The Villain Virus Page 4

  And Staplertown—the tristate area’s largest office supply store—was not helping. He was lost inside its labyrinth of aisles, all stacked nearly to the ceiling with copy paper, shredders, computers, packing tape, and toner cartridges. All he wanted was a three-ring binder, but he had been up and down every aisle, searched every bin and shelf from top to bottom, and there wasn’t one to be found. He would have loved to ask for help. Actually, he would have loved to have asked for help a couple hours ago, but the store didn’t seem to have any employees. He was all alone, among the Post-its and label makers, struggling with the urge to burn the building to the ground.

  Suddenly, he spotted something moving. Down at the farthest end of the aisle, seemingly miles away … It was an employee! He wore a Staplertown vest and a matching hat. The Antagonist raced after him, desperate not to lose him in the maze they called a store, and finally reached him—a pimple-faced mouth breather playing a game on his phone as he walked through the store.

  “Excuse me, but I require a three-ring binder,” the Antagonist said. The sound of his voice startled him. In the last few weeks his vocabulary had grown dramatically, and he’d lost the Brooklyn accent he acquired as a kid hanging around the waterfront. Now when he spoke, he sounded intelligent—almost sophisticated—and he wasn’t sure how the change had happened. But then again, he’d been going through a lot of changes lately.

  The glassy-eyed teenager looked up from his game. “You’re wearing a mask.”

  The Antagonist sighed. The mask was another of the big changes. It was causing problems. The white skull painted on it shouted “LOOK AT ME!” Whether he was at a drive-thru or a greeting card store, taking a walk in the park, or watching the puppies in the dog run, someone always wanted to know about the mask. Sometimes he hated wearing the stupid thing, but a little voice in his head wouldn’t let him stop. It demanded that he wear it, even in the shower.

  “Yes, I’m wearing a—”

  “And you have a hook for a hand.”

  “Can we get back to the three-ring binder?”

  “What is it?” the teenager asked.

  The Antagonist wanted to crush the boy’s spine. “You mean to tell me that you do not know what a three-ring binder is? It is used to hold documents so that they can be stored indefinitely in an organized manner. This type of binder is quite popular with businesspeople, students, teachers, and evil geniuses.”

  “We don’t have those,” the teenager said, and turned back to his game.

  The blood boiled inside the Antagonist and a fever swept over him. With a fierce, violent slash, he impaled the teenager’s phone with the sharp tip of his hook.

  “Dude, that is so not cool. I’m calling my manager,” the boy said. “Belle! Belle!”

  Another employee came around the corner. She had thick glasses and pasty skin. Beneath her Staplertown smock was a black sweater and she wore dark purple eye shadow that made her look like a vampire in a very cheap horror movie. She was playing a game on her phone as well, and seemed irritated that she had to look up from it.

  “What’s going on, Darryl?” she asked.

  “This psychopath attacked me!”

  “Young lady, I’d like to see your manager,” the Antagonist said.

  “I’m the manager,” the girl replied.

  The Antagonist was dumbfounded. “You? You manage this entire store? You can’t be older than nineteen.”

  “I’m eighteen. Now, what’s going on?”

  “My name is the Antagonist. I am a supervillain. I’m building an organization that deals in chaos and world war. Right now, I have twenty different operatives in ten international cities. Each is planning a terrible crime. I even have a lab where I combine animals with people to create horrible mutant hybrids. As world conquerors go, I am the real deal. To keep all these moving parts running smoothly, I need to be organized. I need to keep meticulous records, including maps, plans, blueprints, and tax forms. So … I need a three-ring binder.”

  “They’re in the next aisle over by the color-copy paper,” the manager said.

  “Thank you,” he said. Then he turned to Darryl and lifted him off the ground by his neck with his good hand. Darryl’s face turned red and puffy. He tried to say something, but it came out as chokes and spittle. While the clerk struggled, the Antagonist turned his attention back to Belle.

  “Young lady, I’m going to take your friend with me to the next aisle. If the three-ring binders aren’t there, something terrible will happen to him. So, are you sure they are in the next aisle?”

  Belle thought for a moment. “Actually, I’m not sure I know what a three-ring binder is.”

  What happened next is far too terrible to record, but suffice it to say that Darryl and Belle learned a valuable lesson about work ethic and taking pride in their jobs. Of course, they spent the rest of their lives in hospital beds convalescing, but they did realize that they had been rude. And the happy ending for the Antagonist was that he found the three-ring binders by the cash registers on his way out of the store.

