The League of Unexceptional Children

by Gitty Daneshvari

  “You know, beneath all that khaki, you’ve got some pretty good ideas,” Shelley acknowledged as Jonathan located the number for the secretary to the secretary of Homeland Security on Google.

  “You want me to call? I’ve been told I have a great phone voice. Although, technically, I’m the one who told myself that,” Shelley babbled as Jonathan dialed.

  “Is this the secretary to the secretary of Homeland Security? Well then, my name is… actually, I would rather not say what my name is, but I need an appointment with you this afternoon. It’s regarding a group impersonating government spies.… How old am I? I think we’re veering a bit off topic here, don’t you?” Jonathan said as Shelley grabbed the phone.

  “Hello? Shells here. Listen, we need to sit down with you ASAP. And yes, I know we sound crazy, but we’re telling the truth. It just so happens that sometimes the truth sounds like a lie.”

  Click.

  “Hello? Hello?”

  “I take it she hung up,” Jonathan surmised.

  “How are we going to get anyone to listen to us?” Shelley grumbled as she grabbed a newspaper off the coffee table and started flipping through it. “Where are the classifieds? We need to hire a lawyer! People listen to lawyers!”

  “That’s the comics section. My parents throw the rest away,” Jonathan explained before suddenly jumping to his feet. “We’ve been going about this all wrong. We can’t go straight to the politicians. We need to go to the people the politicians listen to!”

  “You mean their mothers?” Shelley asked.

  “No, I mean the press,” Jonathan answered.

  “Does this mean we get to be on television? Because that’s also on my to-do list.”

  “Shells, we’re not going to a television station, we’re going to the Washington Chronicle.”

  OCTOBER 16, 6:03 P.M. THE WASHINGTON CHRONICLE. WASHINGTON, DC

  The Washington Chronicle was one of the country’s most prestigious papers, not that anyone could tell from its nondescript white facade that looked as much like the headquarters for an insurance company as it did a newspaper. And yet it was inside these walls that some of the most important moments in history made their way to the public. Scandals. Triumphs. Tragedy. The Washington Chronicle had covered it all.

  “So, have you ever read the paper?” Jonathan asked Shelley as the two stood outside Chronicle headquarters, in front of the lobby doors.

  “Is that your way of asking if I can read? Because I can,” Shelley stated emphatically. “Although I will admit I’m not a very good speller, and that if it weren’t for spellcheck, I probably wouldn’t have passed the third grade.”

  “No, I meant do you follow any specific journalists?”

  “Do you?” Shelley countered.

  “No,” Jonathan admitted quietly. “There’s just so much to look at online, I never make it to the Chronicle.”

  “So we’ve never read the paper. Big deal. We’re twelve. We just need to go in there and ask for the youngest, hungriest reporter and then tell the truth,” Shelley proclaimed confidently.

  “Shells, you’re right. We don’t need a star reporter, we just need someone who will listen.”

  From behind Jonathan and Shelley came a woman’s voice. “Excuse me, kids, but would you happen to know the way to the Smithsonian?”

  “Sort of,” Shelley said as she started to turn around.

  Only before either Jonathan or Shelley could see who was talking to them, everything went black.

  OCTOBER 16, 8:19 P.M. UNKNOWN WAREHOUSE. WASHINGTON, DC

  Jonathan and Shelley were seated. This much they knew. They also knew that their hands were tied tightly behind their backs and that thick burlap sacks covered their heads. But they hadn’t a clue where they were or who had taken them, although they each had their ideas.

  “Maidenkirk, I expected more from a pretend nurse than this!” Shelley screamed through the sack.

  “I know what you guys are thinking, but honestly, we were just hanging out in front of the Washington Chronicle like normal twelve-year-olds do. It had absolutely nothing to do with you guys,” Jonathan rambled nervously.

  “I think what Jonathan meant to say is that we were down there for a school project about newspapers,” Shelley clarified.

  In a flash the burlap sacks were lifted and Jonathan and Shelley found themselves staring straight into the bright light of two large fluorescent lamps.

  “Is this really necessary?” Jonathan groaned.

  “Nurse Maidenkirk? Hammett?” Shelley called out as she tried to see the faces of the two captors standing over them.

