The League of Unexceptional Children

by Gitty Daneshvari

  “What about them?” Shelley asked, her nose turned up to demonstrate her deep dislike of Vera and Felix.

  “You’ve got a little extra help in the form of these two. Consider yourselves lucky,” Hammett said while nodding toward Felix and Vera. “And we can cross Alice Englander off the list. We’ve listened to her recordings. She’s incapable of planning a birthday party, never mind a kidnapping and the possible destruction of the US government.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Yeah! You guys could be lying about the fake video of the vice president!” Shelley pounced.

  “Open your peepers, kids. This here is the real thing. You think anyone in their right mind would go to this much trouble just to get you to break into one lousy house? Come on! If you think that, then you’ve cracked up!” Hammett huffed. “Now give it to me straight: Are you in or are you out?”

  OCTOBER 16, 11:59 P.M. THE LEAGUE OF UNEXCEPTIONAL CHILDREN HEADQUARTERS. WASHINGTON, DC

  “We’re going to need a minute to discuss things,” Shelley informed Hammett and Nurse Maidenkirk, both of whom nodded in response.

  Shelley then grabbed Jonathan’s arm and whipped him around, offering their backs to the room.

  Jonathan leaned in, mere inches from Shelley’s face, and whispered, “What do you think?”

  “Vera is seriously annoying.”

  “No,” Jonathan groaned through clenched teeth. “Do you believe Hammett? Can we trust him?”

  “I always go with my gut.”

  “Okay, but what does your gut say?” Jonathan pressed.

  “What does your gut say?” Shelley countered.

  Jonathan yawned and then rubbed his eyes. “My gut is exhausted. It’s so late, I can barely see straight, but if I had to guess, I’d say Hammett is telling the truth.”

  “I’m leaning that way too,” Shelley said, before adding, “Now can we talk about how annoying Vera is?”

  “No,” Jonathan answered.

  “Fine,” Shelley relented. “Then can I at least tell Hammett our decision?”

  “Be my guest,” Jonathan replied as the two turned to face the room.

  “Hammett, Jonathan and I have given a great deal of thought to the situation, because, as you know, we are thoughtful individuals—”

  “No need for all this chitchat. A simple yes or no will do,” Hammett interrupted.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Shelley mumbled to herself, and then answered, “Yes.”

  “Welcome back, kiddos.”

  Jonathan sighed as he looked over at Shelley, whose eyes were starting to flutter as she fought off fatigue.

  “Shells,” Jonathan whispered as he tapped the girl’s arm.

  “What time is it?” Shelley asked groggily, looking at her watch. “It’s after midnight! I need to get home before my grandparents call the police!”

  “I wish I could say the same, but my parents don’t believe in curfews,” Jonathan grumbled.

  “I wouldn’t worry, doll. Your grandparents are having a card game tonight and they asked you to stay in your room, remember?” Hammett reminded Shelley.

  “How do you know that? Did you hack my grandma’s e-mail account?”

  “We’re spies, kid. We know everything. Well, not everything. We don’t know where the vice president is, which is why as of tomorrow morning we’re putting Felix and Vera on the tail of IT specialist Gupta Nevers. And you guys are going to follow Secretary of State Harold Foster,” Hammett announced.

  “With all due respect, don’t you think we should follow the secretary of state, considering our vast and notable experience in the field?” Vera questioned Hammett.

  “It’s true. Vera and I have successfully shadowed prime ministers, dictators, Scotland Yard agents, and royalty. We are professional spies. We have been trained by the best. We have special equipment. To be frank, it’s rather shocking that you’re even considering putting such skill to waste by having us follow some IT guy,” Felix huffed.

  “No need to grandstand, kid, I’ve seen your résumé,” Hammett said, a toothpick hanging from the right corner of his mouth. “But here’s the thing: The president believes Gupta Nevers is the more likely suspect, so he’s asked that you two tail him.”

  “So now that they’re here, we’re second-tier spies?” Shelley scoffed.

  “I’m fine with the second tier. Honestly, after today I might even prefer it,” Jonathan muttered.

  “It isn’t personal, Sarah,” Vera interjected. “It’s espionage.”

  “Her name’s Shelley, not Sarah,” Jonathan barked.