  In the parking lot, he was loading his purchases into the Antagocar, which was really a Subaru Outback with a skull painted on the hood, when a woman came racing toward him. She was lean and tall, but he could not see her face because she was wearing a black mask with a white skull painted on it.

  “I saw what you did to those oafs,” she said.

  The Antagonist was surprised. He hated surprises. He snatched the woman by the collar, but she caught his wrist and gave it a quick turn to free herself. He was about to attack again but realized by her stance that she knew a great deal about the martial arts. Fighting her would be useless. And painful. “And?”

  “I thought it was awesome.”

  “Yes,” the Antagonist agreed. How strange it was for him to receive compliments. Even stranger was how desperately he seemed to need them. “It was most certainly awesome.”

  The woman nodded. “I hate this store. I come here all the time to buy stuff and they never know what I’m talking about. I’m glad someone finally did something about it.”

  The Antagonist smiled under his mask.

  “My name is Miss Information. I heard you talking about your evil organization. You wouldn’t happen to have any openings for an assistant?” she asked. “I’m very good with calendars and I know my way around a fax machine. Plus, I’m really pretty evil.”

  He eyed the woman up and down. It seemed that lately everywhere he went people were eager to join his cause. It had become a little overwhelming. Still, he could use an assistant to help around the office. The files were getting out of control, and his henchmen kept complaining that the watercooler was always empty. This was a woman who could handle the details.

  “You’re hired. You start immediately. The first thing you’re going to do is burn this office supply store to the ground.”

  Miss Information held up a box of matches. “Already on it, boss.”

  THE POWERS THAT BE THINK YOU’VE SHOWN SOME REAL SPUNK GETTING THIS FAR IN YOUR TRAINING, BUT I’M NOT SO SURE. I MEAN, ADMITTEDLY, YOU’RE A LOT CLEVERER THAN YOU LOOK (YOU LOOK LIKE A GROUNDHOG WITH A HEAD COLD). BUT WHAT ABOUT YOUR PHYSICAL ABILITIES? BEING A SPY ISN’T ALL ABOUT YOUR BRAINS. SOMETIMES, IN DANGEROUS SITUATIONS, YOU NEED TO BE STRONG, FAST, AND AGILE.

  SO IT’S TIME TO START YOUR NERDS SECRET AGENT ATHLETIC EXAMINATION. NOW, I REALIZE THAT YOU MAY NOT BE STRONG, FAST, AND AGILE. IN FACT, ONE LOOK AT YOU TELLS ME YOU ARE WEAK, SLOW, AND … WELL, LET’S JUST SAY I HAVE MY DOUBTS YOU COULD LEAP A FENCE. THIS IS YOUR CHANCE TO PROVE ME WRONG.

  SO, FOR YOUR FIRST CHALLENGE I WANT YOU TO PLACE A BOOK ON YOUR HEAD AND RUN AROUND THE BLOCK.

  YES, REALLY.

  HERE ARE SOME POINTERS. FIRST, STRETCH YOUR BACK, THIGH, HAMSTRING, AND CALF MUSCLES. THIS WAY YOU WON’T GET A CRAMP AND FALL INTO THE STREET. SECOND, BREATHE IN THROUGH YOUR NOSE AND OUT THROUGH YOUR MOUTH. BREATHING IS IMPORTANT FOR MOST ACTIVITIES. ASK A DEAD PERSON. THEY’VE LEARNED THE HARD WAY. THIRD, RUN
AT YOUR OWN PACE. IF YOU CAN FIND THE RIGHT STRIDE, YOU COULD PROBABLY RUN TO CHINA! REALLY. NO, NOT REALLY, BUT THE RIGHT STRIDE WILL TAKE YOU PRETTY FAR. FOURTH, WEAR THE RIGHT SHOES. SNEAKERS ARE BEST. SNOWSHOES ARE NOT. NEITHER ARE COWBOY BOOTS, HIGH HEELS, CLOWN SHOES, BALLET SLIPPERS, OR FUZZY SLIPPERS.

  OK, THAT’S ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW. THE SENSORS WILL RECORD YOUR TIME, AND WHEN YOU GET BACK WE’LL SEE HOW YOU DID.

