Andrew North Blows Up the World (3 page)

“Hey,” I said, perking up. “That’s not a bad idea.”

Paul shrugged. “Honestly, Andrew,” he said. “If you stopped pretending to be a spy and started thinking like a normal person, you could come up with stuff like this yourself!”

It really
was
a good plan—simple and elegant. I had been thinking of maybe mixing up glue, some of the potato salad, and some of the cleaning supplies under the drinking fountain and finding a way to set fire to it in the bathroom. When it started to stink, people would think there was a gas leak, and when they marched everyone outside, I could run into the classroom and grab the calculator. Paul’s idea was a lot easier. After all, the only way I could start a fire in the bathroom was by rubbing two sticks together, and that’s really hard to do.

Just then, Neil Gorblisch sat down at our table. I never like to sit by Neil. In addition to being a bully, he’s a pretty gross eater. If I were a pig, I’d insult the other pigs by saying that they ate like Neil Gorblisch. That’s how gross he eats.

“Well, well,” he said, looking around at us. “Look who’s here! The geek gang!”

“Of course we’re here, cheese bag,” I said. “It’s school! We’re here every day.”

“Cheese bag?” asked Neil. “What’s a cheese bag?”

“You are,” I said.

Actually, I had no idea what a cheese bag was, but it was a pretty good insult. I bought it off Ryan Kowalski, the class criminal. Ryan is sort of a genius when it comes to making up insults. You know how professional spies have guys who make their weapons and gadgets for them? Ryan is a bit like that guy for me. I can’t take weapons to school, of course, but I can take insults. Give him fifty cents, and he’ll write you a pretty choice put-down.

Neil curled his lip at me. He thinks he looks very threatening when he curls his lip. Actually, he sort of does.

“Shut up, An-dy,” he said.

I gave him my own meanest look. “What did you call me, Gorblisch?” I asked.

“You heard me,” said Neil. “ An-dy!”

That did it!

No one, but no one, calls me Andy!

Andrew North is a great spy name, but Andy North isn’t. That sounds like the name of a trucker who takes too long in the bathroom. Or a professional bowler who does commercials for toe-fungus cream. I don’t let anybody call me Andy, and Neil knows it.

“Oh yeah?” I asked. “At least my last name doesn’t sound like the noise a toilet makes when you flush it! Goooorrrrrblisch!”

Tony started laughing. So did Danny and Paul. Ryan had charged me a whole dollar for that insult, but it was worth it.

“Shut up!” said Neil. “You’re a dork, North!”

“Back to you and more of it!” I said.

Neil dug his spoon into his potato salad and made a move like he was going to fling it at me.

Naturally, I sprang into action. Before he could do anything, I dug my spoon into my own potato salad and flung it at Neil. It hit him square on the nose, then hung there for a second like a giant booger before dropping onto his plate.

Neil growled. Then he scooped up some of his potato salad and lobbed it at me. It hit me in the chest and clung to my shirt.

Tony Zunker grabbed a spoonful of his potato salad and reached up to throw it, but he never had a chance. Mrs. Rademacher, the lunchroom monitor, showed up behind him before he could let it fly.

“What’s going on here?” she asked in that tone of voice adults use to tell you that someone’s about to get into trouble.

“He threw potato salad at me,” Neil grumbled.

“And he threw it at me!” I said, pointing at Neil. “And he started it, too.”

“Did not!” Neil lied.

“Andrew started it, Mrs. Rademacher,” said Nicole. She was sitting at the next table over, where she had been bossing around a group of girls. “I saw the whole thing. Tony was about to throw some, too.”

“Thank you, Nicole,” said Mrs. Rademacher. “Come with me, Andrew and Tony.”

She grabbed our shoulders and led us down the hall. She was awfully strong for someone as old as she was. And awfully
mean. And thanks to her, who knew whether I’d be able to put Paul’s awesome Indoor-Recess Calculator-Retrieval Plan into motion today?

“This is so unfair!” I said. “Tony shouldn’t be in trouble!”

“I didn’t even throw anything!” said Tony. “Neil did!”

But being fair was not something Mrs. Rademacher was known for.

“Poor Neil was just defending himself from you hooligans!” said Mrs. Rademacher. “You’ll be spending your recess indoors, in your classroom!”
Sweet
.