  “I’m not Maidenkirk. I’m Natasha,” a woman said with a thick, unidentifiable accent.

  Shelley offered a tight and phony smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Natasha. Well, maybe not nice, but I’m trying to be polite since you’re my kidnapper and all.…”

  “So you vork for Hammett?” a man’s voice boomed.

  “Work? No. Absolutely not. We were manipulated by Hammett, which is totally different,” Jonathan corrected the man.

  “They vork for Hammett, Igor. Don’t listen to their lies,” Natasha hissed.

  “Seriously, we don’t even like Hammett. We’re never talking to him again! We’re not even going to send him a Christmas card or a Hanukkah card or even just a happy New Year’s card!” Shelley prattled on.

  “You guys don’t want us. We’re just a couple of nobodies who got tricked,” Jonathan chimed in, trying his best to keep his voice calm and casual.

  “You know, Jonathan, your mom and dad are a lot of fun. They aren’t your typical parents. Igor and I vere very impressed.”

  “How do you know my parents?” Jonathan asked.

  “Oh, I guess you haven’t noticed yet? Your parents are vith us. And that’s vhere they’re going to stay until you do vhat ve tell you,” Natasha growled.

  “You kidnapped his parents? Nobody kidnaps parents! Kids? Pets? Sure! But parents? Never!” Shelley yelled, all the while squinting from the overwhelming brightness of the lights.

  “Shelley, how different your personality is from your mom’s and dad’s—it’s quite surprising,” Igor stated calmly.

  “What have you done to my parents? They’re geniuses. The world needs them!”

  “Mine aren’t geniuses, but I need them!” Jonathan yelped.

  “You vill take a message to Hammett tonight,” Igor commanded. “Once ve have received vord that the task has been completed, ve vill let your parents go.”

  “We’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt them,” Shelley pleaded.

  “You’re to tell Hammett that ‘Victoria and Albert take marmalade on their toast,’” Natasha ordered as she leaned closer to Jonathan and Shelley, her face still obscured by the bright light.

  “‘Victoria and Albert take marmalade on their toast’?” Shelley repeated. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s a code, you moron!” Natasha bellowed, and then dropped the burlap sacks over Jonathan’s and Shelley’s heads, once again plunging them into total darkness.

  OCTOBER 16, 10:02 P.M. STREET CORNER. WASHINGTON, DC

  The sound of tires screeching and brakes squealing alerted Jonathan and Shelley that something was about to happen. The van abruptly stopped. The door slid open. Their hands were untied. A swift kick to their bottoms sent them flying out the back of the vehicle onto the sidewalk. And by the time either was able to remove the sacks from their heads, their kidnappers were long gone.

  Seated on the curb, Jonathan and Shelley looked around; there wasn’t a person in sight, leaving them without a witness to confirm that two twelve-year-olds were tossed from a van with bags over their heads.

  “I don’t want to scare you, Shells. But we’re involved with some bad people. The kind that wouldn’t think twice about hurting our parents or us,” Jonathan said, his voice shaky and uncertain.

  “I’ve always felt like an outsider in my family. For a while I even thought I had been adopted as part
of some experiment about the effects smart parents have on dumb kids. But after doing a mail-away DNA test, I found out that wasn’t true.”

  “Shells? What are you talking about?”

  “I know my parents have never shown much interest in me, but they love me. And I don’t want anyone to hurt them,” Shelley answered honestly.

  “So what do we do? Should we go to the police?”

  “It’s too risky. Plus, we have no proof that any of this even happened,” Shelley replied.

  “So I guess that means we’re heading back to Famous Randy’s Hot Dog Palace,” Jonathan mumbled.

  Shelley nodded. “If only we knew karate…”

  “Forget karate. If only we were real spies, then we might actually stand a chance.”

  OCTOBER 16, 11:06 P.M. FAMOUS RANDY’S HOT DOG PALACE. WASHINGTON, DC

  Famous Randy’s was a beacon of light in the night, literally glowing from the array of neon signs in its window. Deserted except for a teenage boy working behind the register, Jonathan and Shelley watched the place from across the street.

