“Thanks, but no thanks,” he said as he crunched the envelope into a ball and tossed it into the toilet bowl. He was leaning over to flush it down when he heard the bathroom door open. He turned to see who it was and saw a group of his former friends, led by Brett. They were laughing and slugging one another in the arm, a game they seemed to play all the time. Instinctively, Jackson smiled at them. After all, they had been best friends for years. But when Brett sneered at him, he knew he had made a mistake.
“Hey, Braceface,” Brett said. “How many toothbrushes do you go through in a day?”
The other boys exploded into obnoxious giggles.
Jackson felt his face flush. Before he could think, a nasty reply escaped his lips, “Hey Brett, you still using those big-boy diapers at bedtime?”
Brett’s face fell. His nightly bedwetting was a secret the two boys had shared since the second grade, when Jackson had spent the night at Brett’s house and they had gone hog-wild over pizza, candy, and root beer after root beer. Jackson had woken several times in the night to visit the bathroom. Brett had slept like a rock—a rock floating on a soggy mattress. The next morning, in front of Jackson, Brett’s mom had informed her son that from now on he would have to wear “pull-up pants,” which everyone knew was code for diapers. Horrified, Brett swore Jackson to secrecy.
Jackson felt bad about revealing the secret and began to make an earnest apology, when Brett grabbed him by the collar and forced him back inside the bathroom stall. Then, with the help of the other boys, he shoved Jackson headfirst into the toilet bowl. Someone flushed and the water swirled around Jackson’s ears. He was drowning, but there were too many hands holding him down. He kicked and punched and finally freed himself. Gagging and spitting, he managed to turn his head toward his attackers. They shrank back in terror. His braces! They had transformed into four metallic lobster claws, snapping and lunging at the bullies.
“Freak!” Brett shouted, scrambling for the bathroom door.
“No!” Jackson cried. “Wait. They’re really cool.”
His friends rushed out of the bathroom, leaving him alone on the floor. He lay there for a long time, fighting back tears. It was clear that his former life was officially over. As he got to his feet, he found a soggy wad of paper crumpled beneath him. It was the envelope. He scooped it up and opened it gingerly. Inside was a blurry handwritten note.
Go to the cafeteria. Ask the lunch lady for
the creamed corn. Welcome to the National
Espionage, Rescue, and Defense Society.
Jackson reread the words over and over to make sure he understood them. What did creamed corn have to do with becoming a spy?
He hurried down the hallway, leaving soggy footprints behind him.
The fifth grade was halfway through their lunch break, so the line in the cafeteria was short. Jackson hopped onto the end and soon stepped up to the counter. There he found the lunch lady chewing on an extinguished cigar. Jackson had never noticed her husky forearms before or, for that matter, how hairy they were. He had never noticed her five o’clock shadow before, either.
“What’ll you have, kid?” the lunch lady asked in a rather deep voice.
“I was told to order the creamed corn,” Jackson said, eyeing the grayish-yellow muck boiling in a pan next to some off-color green beans.
The lunch lady cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Did you say you wanted the creamed corn?”
“Yes, the creamed corn.”
“You sure, kid? Once you have the creamed corn, there’s no going back.”
Jackson shook some toilet water out of his ear. “I’m sure.”
The lunch lady scooped out a heaping helping of the goop and plopped it onto Jackson’s tray. “Welcome to the team, kid,” she said.
Once he found a seat, Jackson took a sniff of the corn and quickly realized that ordering it had been a terrible decision. It smelled like feet and maple syrup, and jiggled on the tray as if it were alive. Summoning all his courage and tightening all his stomach muscles, Jackson plunged his spoon into the goop and shoveled some into his mouth. Just as it went in, he thought he spotted something tiny and metallic. It was too late. He had already swallowed.
Jackson could feel the metal thing at the back of his throat, but it wasn’t sinking into his stomach, it was climbing into his nasal cavity! There was an odd tickling feeling and then a sudden sharp pain that made Jackson yelp, which made every kid in the cafeteria look in his direction.
There was horrible popping sound and then Jackson’s head filled with a whining feedback. He clamped his hands on his ears and cried out in agony. He heard a kid sitting behind him diagnose him as a lunatic. He was about to reply when he heard another voice, this one soft and calming.
“Welcome, Braceface.”
“Hello?”
“Do you wish to join NERDS, Braceface? Please confirm.” Jackson nodded. “Sure … I guess. But my name is Jackson—”
“Yes or no is required, Braceface.”
“Enough with the Braceface! Yes! I want to join,” he shouted, collecting more bug-eyed gazes.
“Confirmed. You have received a TL-46A Tracking, Calling, and Communication Implant. It has three functions. The first emits a unique radio frequency allowing agents to track your whereabouts. I will test this function.”
An incredible squeal blasted in Jackson’s brain. The pain was similar to that of eating an ice cream cone too fast except, in this case, it was like eating forty pounds of ice cream too fast. Jackson’s head was filled with a teeth-rattling screech and he fell over onto the floor. The kids who were sitting nearby picked up their trays and moved to other seats.
“Adjusting volume,” the voice said as the noise faded. “The TL-46A’s secondary function is as a pager system to alert agents of a crisis. I will test this function.”
Just then, Jackson felt an incredible itch in his nose and he let out a massive sneeze. His nose was running like a river, and he wiped it on his sleeve. He had seen the same thing happen to the nerd herd.
“Secondary function working within parameters,” the computer said. “OK, Braceface—”
“All right, pal, you call me Braceface one more time and I’m going to—”
“Testing.”
Suddenly, Jackson’s nose started to tickle and he sneezed. Then he sneezed again, and again, and again.
“Lastly, the implant allows communication between agents. Testing.”
There was a horrible whine of feedback in his head that caused Jackson to slam his head on his table and hold his hands over his ears.
“Prepare to be delivered,” Benjamin’s voice continued.
“Delivered?”
Just then, the fire alarm rang and the sprinkler system came to life. Cold water poured down, causing panicked kids and staff to rush for the exits. In the chaos, Jackson felt the floor below him disappear, and he plummeted into darkness, landing in an overstuffed chair next to the computer desk in the center of the Playground. Agent Brand was waiting for him.
“Welcome to the team,” Brand said, helping the boy to his feet. Jackson brushed himself off and scanned his surroundings. The scientists he had seen before were busy working on their various experiments.
“Well, I suppose we should get right to it,” Brand continued as he escorted Jackson around the massive room. “You’ve seen the Playground before. It’s our mission room, as well as a multifunction lab, information collection center, and training facility. You’ve met a few of our scientists. There are nearly fifty on staff, and they make up the finest minds in chemistry, engineering, and astrophysics—all working on the latest technologies to help your missions succeed.”