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

by Gitty Daneshvari

  “Shells? Shells?” Jonathan whispered as he found his way out from under the silky black parachute.

  Standing over Jonathan, hands on hips and glasses sliding off the tip of her nose, was Shelley. And she did not look pleased.

  “Are you okay?! I heard you scream, but I couldn’t see anything!”

  “Have you ever heard of pheromones?” Shelley asked as she pushed up her glasses. “It’s a scent animals release causing other animals to either love them or hate them.”

  “I’m afraid of what’s going to come out of your mouth next.”

  “It appears my pheromones are irresistible, because I now have not one, but two stalkers,” Shelley said as she turned and pulled Carl away from the bush he was using as a disguise. “Seconds before jumping, Charl grabbed me and pushed us both out of the plane.”

  “It’s true,” Carl added. “We hugged the whole way down so I wouldn’t die.”

  “Sadly, that is accurate.… We hugged… hard.… I wanted to let go many, many times, mostly due to his personality, but I didn’t,” Shelley said before looking down and shaking her head.

  “Wait, who’s the second stalker?” Jonathan asked as he stood up.

  Shelley gave Jonathan a long and meaningful look.

  “I’m your partner!”

  Shelley shrugged. “Some might say that’s the perfect cover.”

  Jonathan pushed the hair from his forehead and took in his surroundings for the first time since landing. Rising in the east, the sun cast a golden glow over the garden. Thick, stumpy trees with blossoming white flowers filled the air with a sweet, almost saccharine scent. The grass, unkempt and limp, felt like wet carpet, water seeping through with each step. And all around them a stone wall soared, almost twenty feet high, covered in dark green moss. The grounds, the territory of the Order of Merium, formed a near-perfect circle. And placed squarely at the center, among the trees and slushy greenery, was the castle. Columns lined the limestone structure with stained-glass windows and black wrought iron bars. Turrets marked each of the castle’s four corners.

  “According to How to Make Great Popcorn in the Microwave, the Order maintains a contrary schedule, sleeping during the day and waking at night,” Jonathan said as he read Hammett’s notes. “Which means this is the perfect time to find the girls.”

  “Then what?” Carl asked.

  “What do you mean?” Jonathan replied.

  “Once we find them, what do we do?” Carl pressed on.

  “We take them back to the United States with us,” Jonathan answered.

  “How are we going to do that?” Carl asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jonathan admitted.

  “You mean you don’t have a plan?!” Carl remarked, throwing his hands in the air.

  “We’re unexceptionals; we never have plans! Not good ones, anyway!” Jonathan answered.

  “Not having a plan seems like a really bad plan… maybe even the worst plan,” Carl muttered.

  Shelley pursed her lips and stomped her left foot. “Darn it! Charl is right! We need a plan!”

  “The h is silent, remember?”

  “We don’t actually need the girls; we just need evidence. A videotaped confession? A handwritten letter? Something, anything we can take with us,” Jonathan said as he looked from Carl to Shelley.

  “I’m on it, Colonel, and by Colonel, I mean friend with no military experience,” Shelley said as she saluted Jonathan. “By the time we’re done with the Order of Merium, those girls are going to be crying, begging us for forgiveness! Please forgive us, Shelltastic!”

  “Shelltastic?” Carl repeated.

  “It’s my nickname.”

  “Really? Then why doesn’t Jerry call you that?”

  “My name is Jonathan, like Jonathan… Why are there no famous people named Jonathan?!” the boy lamented.

  Shelley narrowed her eyes and thoughtfully responded, “As a wise child, or perhaps just a very short adult, once told me while waiting in line for the bathroom at the mall, We don’t get to pick our parents or our names, but at least the latter can be changed with twenty-five dollars and your mom’s forged signature.”

  Jonathan had stopped listening, as he so often did when Shelley spoke. He was too busy staring at the columns lining the building. They reminded him of a jail, just like the one that his parents would soon be whiling away the rest of their days in. This was it. This was his only chance of saving them. The people who not only gave him life but love, and of course, daily meals with little to no nutritional value.

