The League of Unexceptional Children--The Kids Who Knew Too Little

by Gitty Daneshvari

  Jonathan clenched his jaw and grumbled, “But who are they?”

  Hammett swallowed audibly and then answered, “They’re the people who rule the world.”

  “I still don’t understand!” Jonathan replied as Shelley opened her mouth to say something. “Not now, Shells! Not now!”

  “Listen here, kiddos, and listen good. What I’m about to say is the truth. But as you know, the truth can be scary. Real scary.”

  “Scarier than your parents being arrested for treason?” Jonathan blurted out, his tone harsh, his face covered in sweaty splotches.

  “You’re like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly right now… an angry butterfly.… Do those exist?” Shelley trailed off as Hammett grabbed Jonathan by the shoulders and began speaking so close to his face that the boy could smell the stale coffee on his breath.

  “For over a hundred years there have been rumors that the Order of Merium has been cheating and stealing its way into positions of power so that its members can manipulate stock markets, businesses, laws, pretty much society as a whole.… Bottom line, if they wanted the STS file, they’re planning something big against the US government.”

  “Hold on,” Carmen Murray interrupted. “Are you saying that the girls weren’t from the Alien Intelligence Agency?”

  “There is no Alien Intelligence Agency! You were conned into committing treason!” Jonathan answered.

  “And that’s not a good thing, right?”

  “No, Mom, it’s not a good thing,” Jonathan replied, and then released an epically long sigh.

  “How could you tell from the sketch that they were from the Order of Merium?” Shelley asked. “Wait, don’t tell me… you had a psychic flash.… I get them too.… For instance, right now I sense Jonathan is thinking about buying more khaki slacks online.”

  “Not even close.”

  “Look at these girls,” Hammett said as he held up the sketch. “Well groomed, smiling. They look like any other high school students until you look a bit closer. Each one has three moles arranged in a triangle under her left eye.”

  “So the girls are related?” Jonathan asked. “They both inherited the same moles?”

  “They’re not moles; they’re tattoos.”

  “Kids getting tattoos? And to think my parents were scandalized when I pierced my ears,” Shelley muttered.

  “It’s how members recognize each other out in the world. Within the Order, everyone must wear a mask and cloak.”

  “Hammett?” Agent O’Keefe interrupted. “As much as I’ve enjoyed this session of creative writing, I’ve got prisoners to process.”

  Hammett scowled. “They’re under arrest; they’re not prisoners. There’s a difference.”

  “It’s just a matter of time. They’re guilty and they’re gonna go down… hard.”

  Hammett offered Agent O’Keefe a steely look before stating, “They’re telling the truth.”

  “That’s the funny thing about the truth: Nothing’s true unless you can prove it.”

  “Then we’ll prove it,” Jonathan announced, his voice steady and sure.

  Hammett nodded as he pulled out his cell phone, an old flip phone held together by tape and a couple of stickers stolen from the post office.

  “What’s that?” Shelley asked.

  “It’s my cell phone. It was one of the first models on the market. It’s got lousy reception and there’s always a buzzing noise, but no one can trace it,” Hammett explained as he finished dialing and put the phone to his ear. “Maidenkirk, get the Dark Bird. We’re heading to Bulgaria.… No, absolutely not… that boy cannot come.… Tell Carl the answer is NO!”

  OCTOBER 31, 3:32 A.M. AIRSTRIP. NORTHERN VIRGINIA

  Standing in the middle of an empty field lined with trees wrapped in shadows, Jonathan grabbed hold of Shelley’s hand. He squeezed it tightly as the wind ripped past them, whistling. They shivered. It was the cold air, the lack of sleep, and the rush of adrenaline all mixed together.

  “Shells, do you think we’ll actually be able to pull this off?”

  “Of course, Johno! We’re awesome. We saved the vice president. We saved England from a virus that could have made the whole country dumb. We can easily save your parents. We just have to make it to Bulgaria, sneak into the secret society, find the girls who tricked them, and then make it out alive before the society uses the information your parents gave them to ruin the US government.”

  “That sounds really hard.”