  “I wish there were a few customers, or should I say witnesses,” Shelley muttered, pushing her smudged glasses closer to her eyes.

  “The place looks so scary. Did it always look this scary?” Jonathan wondered.

  “No, but then again, we thought they were saving us from a life of being called Sally and Jeff.”

  “There’s no point standing out here all night. It’s not going to get easier. We just have to do it. We have to walk in there, give Hammett the message, and then calmly tell him that we would prefer he never contact us again.”

  “Johno, that is crazy polite. And since I highly doubt we’ll ever make it out of there, I say we go big. Tell him that if he ever comes near us again, we’ll mess up his slick hair! Rip apart his fancy suits! Stab him with a million toothpicks!”

  “I don’t want this to sound rude, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk while we were in there,” Jonathan stated candidly.

  “Fine, but can I at least give them dirty looks?” Shelley asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, you’ve got a deal,” Shelley said, offering her hand to shake.

  After ordering a double dog with a side of mustard, two sides of relish, a can of diet Fanta, fourteen packets of ketchup, two straws, and seven napkins, Shelley and Jonathan once again found themselves in an oversized refrigerator surrounded by hot dogs. However, the second the door closed, both Jonathan and Shelley realized what they had done—they had willingly walked into their own personal jail cell.

  “This was a trick, wasn’t it? We’re going to die in here! We’re going to die smelling like hot dogs! And I don’t even like hot dogs!” Shelley screamed, her voice reverberating off the metal walls.

  “Stop yelling!” Jonathan said as he pushed against the back of the fridge.

  “We’re dead! We’re as dead as the pigs in these hot dogs!”

  “Ugh,” Jonathan grunted as he pushed with all his might against the metal panel.

  “It’s not opening!” Shelley cried.

  “I know it’s not opening! I’m the one who’s pushing it!” Jonathan snapped as a flood of hot dogs streamed past his head.

  “What are you doing?” Jonathan griped.

  “I’m trying to help!”

  “By throwing hot dogs at me?”

  “Yes!” Shelley cried loudly.

  “Would you stop screaming? Your voice is frightening the few muscles I have in my arms!” Jonathan shrieked, and then rammed his shoulder firmly against the back of the fridge.

  A crack of light cut through the dark space.

  “We’re getting out! We’re going to live!” Shelley blubbered.

  “At least for another few minutes,” Jonathan muttered as he climbed into the office.

  OCTOBER 16, 11:13 P.M. THE LEAGUE OF UNEXCEPTIONAL CHILDREN HEADQUARTERS. WASHINGTON, DC

  “May I help you?” the elderly secretary asked without even looking up from her typewriter.

  “Jonathan and Shelley here to see Hammett Humphries, or whatever his name really is,” Shelley replied as she picked small bits of hot dog off her shirt.

  “Have a seat,” the secretary answered before whispering into the intercom.

  Minutes passed. Jonathan and Shelley waited. They tapped their feet. They cracked their fingers. They heard something rattle. They looked up. The air vent was shaking. Two screws fell to the floor, followed by the metal grate.

  “At least we’re going to have exciting deaths,” Shelley muttered to Jonathan as a tall, lithe girl with shiny black locks and light brown skin climbed out of the air duct and dropped to the floor.

  “Jonathan? Shelley? Follow me,” the girl said in a refined British accent.

  “Who are you?” Jonathan asked as he and Shelley slowly stood up.

  “I only answer questions posed by my superiors,” the girl replied coolly as she opened the large wooden door into headquarters.

  Row upon row of operators typed and talked, seemingly unaware that it was fast approaching midnight.

  “You think they’re here of their own free will?” Jonathan whispered.

  “No way,” Shelley answered. “You can lead a horse to water, but if you want it to drink, you have to threaten it, or feed it something salty.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense.”

  “Well, maybe that’s because you haven’t spent much time around horses,” Shelley said as the girl stopped and grabbed hold of a shiny brass doorknob.

  “Hammett and Nurse Maidenkirk have been waiting for you,” the girl announced as she motioned for Jonathan and Shelley to enter.

  Seated at a rectangular table in a wood-paneled conference room were Hammett, Nurse Maidenkirk, and a blond-haired boy, approximately fourteen years of age.