  “Vending machines,” Jonathan muttered to himself, remembering his parents’ answer when asked to name their favorite food group.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” Jonathan replied to Shelley, turning toward the castle’s large wooden door. “Come on, let’s do this.”

  NOVEMBER 1, 7:54 A.M. HALLWAY. THE ORDER OF MERIUM

  Creeping down the dark hallway, Jonathan, Shelley, and Carl noted the antiquities: armor, wall tapestries, swords, a miniature cannon.

  “This place smells like an old fish tank,” Shelley said as she buried her nose inside her shirt. “Which reminds me of Mitch… poor sweet Mitch…”

  “Who’s Mitch?” Carl asked.

  “Only the greatest cat that ever lived. He was a tabby. And when he died I used my old fish tank as a coffin.… It smelled terrible.”

  “Did you kill Mitch?”

  “No, I didn’t kill Mitch! Part-time vegetarians don’t kill pets!”

  “Just in case you forgot,” Jonathan whispered tensely, “we’re here to find the girls, get some evidence, and get out! We’re not here to share our favorite stories about dead pets and makeshift coffins!”

  Shelley nodded as Carl bumped into a table, knocking off a lamp in the process. With less than a second to spare, Jonathan dove to the floor, using his body to break the lamp’s fall. Red in the face, back muscles throbbing, Jonathan carefully stood up and returned the lamp to the table.

  “Sorry about that,” Carl muttered.

  “Do not touch anything,” Jonathan said, his cheeks flushed with anger. “Do not make any loud noises. Unless, of course, you want to spend the next seven decades locked in a dungeon!”

  NOVEMBER 1, 8:04 A.M. HALLWAY. THE ORDER OF MERIUM

  This is worse than an old fish tank, Shelley thought as she tiptoed down the corridor after Jonathan. Like clothes left in the washing machine overnight, the scent was musty, mildewy, hamster-esque. Why does the smell remind me of hamsters? she wondered. Maybe she tried to clean her hamster in the washing machine and it came out a stinky damp mess? Can hamsters survive the spin cycle? Was she a hamster assassin? No! She would remember that, Shelley assured herself. Death is a hard thing to forget.

  Death… the word lingered in her mind. Was this a psychic flash, a premonition of things to come? Were they going to die in the Order of Merium?

  “Johno!” Shelley whispered frantically.

  “What?”

  Staring into Jonathan’s brown eyes, Shelley suddenly froze. Most kids her age had a handful of friends, but prior to Jonathan she had exactly one—a goldfish named Zelda. And though the fish had always been loyal (full disclosure: Zelda lived in a bowl and therefore couldn’t leave even if she wanted to), she lacked many of the characteristics that made friendships work—the ability to talk, live on land, etc. No, it wasn’t until Jonathan that Shelley learned what life was like with a friend. Better. That was what came to mind when Shelley thought of Jonathan—he made life better. So how could she desert him now, when he needed her most? The answer was simple—she couldn’t. And so instead of screaming, We’re about to die, we need to get out of here, she looked around and casually asked, “Have you seen Charl?”

  Just then the boy stepped out from a tapestry hanging on the wall and waved. “Hey, guys.”

  Jonathan narrowed his eyes as an idea formed. “Were you hiding?”

  Carl nodded. “Don’t take it personally, but I don’t have a l
ot of faith in your plan and I really want to live… because I like being alive… and because I bought a year’s worth of sunscreen and I really want to use it.…”

  A figure flashed before them, scurrying down the corridor that bisected the hall where they stood. He was tall and plump. His limbs wobbled and jutted out when he moved. A frenetic energy emanated from the boy so clearly that Jonathan and Shelley only had to look at him to feel it. Thick glasses bounced up and down on his nose while his frizzy brown hair, a style best described as “electrocuted,” framed his round face.

  Frozen with fear, Jonathan and Shelley both silently hoped the boy didn’t look in their direction. And then, just as he was about to vanish from sight, the boy turned and retraced his steps down the hall as though he had forgotten something. The sound of his feet brushing against the carpet sent chills up Jonathan’s spine. If they were caught now, without a single ounce of evidence to exonerate the Murrays, it was over.