  MAYBE YOU NEED A FEW MORE

  PRACTICE ROUNDS. IN THE MEANTIME,

  HOW ABOUT A SHOWER? YOU STINK.

  Flinch had never met anyone like Principal Dove. Her eyes were as big as dinner plates, and she had a dainty nose and a mouth that seemed to always be open in a perfect circle. When she moved, her whole body shook as if she were ruffling invisible feathers. Flinch felt the impulse to toss her some bread crumbs.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” she said, shaking her head in disapproval. She leaned over her desk and eyeballed each of the NERDS, finally landing on Flinch as if he were some peculiar animal at the zoo. He was already jumpy from the morning’s semi-successful mission in Paris, and the massive sugar shock from the Heart Attack Bar was still taking a toll on his nerves. Her scolding smile didn’t help.

  “Late on the first day?” she asked.

  Flinch looked to Pufferfish. Her real name was Ruby Peet, and as the team’s official leader, she usually called the shots and did the talking. That’s how Flinch liked it. The others were quick with their thoughts. He was quick with his feet.

  “We missed the bus,” Ruby lied.

  “All five of you?” Ms. Dove said, her smile widening. “Well, that must be quite a story. What happened?”

  “Oh, um—it’s just one of those mornings,” Jackson said, flashing his biggest grin. Even with his braces he had a charming smile, and he wasn’t afraid to use it.

  “Now, you wouldn’t be trying to pull my leg, would you?” Dove said with a giggle.

  The children looked at one another. It was clear to Flinch that none of them knew what to say, and despite the principal’s smile, the tension in the room was building by the minute. What were they supposed to tell her—that they were spies? That they had little robots inside their bodies that gave them superpowers? That they had flown to Paris that morning and stopped a lunatic from destroying the city, yet managed to create nearly a billion dollars in damage in the process?

  Back at Nathan Hale Elementary the team occasionally encountered a teacher who asked questions about the sudden and frequent disappearances of the children, but somehow Agent Brand and Ms. Holiday made it all go away. Then again, back at the elementary school they were taught by Mr. Pheiffer, who spent most of his time talking about his tan. A tornado could have swept through his class and he wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. Their old principal, Dehaven, could be difficult, but he enjoyed bullying his staff a lot more than he did the children. So for the most part, the members of NERDS came and went as they pleased.

  It appeared as if all that was going to change.

  “It seems a rather odd coincidence that all five of you missed the bus this morning,” the new principal said. “It boggles the mind.”

  “Actually, the odds of such a thing happening are really not that far out of the realm of possibility,” Duncan said. “If you consider the distance of the bus stop to our neighborhood as well as the average speed in morning traffic—”

  Ms. Dove put her finger to her mouth. “Shhhhhhhhh!”

  She stared at the children for a long moment with a smile on her face, as if what she read in their eyes was amusing. Flinch knew that she couldn’t read their minds, but he covered his ears just in case that was how the woman accessed his thoughts.

  His blood sugar was still out of whack. Something sweet would calm him down, so he reached into his pocket and took out a Chocolate Coconut Bomb Bar he’d grabbed when he got back to the Playground. He tore it open and chomped down with delight. Yum! It was like heaven inside his mouth, and he was starting to feel better when, suddenly, with a hand faster than lightning, Ms. Dove snatched the treat from his hand and tossed it into the wastebasket next to her desk. Flinch shrank back in horror. His treat was covered in paper clips, dust balls, and a few thumbtacks. It took every ounce of self-control not to shriek.

  “Mr. Escala, our school has a ‘no junk food’ policy,” she said. “There is no junk food of any kind anywhere on my campus. No candy bar or soda machines. No sugary treats at lunch. Not a single drop of chocolate milk in the cafeteria. Little birds need healthy food to fly.”

  “Uh-oh,” Matilda said.

  And that’s when Flinch’s shriek escaped. No candy machines? No soda pop? What kind of a madhouse was this woman running? Someone had to be alerted. When he finally stopped screaming, he reached for his phone. He had the president’s number on speed dial—he would help! But before Flinch could hit the number, Matilda reached over and gave the knob on his harness a twist. The harness captured some of his energy and he managed to calm down a little.

  “Children, I know the first day in a new nest can be confusing,” Principal Dove said.

  “Nest?” Ruby asked.