  “Thank you, Vera,” Hammett said to the girl, and then turned to Jonathan and Shelley. “Hey, kiddos, we’ve been looking for you.”

  “Oh… have… you?” Jonathan stammered, his voice cracking under the stress.

  “We went by your houses, by school, even to a few hospitals, but there was no sign of either of you, which was strange, seeing as I told both of you to wait at home for further instructions,” Hammett recalled in his usual rapid-fire manner, albeit with a thick air of suspicion.

  “Operatives sometimes find themselves injured, permanently so, after running away,” Nurse Maidenkirk added creepily.

  “When an operative willingly disappears, it’s not called running away, it’s called going AWOL,” Hammett corrected Nurse Maidenkirk, and then popped a toothpick into his mouth.

  “We would prefer—” Jonathan began as though reading from a teleprompter.

  “Listen, Hammett,” Shelley jumped in, prompting Jonathan to shudder, terrified of what she might say. “We’re not interested in being used as pawns in your little game anymore.”

  “This isn’t a chess match, doll. This is the future of the free world!” Hammett barked as he banged his left fist on the table.

  “This is why I asked you not to talk,” Jonathan hissed at Shelley, and then turned to Hammett and Nurse Maidenkirk. “We don’t want any trouble, we just came here to give you a message.”

  “You mean that Victoria and Albert take marmalade on their toast?” Hammett offered with a sly smile.

  “What? How do you know that?” Jonathan exclaimed.

  Hammett motioned toward the girl and boy. “Jonathan and Shelley, meet Vera and Felix from MI5, or to be more precise, MI5’s covert ops division, made up of overachieving, tech-savvy teenagers. We weren’t expecting them for a couple more days, but lucky for us, they were able to get here earlier than planned.”

  “We’ve already met,” Vera remarked smugly.

  “Of course you have, I almost forgot,” Hammett said, nodding. “Good old Natasha and Igor.”

  “Velcome,” Vera and Felix offered simultaneously.

  “You’re Natasha? You called me a moron!” Shelley growled. />
  “Look, we just want you to let our parents go and leave us alone! That’s it!” Jonathan hollered, frustrated by his inability to keep up with all that was happening around him.

  “Cool your jets, kid,” Hammett responded. “Your parents are at a carnival in Arlington. And the Browns are safe and sound in Germany. We never touched them. We just needed to get you back in here before you were able to let too many cats out of the bag, if you know what I mean.”

  Nurse Maidenkirk carefully adjusted her small white nurse’s cap and then looked straight at Jonathan and Shelley. “I can’t tell you how surprised we were to discover you at the Washington Chronicle. Newspapers aren’t the kind of places we expect to find our operatives.”

  “You lied to us. The vice president wasn’t kidnapped. He’s in Norway!” Jonathan screeched. “You tricked us into committing treason! We broke into Alice Englander’s house and stole confidential recordings!”

  “Oh, this must be about the video,” Felix suddenly piped up. “That was my idea. I thought it smart to release something preemptively before the press had a chance to wonder about the vice president’s whereabouts. We overlaid film from his trip to Vietnam with stock footage from Norway. And if I may say so myself, the finished product is near flawless.”

  “You’re lying. The news said he met with the king and prime minister!” Jonathan snapped.

  “No need to lose your cool; there’s a very simple explanation for that. Vera and I asked the Norwegian government to go along with the story, which was hardly a problem, as we have such spectacular contacts in Scandinavia,” Felix added haughtily.

  “By the way, Scandinavia refers to Norway, Finland, Denmark, Iceland, and Sweden. And if you’re confused, I’d be more than happy to point out the countries on a map for you,” Vera added condescendingly.

  “FYI, we love Scandinavia. We know everything about it,” Shelley lied, pulling off her glasses to glare at Vera.

  “I definitely wouldn’t say we know everything about Scandinavia,” Jonathan mumbled.

  “Kiddos, I’m sorry we weren’t able to warn you about the fake footage before it aired. But here’s the thing: Nothing has changed. The vice president is still missing and we’re still facing the release of classified documents. And should that happen, life as you know it is over. Bottom line: There’s no time to waste; we need to get you back in the field.”