Andrew North Blows Up the World (11 page)

Obviously, Mr. Gormulka wasn’t really a supervillain. Jack had been lying about that.

But Dad’s boss sure
looked
like a spy to me.

And why would
any
life insurance company insure Mr. Cunyan? The guy looked like he might die if someone snuck up behind him and yelled. They’d lose money on that deal for sure. I had forgotten about that!

And, anyway, Dad still couldn’t have talked me into eating peas. He couldn’t
really
be an insurance salesman!

Then I remembered the secret decoder rings. If they were just prizes from a cereal box, why would he still have them? It’s not like cereal companies go around sending secret messages to grown-ups.

All of a sudden, I understood why Dad’s boss had just winked at us like that. Mr. Cunyan probably worked as a spy! They weren’t over there discussing insurance, they were talking about important spy stuff!

Maybe there was a coded message built into the music at the program. That explained Mr. Cunyan’s obsession with these weird parlor songs and that silly rap he wrote. When we were up there singing stupid songs, we were actually sending out secret messages!

The man was a genius!

When I thought it over, it all made sense. The whole day had been one big test for me!

Dad’s boss must have gotten the message I’d sent on the calculator after all, then heard that the calculator was in Storage Room B from Mr. Cunyan, who’d heard it from Tony during class.

Then he must have decided that seeing if I could get it
back would be a good test for me. He probably asked Jack to tell me a lot of scary stuff about Mr. Gormulka so I’d
think
I was on a life-or-death mission. They wouldn’t make me go on a
real
dangerous mission without the proper gadgets, but by making me
think
I was on a dangerous mission, they got to see how I acted under pressure. It was brilliant!

Coach Walker was probably in on it, too. The reason she’d gotten me in trouble was to give me a chance to get the spare key and retrieve the calculator!

All the pieces fit!

I was beginning to feel like Andrew “Danger” North again. I had just passed a test—and with flying colors! I’d broken into Storage Room B, retrieved a gadget that I’d thought was going to blow up the world, escaped from a guy who I thought was a dangerous villain,
and
nailed the solo, all in one night. And Dad’s boss, the head of the spy headquarters, had been very impressed! He’d said so himself. I’d probably get the call to go pro any day!

I finished my ice cream feeling like a king.

They’d almost had me going for a minute there—I’d really believed that Dad and his boss actually
did
sell insurance. They were clever, but not clever enough for me!

When we finished our ice cream, Aunt Brianna walked over to Mr. Cunyan’s booth to ask him where she could find out more about parlor songs, and they ended up talking for about ten minutes. While they chatted, Dad and his boss whispered to each other, all secretive-like. Talking about me, probably.

That night, back at home, I knocked on Jack’s door.

“Yeah?” he called out from inside.

“I found your calculator,” I said.

He opened the door, and I handed it to him.

“Thank God,” he said. “Where was it?”

“It was under some magazines in the living room,” I lied. “You must have left it there yesterday.”

“Well, thanks,” he said, taking it from me. “And nice job on the solo tonight. I wouldn’t have had the guts to do that when I was your age. Or now, for that matter.”

“Thanks!” I said. “And by the way, I know you were making up all that stuff about Mr. Gormulka.”

Jack smiled. “No I wasn’t,” he said. “He’s totally a dangerous spy. You’re lucky you survived the night!”

“You can drop the act,” I said. I knew I’d made a promise to Mr. Gormulka, but since Jack was a spy, I knew he’d keep this quiet. “Storage Room B is just where Mr. Gormulka hides his comic books and polka records from his wife. I snuck in after the program.”

“What?” asked Jack. “You actually got into Storage Room B?”

“Sure,” I said casually. I could see he was totally impressed. Mr. Gormulka had said that Jack had never made it in there.

“Nice going!” he said. “I spent my whole time in elementary school trying to get into that room, and I never managed it! How the heck did you get in?”

“I took the spare key off Mr. Gormulka’s tool belt earlier today and snuck in while he was busy cleaning up some puke,” I said.

“Awesome!” he said.

“Hey,” I said. “I couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t taught me all those skills.”

I winked at him and he nodded.

I turned up the volume on his stereo so that if his room was bugged, no one would be able to hear us talking over the music.

“Look,” I whispered. “I know you aren’t allowed to talk about your job. But do you think you can put in a good word for me?”

Jack smirked a bit, like he was going to laugh at me. For a second, I felt like an idiot all over again. But then he gave me a really fast salute.

“You got it, kid,” he said.

I was feeling so slick, I went back to my room and put on the suit that was hanging in my closet. Mom was wrong. It wasn’t too small for me at all. It fit like a dream, and when I checked myself out in the mirror, I looked totally sharp. And even though it was the end of a long, busy day, my hair was perfect.

Any day now, I’ll open my locker and find a note asking me to meet up with Mr. Cunyan and Coach Walker at that weird statue of the naked angel on a tricycle at the mall. They’ll pick the angel’s nose or scratch his butt or something,
and that will open up a secret passage into a spy office, where they’ll give me a couple of gadgets, have me fill out some paperwork, and maybe give me my first paycheck in advance.

I’ll be making enough cash to buy a monkey in no time and a whole pile of Ryan’s insults!

I felt a lot better when I went to bed that night. There’s always a chance that Jack is still just making things up, but the only theory that makes any sense to me is that he, Dad, Mr. Cunyan, and Coach Walker are spies. And Jack was being nice again, at least a little, so maybe he really wasn’t such a jerk after all.

It still seems a bit weird. But weird stuff is always happening in Cornersville Trace!

And the next morning, when I walked down the street, I could have sworn I heard the sound of an electric guitar blasting out of Wayne Schneider’s garage.