Codename Zero

by Chris Rylander

  • He’s married and has kids, and he talks about them in class a lot.

  • He can often be heard humming softly when walking through the halls, or during downtime in class, or basically just all the time, really.

  • He’s also not a vampire, but unlike Tall Jensen, he does not like horror movies. In fact, one time in music class last year we watched this musical called Phantom of the Opera, which had exactly zero scary parts, but Short Jensen still had to turn away from the screen at least nine times because the movie was freaking him out. But, he had said afterward, “the splendid music necessitates showing the class this movie, despite its intense nature.”

  So my biggest dilemma was clearly trying to figure out how either one of these seemingly normal teachers could be the intended recipient of a strange device containing data so top secret that it would eventually self-destruct. I wondered briefly if maybe Betsy needed to be delivered to a totally different Mr. Jensen altogether, one who didn’t even work for our school. One who worked somewhere in New York or LA or Washington, DC—places where cool spy stuff probably happens every day.

  But I knew there was really only one way I could find out for sure. I would need to talk to both Jensens. And I had a plan. Sort of. I was going to subtly drop some hints about the package into otherwise normal conversation. If one of them really was some sort of secret agent or spy, they’d undoubtedly pick up on it. I mean, what kind of secret agent would he be if he couldn’t?

  Since I was stuck in detention after school for the goat prank (another issue altogether since absolutely no talking was allowed in detention, especially not talking boxes or random shouting and loud, fake sneezing fits), it would be hard for me to find the time to track down either Mr. Jensen. But, unless I was planning on dooming the country by letting Betsy self-destruct with her information still locked inside, I would have to find a way.

  CHAPTER 11

  IT WAS RIGHT AS FIFTH-PERIOD ENGLISH CLASS WAS STARTING that I saw something suspicious.

  Our teacher had just passed out a test. The class was quiet as everyone got to work. I looked around the room before starting on it myself. I watched kids’ pencils wagging in the air next to their heads in unison as they all answered the same questions about some boring book called Great Expectations. The very same questions a bunch of students had answered the year before about the same horrible book. And two years ago, and probably even ten years ago. And they would be the same questions everybody would answer next year, too.

  And the questions had never seemed more pointless to me. I mean, right now in my bag next to my desk was a device that apparently carried information vital to the safety of our whole country. And I was supposed to worry about some test on a book so boring I hadn’t even made it past page four? I mean, hundreds of kids had probably failed this very same test over the past twenty-five years and what had happened to them because of it? Nothing, that’s what. Now those kids were doing the same things that the kids who had passed the test were doing. Those kids were my parents’ insurance agent, or the dude who drives the city bus, or an officer in the military, or the assistant manager at the Piggly Wiggly. Heck, maybe even one of my teachers. Because those are the things that pretty much all the kids from this town end up doing.

  Anyway, the point is that I was watching everybody concentrate on the test instead of doing so myself, and that’s why I saw the guys in suits through one of the classroom windows.

  There were two of them, both wearing black business suits and sunglasses, snooping around in some bushes behind the school’s western side. Even though there was no way they could see me through the heavily tinted school windows, I still had to resist the urge to dive down under my desk. They were looking in all the plants that surrounded the school, and talking to each other by speaking into the lapels of their jackets.

  Unless they were severely overdressed landscapers, these guys—likely the same dudes who had kidnapped the package’s courier—knew about the package and were still looking for it. Even if that wasn’t the case, I had to assume it was. And the fact that they were here meant they must have figured out that the guy had either stashed it somewhere on school property or given it to some kid or teacher.

  The thing I couldn’t figure out, and have never really understood, is why spies and secret agents and other such dudes in movies always wear suits and sunglasses. They’re clearly trying to blend in, be inconspicuous, but everyone has seen those same movies, so really there’s no better way to look suspicious or stand out than to a wear a black suit and black tie and black sunglasses, right?

  The two guys crawling around behind the bushes looked about as natural back there as Sasquatch would look sunbathing on a Hawaiian beach. But their black sunglasses were impenetrable, and they gave me the creeps. Especially because I knew that I had exactly what they were looking for.

  “What are you looking at?” Danielle whispered to me. “You’ve been staring out the window for ten straight minutes.”

  I turned and looked at her. I honestly had kind of forgotten that I was supposed to be taking a test right now. Thankfully our teacher was always reading some book while we took tests and barely noticed what any of us did as long as we weren’t starting fires or inciting riots or something like that.

  “I was just . . .” I began as I turned back to the window. But the two guys in suits were gone. Or at least weren’t visible from my seat anymore. “Never mind, I’m just tired today.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” she said skeptically. “I heard about your, uh, issues this morning in homeroom.”

  I grinned and shrugged. “Hey, duty calls.”

  “Gross,” she said, but I could tell she was holding back a laugh.

  That was why Danielle was the coolest girl I’d ever met. She found stuff funny that would make a lot of girls roll their eyes or want to barf or something. But I guess that all made sense considering that she was Dillon’s twin sister. You had to have a pretty good sense of humor to deal with that kid your whole life.

