was watching, examining, and inspecting Jonathan and Shelley. And though both had long fantasized about being the center of attention, the intensity of the moment left them more uncomfortable than satisfied.
Hammett raised his right arm and motioned to the crowd. “This is the League of Unexceptional Children.”
Jonathan’s eyes widened as he scanned the mass of normal nondescript faces, utterly amazed that they could be spies.
“I thought you said you didn’t have time to say the full name?” Shelley questioned Hammett.
“Don’t be a smart aleck—it’s like a potato wearing a hat, it doesn’t look good,” Hammett snapped before throwing his toothpick into the garbage and continuing. “These are the best spies this country has to offer. Each and every one of them average, forgettable, and totally unexceptional. And yet they’ve all been deactivated. That’s right, the whole League is on lockdown. Why? I’m glad you asked.”
But of course, they hadn’t asked.
“Because this guy,” Hammett said as he pointed to the only other adult in the room, a robust man tucked away in the back corner, “also known as Arthur Pelton, opened the gate to the White House for an enemy. An enemy we are currently calling the Seal, and please do not inquire about the name, as I’d rather not get into the story behind it—”
“I thought I was helping my country! I never meant to cause any problems! Why, if I ever find that good-for-nothing Seal, I’m going to break every bone in his body!” Arthur shrieked while wringing his hands.
“Listen up. At some point, we’re going to need your help, so that means we have to keep you around. But it will be a whole heck of a lot easier if you don’t start screaming every five minutes. Got it?” Hammett scolded Mr. Pelton, prompting the always-perspiring man to go back to eating his Famous Randy’s hot dog.
“Time to move, kiddos,” Hammett instructed Shelley and Jonathan as he led them out of the conference room and down a corridor filled with industrial gray filing cabinets and buzzing fluorescent lights that made Shelley feel as though she were entering the Twilight Zone.
Hammett’s office was medium sized, with a large metal desk, two armchairs, and a small sofa. In the corner was a bar cart stacked high with sodas.
“Care for a pop? We’ve got just about every brand name available. None of that generic stuff for you guys,” Hammett said as he motioned toward the cart. “Just one of the many perks here at League.”
Shelley turned and looked Hammett straight in the eye. “Soda is one of the main causes of obesity in America.”
“Save it for health class, kid,” Hammett grunted, and then grabbed a file from his desk.
“Or was it that obesity was one of the main reasons for health class in America?” Shelley wondered to herself.
“Take a seat, I’ve got a lot t
o go over,” Hammett instructed as he sat down behind his large and imposing desk. “Last night the unknown entity we are referring to as the Seal broke into the White House. However, what makes this so unusual is that once on the grounds, he was able to bypass all security agents and cameras, which means that he knows the White House very well. So well, in fact, that he even knew where the president’s secret vault was located, behind the medicine cabinet in the private bathroom off the Oval Office.”
“What was in the vault?” Jonathan asked.
“The list of all active League operatives, as well as the first of two codes necessary to access the White House’s mainframe, which contains classified documents from the Department of Justice, the CIA, the FBI, and, of course, the president himself. And it’s not that these groups or individuals are doing anything wrong, but of course that’s not to say that they’re doing anything right. To put it simply, every country has secrets: secrets that could jeopardize the safety of the citizens, secrets that our enemies could use against us, secrets that could ignite chaos in the streets.”
Hammett suddenly paused, removed a new toothpick from his mouth, and shook his head. “But that’s not all. The Seal also kidnapped the vice president of the United States, Carl Felinter. Not that anyone knows Felinter’s missing; we’re not even telling his own wife. It’s too dangerous. Plus, it’s a pretty easy cover; no one pays much attention to the guy. Then why would anyone kidnap him, you ask? Well, the president and the vice president are the only ones who know the second code. And you need both codes to unlock the mainframe.”
“I really don’t think I’m the right person for this job. I once tried to figure out where a drip in the roof was coming from, and I wound up flooding the attic,” Jonathan confessed.
“Spoken like a true unexceptional,” Hammett said with a smile before returning to his businesslike demeanor. “We estimate we’ve got a week before the VP caves and the Seal is able to access the documents and auction them off to the highest bidder.”
Shelley gasped and then threw her hands in the air. “I think I just solved your problem, Hammett. Move the documents before the Seal is able to get the second code out of the VP.”