  “Thanks, Johno,” Shelley whispered, all the while scowling fiercely at her nemesis across the room.

  “My most sincere apologies, Shelley,” Vera offered unconvincingly.

  “Fine, you can have Gupta Nevers, but not because you’re better spies!” Shelley raged, wagging her finger in the air.

  “Although you are,” Jonathan added quietly.

  “We’ll take the easy target this time, but only because my partner is worried that stress is causing his hair to fall out!” Shelley declared dramatically.

  “I’ve never even mentioned my hair,” Jonathan corrected his friend.

  “Sorry to hear about the male pattern baldness, lad. Tough break,” Felix called out to Jonathan from across the room.

  “Knock off the gabbing and go home, kids. We need you back here at seven a.m. sharp,” Hammett instructed his operatives.

  “So we’re missing another day of school?” Jonathan asked.

  “Tomorrow is Saturday,” Felix stated, stifling a laugh.

  “He knew that!” Shelley blurted. “Or at least I think he knew that… I can’t say for sure since I didn’t know him when he learned the days of the week.”

  “Please stop. Your help is making this so much worse,” Jonathan whispered to Shelley.

  “I can’t say that’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

  OCTOBER 17, 6:42 A.M. THE METRO. WASHINGTON, DC

  Jonathan and Shelley sat bleary-eyed on the Metro, both absolutely exhausted from the previous day’s events. They had managed to get five and a half hours of sleep, which was about half of what they needed.

  “I know we were only kidnapped for a few hours yesterday, but I have to tell you, it was super draining. I’ve never been so tired in my life,” Shelley grumbled to Jonathan, wiping the sleep out of her eyes.

  “Yesterday feels like a dream. A really long dream with some annoying British people at the end.”

  “Ugh, that Vera thinks she’s so sophisticated,” Shelley complained, her fists tightly clenched.

  “Is Vera, by any chance, the reason you’re wearing this outfit?” Jonathan asked, eyeing Shelley’s choice of a yellow skirt suit paired with a frilly blouse and an oversized pearl necklace.

  “Do you like it? It used to belong to my great-aunt Ginny. I found it in the attic. I think it says young yet chic.”

  “I’m not really getting young from this look.…”

  “Then what are you getting?” Shelley questioned Jonathan.

  “More of a senior bingo night at the YMCA.”

  “I can work with that.”

  OCTOBER 17, 6:58 A.M. THE LEAGUE OF UNEXCEPTIONAL CHILDREN HEADQUARTERS. WASHINGTON, DC

  “One of the great perks of being able to speak twelve languages fluently is that I’m a real whiz with vocabulary. I can nearly always deduce a definition once I’ve isolated the root of the word,” Felix bragged to Jonathan from across the conference table.

  “I guess you’re really good at Scrabble, then,” Jonathan replied flatly.

  “Scrabble? How quaint. I haven’t had more than an hour’s downtime in three years. Not that I mind. I take my job very seriously, as I’m sure you do.”

  Shelley suddenly banged her fist on the table, garnering everyone’s attention. “Jonathan’s the most dedicated operative I know. As a matter of fact, he even wants to get a League of Unex
ceptional Children tattoo when he turns eighteen.”

  “Actually, I’m not really a tattoo kind of guy,” Jonathan added.

  “I don’t think it would be very intelligent to advertise a secret organization in the form of a tattoo,” Vera chimed in, brimming with smugness.

  “That’s why Jonathan was planning to do it on the roof of his mouth. That way only his dentist would know… and he has a very trustworthy dentist.…” Shelley poorly covered.

  “Again, I have no such plans,” Jonathan uttered quietly.

  Following the end of the tattoo conversation, Jonathan, Shelley, Felix, and Vera sat in silence, each hoping that Hammett or Nurse Maidenkirk would walk in and end the rampant awkwardness.

  “What are your thoughts on the latest spy fly?” Felix finally broke the silence. “We just tested model 4B, and we were quite impressed.”

  “We also tested model 4B and we were not impressed,” Shelley bluffed.

  Jonathan shook his head. “We’ve never even heard the term spy fly before.”