  “That’s because you have normal ears. But not me, Johno. Not me. I have what are known as selective ears.… They only hear what they want to hear… and right now they want to hear that we are going to succeed!”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but that explains a lot—”

  “It’s here!” Shelley interrupted. “The Dark Bird has landed!”

  OCTOBER 31, 3:34 A.M. AIRSTRIP. NORTHERN VIRGINIA

  From the edge of the forest emerged a World War II transport plane. Swathed in darkness, the silhouette of the aircraft—two propellers and a deep body that appeared much like the bottom of a boat held upright by two wings—moved slowly toward Jonathan and Shelley.

  “What’s that sound?” Jonathan asked.

  Clink-clunk-clack. Clink-clunk-clack.

  The plane crept out of the shadow of the trees and into the silver light of the moon.

  Jonathan’s mouth dropped open. “Oh no… no… no… no way.…”

  “Oh come on, Johno… it’s not that bad.”

  “The plane’s held together by rope and masking tape!”

  A rusted metal bar snapped off the tail of the aircraft as Shelley and Jonathan noticed that none other than Nurse Maidenkirk was in the cockpit.

  “Okay, it is that bad,” Shelley admitted.

  As the rusty black plane sputtered to a stop, the back hatch lowered and Hammett jumped out.

  “Come on, kids, don’t just stand there! Move your stompers! We’ve got an eighteen-hour flight ahead of us!”

  “Eighteen hours?” Shelley repeated.

  “The Dark Bird needs to stop for refueling a few times, plus, she’s an old lady. And you can’t rush an old lady.”

  “We’re going to spend eighteen hours in that thing?” Jonathan asked as he sized up the screws and bolts, so old and rusted they appeared to be disintegrating right before his eyes.

  “The Dark Bird sure is a gem, isn’t she?” Hammett answered.

  “Only if by gem, you mean death trap,” Jonathan muttered.

  “Hammy,” Shelley chimed in, “as you know, I’m an optimist, a glass-half-full kind of kid. While Johno here is more of a glass-half-empty—or actually, on second thought, more of a glass-has-poisonous-water—type of kid, but even I have to agree with him about this contraption!”

  “The Dark Bird might look like a heap of junk, and for that reason we store her at the demolition yard on the other side of those trees there,” Hammett said as he pointed behind him. “But that’s her disguise. When military officials see the Dark Bird, they laugh. They think, Some old coot is taking his heap of garbage out for a spin.”

  “I guess what we’re trying to say is, we’re worried the disguise is a little too real,” Jonathan responded as he pointed to the rope that held the left wing in place.

  “After everything we’ve been through, you don’t trust me?” Hammett asked, looking down at his shoes.

  “No, of course we do,” Jonathan answered right away.

  “Good,” Hammett said as he looked up. “Then get in.”

  “We may trust you, but we definitely don’t trust Nurse Maidenkirk as the pilot,” Shelley said, pointing to the cockpit window.

  “You’ve got a point there, doll. But Maidenkirk was the only pilot available. And, frankly, we don’t have the time to find someone else. Not if we stand a chance at saving the Murrays.”

  Jonathan nodded as he stepped toward the back hatch. “Shells, I think it’s best if you stay here. I’ll be okay on my own.”

  “J
ohno, I’m the ketchup to your French fry. The maraschino cherry to your sundae. Without me, you’re just not as good,” Shelley said, climbing onto the plane.

  OCTOBER 31, 6:58 P.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME. THE DARK BIRD. SOMEWHERE BETWEEN WASHINGTON, DC, AND BULGARIA

  Jonathan, Shelley, and Hammett sat next to each other on one of two benches that lined the metal walls of the plane. No traditional seats. No windows. Just dangling wires, rusty bolts, and a pile of green duffel bags.

  Clink-clack-buzz-clink-clack-buzz.

  “Is the engine supposed to make that sound?” Jonathan asked as he took in his surroundings.

  “Of course it is, kid; it’s all part of the disguise,” Hammett said as he popped a new toothpick into his mouth.

  “The plane is kind of like Charl… hidden in plain sight… pun intended,” Shelley said with a smile. “Get it, plain sight? And I’m talking about a plane?”

  “I hate puns almost as much as I hate this plane,” Jonathan grumbled to himself.