Tony nudged me and smiled. I smiled back. Although we were in trouble for totally unfair reasons, it was my perfect chance to get the calculator back before Mr. Summers could blow up the world!

Madam Mordre, the evil Dr. Cringe’s equally evil assistant, led Agent North down the corridor, handcuffs chafing his wrists. Dave the Monkey followed along in tiny handcuffs of his own.

North’s plan was working perfectly! He had intended to fight his way into Dr. Cringe’s chambers but realized that if he lost the fight on purpose and let them simply capture him, Madam Mordre would lead him right into the chamber! As soon as she looked away, he would break free of the handcuffs.

His suit was a bit messed up from the fight, but his hair was still perfect.

Madam Mordre grinned as she led North through the door into the secret chamber, where Dr. Cringe was waiting.

“Come on,” she said. “You’ll be spending your recess in here.”

Mr. Summers was sitting at his desk, grading our worksheets and listening to music on headphones, and Ryan Kowalski was leaning his chair back and putting his feet up on his desk. Ryan had to eat his lunch in the classroom every day. No one knew what he’d called Mrs. Rademacher to get permanent indoor recess, and he wasn’t telling.

“Got two more for you,” said Mrs. Rademacher.

“Oh?” said Mr. Summers, looking up.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Rademacher. “They’ll be spending the rest of lunch and recess indoors with Ryan. And Ryan, put your feet down!”

“Sure thing, Mrs. R,” said Ryan.

Mr. Summers nodded and gestured for us to have a seat. I sat down next to Ryan, and Tony sat down next to me.

Ryan was dressed in a plain white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was slicked back, and he was chewing on a pencil.

“What are you guys in for?” Ryan asked.

“Throwing potato salad at Neil,” I said proudly.

Ryan nodded. “Looks like Neil got you back, too.” He pointed at my chest.

“Guess so,” I said. “Are we allowed to talk out loud in here?”

“Sure,” said Ryan. He turned and started talking really loudly so Mr. Summers could hear him through his headphones.
“Mr. Summers doesn’t mind if we talk here. Do you, Mr. S?”

“Knock yourselves out,” said Mr. Summers. “I’m not a jailer. I’m just here to make sure you don’t break the windows and write dirty words on the marker board.”

And he went back to grading papers and listening to his headphones.

“Hey, Ryan,” I said, quietly enough that Mr. Summers wouldn’t hear, “that insult you gave me about Neil’s name sounding like a toilet flush worked really well!”

“I knew it would,” said Ryan. “Need any more?”

“Not today,” I said, “but as soon as I get some cash, I’ll buy a whole bunch.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said. “I’m having a sale this month—five insults for only two bucks.”

I needed to do something to get some more money. I really did need more insults, but I didn’t know how much I could afford to spend, considering I had a monkey to save for. Of course, if I had managed to contact spy headquarters and they called me up to the pros, I’d be able to afford a monkey and a
ton
of insults!

The whole time we talked, I kept a close eye on Mr. Summers. I knew he had to get up some time, which would give me a chance to get the calculator back. If he didn’t leave the room, I was going to have to find some way to get all of us out of the room, which was going to be a real trick.

After lunchtime ended and everyone else was out on the playground, Mr. Summers gave us some drawing paper to keep us occupied during our indoor recess. I drew a blueprint
for the house where Jack and I would live after we had both gone pro as spies. It would have everything—giant TVs, a swimming pool the size of a football field, a video-game room, and maybe an indoor baseball stadium. It would even have private suites in the basement for Tony and Danny, my assistants. There would be secret passages all over and a telescope on the roof that we could use to look into windows all over town.

Paul Hazuka could live there with us, too, even though he’d probably never believe we were spies. He’d probably think we made all our money from “good investments” or something and that I just dressed so sharply to impress the ladies (which would only be half true). But that would be okay—if anyone came snooping around, he could answer the door and say, “Spies? No, no spies here. Nobody here but us insurance salesmen!”

While I worked on a design for the monkey habitat where Dave would live, I thought about all the stuff Danny had said about Storage Room B. Jack had never told me anything about it, so I sort of doubted there was anything
that
secret in there. But it was possible. Anything is possible in a town like Cornersville Trace.

“Hey,” I said to Ryan. “Did you ever hear any stories about Storage Room B?”

Ryan spent more time in the school than anybody, since he got detention so often. If anyone knew anything, it would be him.