  “There are so many new and strange birds in the air, and I like to keep a careful eye on the hatchlings.”

  “Hatchlings?” Duncan asked. “Are you talking about us?”

  “Some birdies need a lot more attention than others. Some birdies need to be placed under the strong, watchful wing of a mama bird. I’m thinking that you five might need that wing hovering over you, keeping you safe and watching every move you make.”

  “Does she think we’re really birds?” Flinch whispered.

  “I think so,” Jackson replied.

  “It all depends on you and what kind of birdies you are. Are you the kind that can fly free, or the kind that need to be in a cage?” Ms. Dove asked the group.

  “Um … we’re free birds?” Pufferfish said.

  Ms. Dove clapped her hands. “I’m as happy as a hummingbird. I’d hate for you to leave the nest not knowing how to fly.”

  She handed each of the children a piece of paper.

  Flinch looked down at his. “What’s this?”

  “They are your new class schedules. I took a quick look at your files and noticed that all five of you have the same classes at the same time. That’s not good for little birdies, especially ones that need to stretch out and meet other members of our flock. So I made some changes.”

  Flinch looked at Pufferfish again. This time the team leader wasn’t so calm. Her hand swelled to the size of a small pumpkin. She was allergic to logistical nightmares. Keeping the NERDS together in one class made it easy to reach them quickly. What would they do now?

  “OK, little birdies, fly back to your classes,” the principal said, and waved them out of her office. Flinch got up slowly, still wondering if maybe he should snatch the trash can from under her desk and liberate the poor, innocent candy bar. Matilda seemed to read his mind and pulled him out of the office.

  Once in the hall, the NERDS stared at their new schedules.

  “That woman is going to be trouble,” Pufferfish said.

  “What if she starts watching us?” Matilda said. She took a shot of her asthma inhaler. “Look, she’s got me hyperventilating.”

  Flinch shuddered. “Did you see what she did to my candy? What kind of a heartless person throws away a perfectly good Chocolate Coconut Bomb Bar?”

  Jackson waved them off. “Everyone relax. She’s no different than any other teacher. She just wants you to know who’s boss around here. All we have to do is dazzle her with a few smiles or ask for extra help we don’t really need—you know, pretend that we look up to her. We’ll have her eating out of the palms of our hands in no time. Trust me. It’ll work like a charm.”

  “That would work well if she was sane,” Duncan said. “But you heard her in there. She thinks we’re birds. I bet the woman is sitting on an egg right now. It’s best if we just stay off her radar. We can’t be late or act suspicious.”


  “I hate to say this, but I miss the old days when Heathcliff could just hypnotize our teachers so they wouldn’t remember us dashing off to save the world.” Ruby sighed.

  “Well, I liked him a lot better back then than I do now,” Jackson said. “The ‘I’m a creepy giant head that can take over the world’ thing is really obnoxious.”

  “So now what? We just go off to our separate classes?” Flinch asked.

  The children shrugged. For some, it was the first time they had been separated in years, but what could they do?

  Flinch watched his friends drift away down the hall and realized there was a comfort in being part of a group. When they were gone, he looked down at his schedule. His first class of the day was math—his worst subject.

  “There’s another thing we should consider,” Flinch shouted to the others. “Ms. Dove might be evil.”

  Math was hard, even on the first day, and science class was no better. With his brain drowning in algebraic equations and plate tectonics, Flinch headed off to history class, where he was bombarded with dates and names from hundreds of years ago. To top it all off, he had Latin, which he was surprised to learn, was a language that no one spoke anymore. What kind of a madhouse was Ms. Dove running? Worst of all, without sweets Flinch actually had the ability to pay attention. It was an unusual feeling for him to hear facts and remember them. Somehow it felt wrong.

  He drifted from one class to the next, catching only brief glimpses of his teammates as they hurried down the halls. He didn’t like being alone. Before he became a spy, being alone meant being a target for bullies. Like jackals, they hunted those who were separated from the pack. Once the weak were identified, the bullies would descend, dishing out brutal wedgies and painful flicks to the neck, sticking wet fingers in the ears and spitting paper wads in the eyes. Nothing was quite as terror-inducing as the bullies’ high-pitched giggles as they cornered their prey. Flinch scanned the halls. If bullies came at him, he would have to take their abuse. He was too strong and fast to fight back. He could hurt someone, or worse, blow the team’s cover.