  “I won’t be there at lunch today,” I whispered. “Let everyone know I’m sorry.”

  Danielle, Dillon, and I sat at the same lunch table every day with a few of our other friends. But today I couldn’t make it because I was planning to use that time to see if I could track down Short Jensen.

  “That’s too bad. We were all going to celebrate how hilarious school has been today, watching teachers struggle with all the stuff glued to their desks. What exactly are you up to anyway? Dillon told me you were acting all weird and secretive this morning, and Zack said you took your backpack to the bathroom with you during third period. Got some prank that we can’t be in on for some reason?”

  “Maybe. I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

  I glanced at my watch. Betsy’s next announcement would be in just a few minutes, which meant I’d need to get out of there pretty soon. I’d likely just ask to leave to use the bathroom this time around, since shouting in the middle of a test was probably not a great idea. Even though most of the class looked to be finished by now. Well, except for me, that is.

  “Look, I gotta go to the bathroom, sorry,” I said, quickly filling in a bunch of random answers on the multiple-choice test.

  “Well, if you won’t be at lunch, can we all hang out tonight or something?” Danielle asked.

  I was about to say yeah when I suddenly thought of us all hanging out with Betsy there, too, announcing every fifteen minutes that she was going to self-destruct.

  “I can’t tonight,” I said. “Tomorrow night, though, for sure. I swear.”

  I got up, grabbed my bag and test, and went up front to turn in my guaranteed F and ask the teacher if I could use the bathroom. Just before I left the room, I glanced out the window and saw the two guys in suits talking to the janitor in the parking lot. As they talked to him, their heads turned from side to side. Clearly looking for something.

  Me.

  And the package.

  CHAPTER 12

>   I WASN’T ACTUALLY SURE WHETHER OR NOT I’D BE ABLE TO FIND Short Jensen during lunch. I’d only had him two days a week the last two years for required general music class, so I had no idea what he did during lunch every day. Did he eat in the cafeteria? In the teachers’ lounge? At some restaurant nearby? Did he not eat food at all because he really was a cyborg like Dillon had once claimed last year?

  I didn’t know. But I figured the best place to start was his classroom.

  As I walked there against the flow of kids heading to lunch, I checked my watch. Only a few seconds left until Betsy’s next update. I took a few deep breaths and then started singing the modified school song at the top of my lungs. I got a few grins and smirks and even some chuckles as I passed kids. But for the first time, a few kids actually looked a little annoyed. I guess the random shouting and singing was funny only so many times. But that wasn’t really my concern right then.

  When I got to the music room, the lights were off. I debated going to the teachers’ lounge to see if Short Jensen was in there, but the more I thought about that idea, the dumber it seemed. How could I “casually hint” at anything when I’d invaded the teachers’ lounge during their lunch break?

  No, that wouldn’t work.

  My only option was to sit outside his room and wait. It might make me late for my sixth-period class, but I had no other choice. Betsy’s counter was going to hit zero in, like, thirty hours, and I only had so many chances to talk to the two Jensens before then. I sat on the floor next to his door and waited. Luckily no one was around to hear Betsy give her next warning, so I didn’t even try to cover it up.

  “You now have thirty-three hours to initiate fail-safe measures before self-destruction.”

  The minutes ticked by. Betsey gave another warning. I was sweating pretty hard at this point, even though I hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. Finally, with only about six minutes left of my lunch period, Short Jensen showed up.

  I sprang to my feet.

  “Hey,” he said, pausing as he clearly struggled to remember my name. “Carson, what’s going on?”

  “Not much, Mr. Jensen,” I said. “I just need to talk to you, if that’s okay?”

  The look on his face turned into a smile and he opened his classroom door.

  “Sure, come on in.”

  My mind was racing. Just what exactly was I going to say to him? It had all seemed so much easier in my head earlier. Yeah, I’ll just see Short Jensen, and then, despite the fact that I haven’t talked to him one-on-one pretty much ever, I’ll have an easy and casual conversation with him about any number of topics, during which I’ll drop in some sly hints about a secret package containing top secret information so important that it will self-destruct in less than two days. And he’ll definitely pick up on those subtle hints, because he’s likely a highly trained secret agent of some sort.

  Playing it back in my head, now of course it seemed as ridiculous of a plan as it really was.

  “So,” Short Jensen said as he sat down behind his small desk, “what’s on your mind?”

  “Well, I was thinking about maybe auditioning for the school musical.”

  I honestly had no idea where that had come from. It just sort of fell out when I opened my mouth. I definitely had no interest in the school’s next musical, but I had to admit it was at least a believable reason for me to be there. And it’s not like asking about it meant I actually had to audition or anything.

  “That’s great, Carson! I admit that I’m a little surprised since you’ve never shown any interest before, but just the same, that’s fantastic.”

  I nodded. I suppose if I were actually interested in the musical, that would be fantastic from his perspective. Or maybe he just said stuff like that to everyone who showed interest in theater.

  “We’re going to try to tackle Sweeney Todd this year, if you can believe that.”

  “Oh, uh, wow, that’s cool,” I said even though I obviously had no idea what Sweeney Todd was. “So, when are the auditions?”