  “You’ve never heard of a spy fly?” Vera remarked disbelievingly. “It’s a flying audio and video recorder the size of a pea that moves with the precision of an insect, making it nearly undetectable.”

  “And that’s legal?” Jonathan asked.

  “As you’ll soon learn, legal is a relative term in the espionage world,” Felix answered.

  “From the looks of it, they both have quite a bit to learn,” Vera commented under her breath.

  Shelley took off her glasses and cleaned them carefully on her shirt. And not because they were dirty, but rather to keep her hands occupied so that she didn’t accidentally strangle Vera. Then, just as Shelley slipped her glasses back on, the door to the conference room swung open, revealing both Hammett and Nurse Maidenkirk.

  “Good morning, operatives,” the pretend nurse offered stiffly, holding a tray piled high with chocolate, doughnuts, and maple syrup candies.

  “We thought reinforcements might be needed in case you guys weren’t feeling tip-top after only a few hours of sleep,” Hammett explained as Nurse Maidenkirk placed the tray on the conference table.

  “Felix and I require very little sleep. We can easily make do on two hours,” Vera crowed.

  “We can also sleep standing up if necessary. It’s a preventative measure taken when resting in dangerous environments. For much like a zebra on the plains of Africa, we too respond faster to a predator if we’re already standing,” Felix added.

  “Good to know, kid. Although personally, I prefer to do my sleeping in a bed with a pillow and a blanket,” Hammett joshed, his trusty toothpick bobbing up and down in his mouth. “I spoke to the president this morning. He’s concerned. Very concerned. Vice President Felinter’s resistance must be worn thin by now. Plus, Mrs. Felinter is becoming semihysterical, having been unable to reach her husband during his Scandinavia trip.”

  “Mrs. Felinter has always liked to talk, mostly about flower arrangements and who knows the best dry cleaner,” Nurse Maidenkirk interjected.

  “Bottom line, that dame Felinter has a mouth big enough to sink the Titanic. She couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it and certainly not if her husband’s life depended on it,” Hammett said as he stood up and started pacing back and forth behind his chair. “I wish I could tell you that life is fair, that the good guys always win, but we all know that’s not true.”

  “You needn’t worry, Hammett, we won’t let the bad guys win, not this time,” Vera stated confidently.

  “Neither will we!” Shelley chimed in.

  “Good. Now, we’ve received word that Gupta Nevers usually leaves his house around nine a.m. on Saturdays for a soccer game in the park, so Vera and Felix, you are to pick up his tail as he leaves the house. Watch him carefully. Photograph everything. Leave nothing to chance,” Hammett said as he flipped open a notebook and scanned a piece of paper. “Gupta lives alone except for a pet hamster named Clinton.”

  “I once had a hamster,” Nurse Maidenkirk added.

  Shelley rolled her eyes and then muttered, “Let me guess, he died.”

  “You are correct. He’s dead. My cat ate him. All of him, even his fur.”

  Ignoring Nurse Maidenkirk, Hammett turned to Jonathan and Shelley. “Regarding your mission—”

  “Not so fast, Hammett. I’d like to know why we haven’t been given spy flies,” Shelley inquired, glaring at the man over the top of her round-framed glasses.

  “We’ve found that complicated gadgets do not mix well with unexceptionals. Plus, you guys don’t need them. You’ve got the best tool there is—the ability to blend in. Now then, back to the mission—”

  “More like babysitting job.” Shelley bristled.

  “Secretary of State Harold Foster is known to spend his weekends with his wife, Rita, and their eleven-year-old son, Jeffrey. Rita is a stay-at-home mom who enjoys baking apple pies, watching reality TV, and writing anonymous but very mean-spirited messages on parenting chat boards. Jeffrey is a cello prodigy who attends the Metropolitan School for Music.”

  “Jeffrey Foster? He went to elementary school with me. He called me Langdon or Louis. And I’m pretty sure he once hit me over the head with the bow of his cello,” Jonathan reminisced.

  “I can only imagine how difficult it is for you to protect yourself,” Felix offered. “Of course, as Vera and I are black belts in Krav Maga, it’s hard for us to relate.”

  “He totally made that word up,” Shelley whispered rather loudly to Jonathan.

  “Krav Maga is a type of self-defense that was developed in Israel,” Vera explained.