  Back and forth the boy went, buzzing like a bee, until he finally disappeared down the corridor.

  “I thought you said the Order of Merium slept during the day,” Shelley whispered to Jonathan.

  “That’s what it said in How to Make Great Popcorn in the Microwave,” Jonathan said as he pulled out the book. “But it also says they wear cloaks and masks at all times and that the Order keeps a diary.… Who knows how accurate this information is?”

  “Let’s follow him,” Shelley suggested. “I think we should see what he’s up to.”

  NOVEMBER 1, 8:18 A.M. THE KITCHEN. THE ORDER OF MERIUM

  Jonathan and Shelley peered around the corner, closely watching the pudgy boy, no more than fifteen, dash around the kitchen in a frenzy as he prepared food for the Order of Merium. Flour exploded into the air, dusting the appliances in a light snow. Eggs crashed to the stone floor. Milk dribbled off the counter. Pancakes burned. Smoke hung heavily in the air.

  “Harold cook! Harold clean! Harold here! Harold there! Don’t touch the black book, Harold! More pancakes, Harold! Move it, Harold! Harold! Harold! Harold!” the boy grumbled to himself as he moved around the kitchen.

  “Supersloth Shelley strikes again,” she whispered proudly in Jonathan’s ear. “The kid’s name is Harold.”

  “A sloth is an animal that moves really slowly. So if you’re a supersloth it means you’re really slow.”

  “No, it means I’m a detective.”

  “A sloth is a furry animal with long arms. A sleuth is a detective.”

  “I hate it when you know things,” Shelley grunted as Harold took off his apron, rinsed his hands, and scampered out the back door of the kitchen.

  Broken eggshells, scraggly lines of yolk drizzled across the countertops, and stacks of batter-encrusted bowls welcomed the trio as they tiptoed into the kitchen. Overwhelmed by the urge to clean up—a habit developed after years of living with messy, highly disorganized parents—Jonathan literally trembled.

  “Pancakes!” Carl remarked as he pushed past Jonathan, knocking the boy against the stove. Steadying himself with his hands on the nearest surface, Jonathan whimpered, then dropped to the floor.

  “What’s wrong?” Shelley asked, kneeling beside her friend.

  Red lines—burns—crisscrossed Jonathan’s palms.

  “Two grilled hands with a side of clumsy,” Shelley remarked as they turned to watch Carl shove a pancake into his mouth before taking a swig of syrup straight from the bottle. “Well, there’s no denying he’s an unexceptional in the table manners department.…”

  “Speaking of which, I think Harold’s the unexceptional of the Order of Merium,” Jonathan said.

  Shelley nodded. “In other words, not worth following.”

  “Exactly.”

  NOVEMBER 1, 8:59 A.M. STAIRWELL. THE ORDER OF MERIUM

  Creeping up a spiral staircase, Carl tapped Jonathan and Shelley on the shoulders. “Guys? I think I’m going to head out.”

  Shelley whirled around, taken off guard by the comment. “Head out where?”

  “Back to the US… get some French fries on the way.… Those pancakes just didn’t cut it for me.”

  “Charl, we haven’t even figured out our escape route yet, so there’s no heading out, as you put it.”

  “I’m just not feeling this whole spy thing anymore… probably because I realized that unexceptional means you’re not good at anything, so you have really bad plans, which will most likely get me killed, which will stop me from watching future seasons of TV shows I’m really looking forward to.”

  “Charl, you joined this mission after Hammett explicitly told you that you weren’t ready,” Shelley said as she grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer.

  “Which it turns out he was right about.”

  Shelley flushed with anger as Jonathan placed his hand on her shoulder, hoping that the presence of his slightly maimed limb might remind her to keep her cool.

  “And now you want to leave because you’ve realized we’re unexceptional?”

  Carl nodded. “That’s pretty much it in a nutshell.”

  “I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” Jonathan said as he forcibly removed Shelley’s hand from Carl’s shirt.

  “I love secrets.… I can’t keep them, but I love hearing them… and repeating them.”