  “Next Thursday at 3:45.”

  Okay, this was going well enough, but I still hadn’t managed to drop any hints.

  “Do I need to bring anything?”

  He frowned. “No . . . why do you ask?”

  “Well, I just thought maybe I needed to bring a certain prop or something to help me get a part. Like a bag of squirrels, if I was going to be a crazy, squirrel-collecting hobo. Or maybe like a certain self-destructing computer if I was auditioning for the part of someone who had to deliver sensitive information to a secret agent or something.”

  When I said this I tried to give him my most meaningful look. A look that conveyed that there was more to what I’d just said than you’d expect. And at first I thought it had worked, because Short Jensen didn’t say anything for at least five seconds.

  He just sat there and stared at me, as if he was still trying to process what he’d just heard.

  “You haven’t actually ever heard of Sweeney Todd, have you, Carson?”

  I shook my head.

  “Are you trying to get in the play so you can pull some sort of prank during the show? Is that what this is?”

  He didn’t seem mad, necessarily, but he did seem a little disappointed. And maybe even a little amused, too. I didn’t know what to say back.

  “The teachers know, Carson. Well, most of us do, anyway. About your . . . extracurricular activities.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

  “Will that be all?” he asked.

  He was clearly done with this conversation. There was no way it could be Short Jensen. The hint I’d dropped had been about as subtle as an anvil to the face, and his only reaction had been to assume I was planning to sabotage his play.

  “Yeah, that’s all,” I said, and turned to leave.

  “So should I expect to see you at the audition next week?” he asked as I got to the door.

  I stopped. I debated lying, but what would really be the point now? I turned back.

  “No, probably not.”

  He smiled.

  “That’s too bad,” he said.

  Well, he had been right about me lying regarding the audition. But he couldn’t have been more wrong when it came to why I’d lied. I actually sort of wished his reason was the truth. I really did. As exciting as all this had been at first, now I was actually getting worried I would be stuck with Betsy right up until the end of her countdown, and then whatever vital information she carried would be destroyed, and it would all be my fault.

  CHAPTER 13

  THE GOOD NEWS REGARDING MY MEETING WITH SHORT JENSEN was that if he wasn’t the Mr. Jensen I was looking for, then it had to be Tall Jensen. I’ll admit I even debated just dropping Betsy on his desk after school that day. But then I thought about the guy in the suit, about how desperate he had been. The pasty-faced guys who captured him, the car that drove past my house last night, the guys searching through the bushes outside the school today. Whatever this thing was, it was important. Too important to just abandon on some random teacher’s desk without knowing for sure.

  The bad news was that I was late for my next class and earned another hour’s worth of detention. I could never join any sport or after-school club even if I’d wanted to because I’d logged enough detention around this place to already have an after-school activity taking up my time.

  “So, where were you at lunch today?” Dillon asked when I walked into sixth-period life sciences. “Danielle said you were acting all secretive and strange again last hour.”

  “I just had some stuff to do, that’s all. Why are you being so nosy?”

  “Why are you acting so suspiciously?”

  I shook my head and was about to come up with some lie when Ms. Greenwood stepped in between our desks.

  “Is there something I should know about?” she asked. “You’re insisting on talking in my class. So I assume there must be something important happening back here.”

  For a mom
ent, I thought she might be talking about Betsy. But how could she know?

  “No, sorry, Ms. Greenwood,” Dillon said. “We’ll be quiet.”

  She paused for a moment, staring at me for what I thought was at least five seconds too long. Then she gave Dillon that same I mean it look and walked back toward the front of the classroom.

  “See? I told you she has super-subsonic hearing!” he whispered while her footsteps covered his voice. “She’s definitely a bionic superwoman constructed by the government. The way you were just staring at Ms. Greenwood, I could tell you know I’m right this time. You looked as if she could read your mind, which, you know, she totally can. I’ve been saying it all year. . . .”

  I stared at him for a moment, then shook my head and forced a smile. What was wrong with me? I was so paranoid I was practically turning into Dillon myself! Of course she couldn’t have known about Betsy.

  Ms. Greenwood shot us another look from the front of the room and then went back to talking about photosynthesis. Just a few minutes later, a folded piece of paper landed on my desk. I looked at Dillon and he nodded his head at me. The good old-fashioned note system.

  I opened the folded slip of notebook paper and read the message:

  I KNOW WHATS IN YOUR BACKPACK.

  How could he possibly know? I looked over at Dillon, and he was sitting there nodding at me smugly. I shook my head like I didn’t know what he was talking about. He wrote something else on another slip of paper, looked up front to make sure Ms. Greenwood wasn’t looking, and then passed it to me.

  ITS A SELF-DESTRUCTING SECRET MESSAGE ISNT IT?

  I flipped the paper over and wrote furiously on the back.

  Don’t be stupid! Why do you think that?

  I passed the paper back to Dillon when I was sure Ms. Greenwood wasn’t looking. He looked at my message and then smirked. It was almost triumphant. He wrote a new message down, a long one, and passed it back.