  Hammett shook his head. “I don’t know what to do with Carl. He’s got natural talent—his skin allows him to blend into almost anything—”

  “If I were a serial killer, I’d try to turn him into an outfit,” Shelley interrupted, thinking about the boy’s spotted skin before shuddering at her own comment. “Wow, sorry about that, guys.… That really crossed the line.”

  “There’s a line?”

  “Not a well-marked one, Johno. But yes, there’s a line.”

  “Carl has the potential to be the best operative this division’s ever seen if we can just get him to shape up. The kid’s got no follow-through. He never finishes anything! He doesn’t even bother to empty his whole bladder when he goes to the bathroom!”

  Jonathan recoiled. “I’m afraid to ask, but how do you know that?”

  “Carl told me. That’s the other thing about him. He can’t keep a secret to save his life!” Hammett said. “He’s the kind of kid who would just walk out in the middle of a mission and sit in a park and then return with some story about sleeping in a McDonald’s for three days.”

  “If I weren’t a part-time vegetarian, I would live in a McDonald’s. I love that potato smell,” Shelley added. “Like if they made it into a perfume, I’d buy it.”

  “If you’re a part-time vegetarian, then you shouldn’t eat the fries, at least part-time. They contain natural beef flavor,” a voice came from the floor—the green duffel bags, to be exact.

  “No!!!” Hammett screamed, jumping to his feet.

  “Oh, hey, Hammett,” Carl said as he stood up.

  “Not again!” Hammett shouted as he stomped toward the cockpit. “Maidenkirk!”

  “Did I ever tell you about the time I met the real Santa Claus at a mall in Minneapolis?” Carl asked. “I was with my grandma, who loves to hang out with old people, so she asked him if he was free for dinner.… They split a pizza in the food court.… Now Santa’s my grandpa.”

  “Lucky you,” Shelley droned as she and Jonathan stared at Carl.

  “Not really. Turns out Santa’s super-grumpy.… My grandma says it’s because he’s unemployed most of the year.”

  Jonathan nodded, resisting the urge to “correct” Carl, to tell him that the guy who married his grandmother wasn’t really Santa, that should Santa actually exist, he’s not spending his free time at the food court at the mall. But in the end, did it really matter to Jonathan what Carl believed? No. Plus, a part of Jonathan was envious; what a luxury to worry about a grumpy grandfather who may or may not be Santa rather than the arrest of your parents for treason!

  Carl motioned to the plane’s cabin. “Did you know we’re surrounded by people? Invisible people.”

  Shelley lowered her glasses, peering over the rims at Carl. “Are you telling me that we’re surrounded by ghosts?”

  “I don’t know if they’re ghosts. I just know they’re invisible.”

  “But you can see them?” Jonathan asked.

  “Of course I can’t see them—they’re invisible!”

  “Then how do you know they’re here?” Jonathan continued.

  Carl smiled. “That’s the question.”

  “No, that’s my question to you,” Jonathan clarified.

  “And that’s my question to the universe.”

  Crawling out of the cockpit, Hammett announced loudly, “Carl, you aren’t going on the mission! You hear me? You might have snuck onto the Dark Bird, but this is where your trip’s going to end.”

  “Sure,” Carl said, winking at Hammett and then turning toward Jonathan and Shelley.

  “Hammett loves to mess with me, kind of like my mom. She’s always playing around with me—putting spiders in my lunch, invisible h’s in my name—”

  “Your mom put a spider in your lunch?” Shelley asked.

  “She said it crawled in there on its own, but I know better.”

  Shelley nodded, rubbed her chin, and asked, “What school do you go to?”

  “Mostly John Adams, but sometimes I forget and go to Lincoln Heights too.”

  “Four hours!” Nurse Maidenkirk shouted from the cockpit.

  “Thank heavens there’s only four hours left until we land,” Jonathan said as he picked up a pair of binoculars and motioned for Shelley to tuck them into her backpack.

  “Who said anything about landing?” Hammett answered.

  Jonathan’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  “Listen, kid, there’s only one surefire way into the Order of Merium: parachuting. But there’s no need to worry. It’s kind of like riding a bike, only you’re in the sky and a lot more likely to die.”

  “Then how is it like riding a bike?”