“Oh yeah,” he said, nodding. “I’ve heard a lot about that
room. There’s supposed to be some really valuable stuff in there.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that,” I said. “Might be worth a look.”

“You’ll never get a look in the place,” said Ryan. “Mr. Gormulka is insane about keeping it guarded. Man, I’ve sure heard some scary stuff about
that
guy!”

“Yeah?” I said.

“Heck yeah,” Ryan said. “You hear crazy things when you’re stuck in this place, man. Terrible things. I’ve heard things in here that are going to haunt me to the grave.”

“Like what?” I said.

He gestured for us to lean in closer. “Well,” he said in a low voice, “you’ve heard how Gormulka became a janitor after fighting in some war, right?”

“Sure,” I said. “Everyone’s heard that.”

“Well, that’s partially true. But the thing is, he wasn’t fighting for America. He was fighting for the Russians during the Cold War! And he still works for them, just undercover. Now that the Cold War is over, his spy team works for anybody who can pay.”

“Really?” I asked.

Tony leaned over my desk. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

“For sure,” said Ryan. “You know that scar over his eye that looks like an ‘M’? That’s not just a scar. It’s the mark of the group he works for. From what I’ve heard, he thinks that one of the teachers here, or maybe even one of the students, is actually a spy. And he’s just waiting to find out who it is.
As soon as he finds out, that person is as dead as a drain-pipe!”

“Oh my God!” said Tony.

He kicked my shin under the desk, like I needed to be reminded that there
was
a spy in the school: me!

“You can’t be serious,” I said, trying not to freak out.

“I am,” said Ryan. “So if I were you, Tony, I’d be really careful about the pencil-sharpening thing. If Mr. Gormulka finds out you have skills like that, he might decide
you’re
the spy!”

The wheels in my head were turning. Maybe defeating evil Mr. Gormulka could be the job I did to prove that I was ready to be a professional spy! But, on the other hand, they don’t send spies in to fight bad guys without a whole bunch of cool gadgets. If Mr. Gormulka was really an evil spy, I wasn’t about to fight him without a special ring that shot out laser beams that could freeze him into a statue or something. Who knew what sort of weapons he might have in Storage Room B? Maybe he even had a shark tank in there!

Just then, Mr. Summers took off his headphones and stood up. “You guys sit tight,” he said. “I have to go to the teachers’ lounge to get more coffee. I can trust you guys to behave for a minute and a half, right?”

“Sure thing, Mr. S,” said Ryan.

“Good,” said Mr. Summers. “You guys are on the honor system. If I see a single dirty word on the marker board, you’re all dead meat!”

Mr. Summers smiled and walked out of the room. Now, I knew I’d promised not to do anything wrong, but as any spy will tell you, sometimes it’s okay to break the rules. Like when the world might blow up if you don’t. This was one of those times. It was a perfect chance to get the calculator back and save the world!

I jumped out of my seat and walked up to Mr. Summers’s desk, where the calculator was in a drawer. I opened the drawer, grabbed the calculator, and hopped back to my desk. Mission accomplished!

“That’s one big calculator,” said Ryan.

“It’s my brother’s,” I said really casually so he wouldn’t know I’d probably just saved the world from getting blown up. If he knew
I
was the spy, he might let it slip to Mr. Gormulka under torture or something.

“Wow,” said Ryan as he looked the calculator over. “What does the Y= button do?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m still trying to figure the thing out. But if I don’t get it back home before Jack knows it’s gone, I’m dead. Promise you won’t tell Mr. Summers I got it back from his desk?”

“Sure,” said Ryan. “I’m no tattler.”

I went back to work fiddling with the thing, trying to make sure no secret message had been beamed into it while it was in Mr. Summers’s desk. All I saw on the screen when I turned it on was the message I’d typed in before. The screen wasn’t going nuts anymore; the flashing black dots were
gone. I breathed a sigh of relief, found the OFF button, and pushed it. The screen went blank, which I guess meant that the world was safe.

I was just about to put it away when Mr. Summers came back into the room.

“Andrew?” he said. “Please tell me you didn’t break into my desk to get that!”

“Sorry about that,” I said. I tried to smile and chuckle a little bit like people always do when they get caught lying. It never works, but I couldn’t very well have told him that it just
flew
out of his desk or anything!