  After brushing the blond locks off his forehead, Felix added, “In Hebrew, Krav means ‘battle’ and Maga means ‘contact.’”

  Shelley tightened her jaw and muttered, “I’m about to Krav Maga them both in the head.”

  OCTOBER 17, 8:15 A.M. FAMOUS RANDY’S HOT DOG PALACE. WASHINGTON, DC

  “May you have a better day than your astrological forecasts predict,” Nurse Maidenkirk stated as Vera, Felix, Jonathan, and Shelley stood in front of Famous Randy’s Hot Dog Palace.

  Shelley shook her head. “I don’t believe in horoscopes unless they contain good news, so if today’s stinks, then it must not be true.”

  “You assume that good news is true and bad news is false? How terribly unscientific of you,” Vera remarked with a brief roll of the eyes.

  “Shelley doesn’t claim to be a scientist. A break-dancer, yes. But a scientist, never,” Jonathan defended his partner.

  “You know how to break-dance?” Felix asked with a twinge of envy.

  This was the first thing Shelley knew that Felix did not, and the boy was not enjoying the sensation. Not one bit.

  “What can I tell you, Fel,” Shelley said, and then paused, shaking her head. “Felix just doesn’t lend itself to nicknames, does it? Anyway, it’s kind of a crazy story, but it all started with a garage sale. I bought a book on break-dancing for a quarter and boom, fourteen months later I posted a video of my signature moves and it went viral.”

  “Shelley, your video was viewed seven times, six of which were by you. The seventh, along with the comment ‘I hope you lose a vital organ,’ was tracked to your cousin Philomena Ward. But we really haven’t time for such conversations.” Nurse Maidenkirk bristled. “You have much to do if we stand any chance of finding the Seal before the vice president caves.”

  Vera pulled her left foot to her back in an impressive stretch. “We’re running to Gupta’s house. It’s about two miles, so we’ll make it in just under ten minutes.”

  “How funny! We’re running to our destination too,” Shelley bluffed as she did a very poor imitation of Vera’s stretch.

  “I’m not running anywhere. I have unforgiving calves; they don’t respond well to extreme physical exercise,” Jonathan mumbled.

  “There’s a blue sedan parked halfway down the block on the left side of the street. No ifs, ands, or buts, just get in,” Nurse Maidenkirk o
rdered Jonathan and Shelley, and then walked back into Famous Randy’s Hot Dog Palace as Vera and Felix sprinted off.

  “You know why I hate her, don’t you?” Shelley asked as she turned to face Jonathan.

  “Who? Vera?”

  “Yes Vera!” Shelley answered impatiently.

  “Is it because she has a British accent and you don’t?”

  “No! Although, I could really rock that accent—”

  “Please at least try to stay on track here,” Jonathan interrupted.

  “Vera is a walking reminder that life is not fair. She has shiny hair. I have dull hair. She’s tall. I’m short. She’s smart. I’m… well… not as smart. She’s photogenic. I’ve had my picture omitted twice from the yearbook as a so-called act of kindness,” Shelley ranted, her cheeks bright red.

  “I’m beginning to think Nurse Maidenkirk’s horoscope was right after all.…”

  OCTOBER 17, 8:58 A.M. EVANSTON, VIRGINIA

  “Do you think we look suspicious? I mean, how many twelve-year-olds spend their Saturday mornings on a bench reading the Washington Chronicle?” Jonathan asked Shelley as the two sat beneath a tree approximately sixty feet up the street from Secretary of State Harold Foster’s house in Evanston, Virginia.

  “Well, it’s either this or sit in the car with Mr. Moody over there,” Shelley said as she motioned to Arthur Pelton seated in a sedan parked about twenty feet away.

  “Poor guy, none of his clothes fit him properly. Even in jeans and a sweater he looks uncomfortable,” Jonathan remarked.

  “I’m so hungry.… Just looking at this Cookie Monster guy, Alan Feith,” Shelley said while glancing at the newspaper, “makes my stomach hurt. He’s literally covered in crumbs.…”

  “Jeffrey’s on the move,” Jonathan interjected.

  Shelley flipped her head and then squinted. “He appears to be taking the dog for a walk. Pretty suspicious, right?”