  “It’s not, kid. I was just trying to calm your nerves.”

  “The first jump’s always the hardest,” Shelley said as she placed her hand on Jonathan’s shoulder.

  Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Sure, Shells. Because you’ve done it before?”

  “No, but I have been pushed out of a Ferris wheel by my sister, so I’m pretty sure I know what to expect.”

  “Your sister pushed you out of a Ferris wheel?” Jonathan asked, his face growing whiter and pastier by the second.

  “It was pretty close to the ground,” Shelley explained. “I think it had something to do with me decapitating her favorite doll.”

  Hammett snapped and clipped Jonathan and Shelley into their gear, which looked a bit like a backpack attached to a dog’s harness. After double-checking that the parachutes were properly packed, he handed them pocket-sized copies of How to Make Great Popcorn in the Microwave.

  “Everything we know about the Order of Merium is in here,” Hammett said as he pushed a button, lowering the back hatch of the plane.

  “That’s it? That’s all the preparation we’re getting?” Jonathan screeched, his anxiety growing exponentially.

  Hammett nodded. “If you remember to pull the cord and roll when you land, you probably won’t break too many bones.”

  Jonathan looked at Shelley sitting next to him; she was smiling. How could she smile at a time like this? But then he remembered Shelley had the ability to tune out reality and only hear what she wanted to. He still couldn’t believe that he was in this situation—literally seconds from jumping out of a plane with little to no training. He had always thought of himself as an old beige minivan that smelled of stale Cheerios and spilled coffee. But as he stood up and moved to the back of the plane, the cold wind hitting his face, he realized that wasn’t true. Not anymore. Forget the minivan, he thought, I’m a sports car now. A red one.

  Jonathan jumped first, free-falling through the black sky before pulling the cord, opening his parachute, and instantly slowing his descent.

  Maybe this won’t be so hard after all, Jonathan thought just as a familiar voice called out from above.

  “Help me! Someone help me!”

  NOVEMBER 1, 5:43 A.M. THE SKY OVER BULGARIA

  Shelley’s voice cut through Jonathan. His body jittered. His ey
es bulged. His throat constricted. Utterly powerless to help his friend, his mind raced. Was it Shelley’s parachute? Did it fail to open? Was her body about to flash past him, spiraling to a sudden death? Slap! That’s the sound her body would make as it hit the ground. Maybe he could catch her? Were his arms long enough? Would she fall within grabbing distance? Wait, he thought. If there were something wrong with Shelley’s parachute, he would know by now; she would have already sped by. After all, he was floating down at an almost leisurely pace. Jonathan looked up, his view completely blocked by the large black parachute. So concerned was he about Shelley, he had momentarily forgotten that he was on a mission, that he would soon be landing in the Order of Merium. And that there, within the walls of the secret society, lay his parents’ fate.

  Looking down, Jonathan noticed that the wind was pushing him off course. As he drifted farther and farther from the walled grounds of the Order of Merium, a voice suddenly ripped through the night.

  “Khaki!”

  Straight ahead, on course for the garden, was Shelley. Or at least he assumed that it was Shelley, for much like when the Dark Bird came out of the forest, he could only decipher the silhouette of the parachute and person.

  “You’re not going to make it!” Shelley screamed. “Use the cords to steer!”

  I can’t fail before I’ve even started, can I? Jonathan wondered. Yes, of course you can! You’re Jonathan Murray—you still don’t know if midnight is twelve a.m. or twelve p.m.! Do something, do anything, just save yourself, Jonathan thought as he grabbed the cords and began pulling at them haphazardly. Left. Right. More left. Less left. More right.

  “What are you doing?” Shelley screeched as she wafted to the ground.

  What am I doing? Why do I never know what I’m doing? Jonathan thought. Pay attention! Focus! Gently pulling the left cord, Jonathan moved back toward the Order of Merium. But then he worried he might pass over it, so he tugged at the right cord. Back and forth he went, coming closer and closer to the ground with every second. So busy was the boy steering, he completely forgot Hammett’s instructions to roll upon landing, instead performing what looked like a cannonball meets belly flop onto the grass. An ungracious arrival to be sure, but he was alive and uninjured.