  “We don’t care what you want to do. We don’t care if you want to go home. We don’t care if you want your teddy bear. We don’t care if you want your mom. You are stuck on this mission because you decided to jump out of the Dark Bird with us. So whatever doubts you’re feeling, get over them. Whatever question you have about our unexceptionalness, get over it. We’ve handled missions that would curl your toes—”

  “In a scary way, not a muscle spasm kind of way,” Shelley clarified.

  “Really, Shells? I was sort of on a roll there.”

  “You were.… I’m sorry.… I’d like to take back that clarification… so let’s just all pretend it never happened.… I never said a thing… except of course for what I’m saying right now… or actually, I wouldn’t have said this if I hadn’t said that other thing earlier, so…”

  Jonathan held up his hand, indicating that now was the appropriate time for Shelley to stop babbling. He then turned his attention back to Carl. “Bottom line: We don’t care if you have doubts about our abilities—we’re unexceptional and proud,” he finished, his voice firm and assertive.

  Shelley smiled at Carl and then motioned toward Jonathan. “I taught him everything he knows. Except how to dress… That’s all him.… I definitely don’t want credit for that.”

  NOVEMBER 1, 11:14 A.M. HALLWAY. THE ORDER OF MERIUM

  In and out of rooms the trio went, carefully scanning for some sign of the girls, or anyone, for that matter. Other than Harold, they had yet to come across another person.

  Jonathan cracked open the door to what looked like a library or study. A sliver of light cut through a small gap between the thick velvet curtains, faintly illuminating the room. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, stiff leather sofas, and a large table dominated the space.

  “Over here,” Shelley whispered, moving through the room. “It’s a model of the Order of Merium.”

  It must be one-tenth of the size, or one-hundredth of the size, Shelley thought, before remembering that she didn’t understand fractions and therefore should stick to general descriptions such as “small” or “little.”

  “Look down here,” Jonathan said as his eyes went from the kitchen to the basement and finally to a series of tunnels. “I wonder where these lead.”

  “Forget the tunnels! Where do these people sleep?” Shelley remarked before excitedly snapping her fingers. “Look at all these teeny-tiny bunk beds.”

  Hunched over, angling for a closer view, Carl appeared unusually interested in the sleeping quarters. It was a marked change for the boy, who thus far had shown more interest in pancakes than the mission.

  “I wonder where they got these little beds,” Carl mumbled. “I’d love to buy a few f
or my chipmunks.”

  Shelley lowered her head and peered over the top of her glasses. “You have pet chipmunks?”

  “When you spend as much time in trees and bushes as I do, you tend to make friends with the locals.”

  Shelley nodded as a twinge of jealousy took hold—befriending wildlife had long been on her to-do list. And while a baby kangaroo was her first choice, she would have been more than happy with a chipmunk or two.

  As the chipmunk chatter continued, Jonathan focused in on the shape of the wall surrounding the Order of Merium—a perfect circle. How many homes, or castles, for that matter, were enclosed in a perfect circle? Odd, Jonathan thought. But then again, this was a secret society; maybe there was a reason for the shape? Jonathan’s eyes moved from the wall to the front door. There, mounted on the stone surface, just to the left of the tall wooden gate, was a black lever. After running his finger over the lever a few times, he gently pushed down.

  “Oh no… what have I done?” Jonathan mumbled upon hearing what sounded like garbage trucks picking up cans.

  “Wow,” Shelley muttered as she watched a metal lattice emerge from inside the model’s wall, rising over the top of the castle, creating a dome, and locking down onto the other side.

  “Great,” Jonathan sighed. “As if things weren’t already hard enough…”

  NOVEMBER 1, 1:29 P.M. SLEEPING QUARTERS. THE ORDER OF MERIUM

  “They sleep in their cloaks? They must sweat a lot,” Shelley whispered as the trio popped their heads into the sleeping quarters—row upon row of bunk beds, all filled with slumbering Meriums. “No wonder this place smells so bad.”

  “I hate to bring up the p-word again,” Carl whispered. “But do we have a plan?”

  “You and this plan obsession,” Shelley scoffed, shaking her head. “How many times do we have to tell you, unexceptionals don’t have plans!”