Dirk Daring, Secret Agent

by Helaine Becker

He scratched his head.

  An armpit-exposing scratch.

  And he burped.

  A rich, fruity burp.

  Such was my adversary. A pathetically base creature, completely lacking the refinement of the Cat.

  Just as the Rat began picking his nose, I slid down the ivy and melted into the night.

  Travis was wandering around my bedroom, picking up and putting down all my stuff. Noises from Waldo’s room came through my computer’s speakers at steady but infrequent intervals.

  “All he ever does is burp and fart, man! So boring. And gross.”

  “Welcome to my world. He sometimes does take a break though. To torture small animals.”

  Travis snickered. “So you’re calling yourself a small animal now? Oh, right—you’re ‘the Cat.’ Forgive me.” He snickered again.

  “Go ahead. Laugh if you want. The Cat has patience enough for your jibes. And for Waldo to do something interesting.”

  “Better you than me.”

  Another juicy belch blared from my computer’s speakers.

  “Ugh, that one was disgusting! That’s it! I’m outta here.”

  “Wait! Catch.”

  Travis bobbled the binder I tossed to him. Then, when he had it firmly in hand, he held it at arm’s length. Studying it. His eyes were jumbo olives.

  “What the—! You’re giving me your precious spy journal?”

  “Simple safety precaution. If the book is at your house, Waldo can’t get his clutches on it again.”

  “B-but Darren! What will you do without it? Isn’t it, like, your favorite teddy bear and favorite rubber ducky all wrapped up in leatherette?”

  “Ha. And ha. It’s just a binder, Travis.”

  “As if. But how will you manage without your daily dose of Dear Diary? Will you start twitching or something? I don’t want to have to perform CPR on you if you seize.”

  I practiced the Zen of Espionage: Slow, even breathing.

  In.

  Out.

  In.

  Out.

  “Your concern is touching,” I finally replied. “But misplaced. I still have this”—I held up a pen—“and this”—I held up a package of loose-leaf paper. “I can write up my mission notes wherever I want. I’ll deliver them to you to add to the permanent file when needed. So trust me, I’ll survive just fine.”

  Travis shook his head slowly. “You got everything all worked out, don’t you?”

  “Take care of the binder, okay? I’m trusting you with my life, Travis. You know that, don’t you?”

  Another burp rolled from the computer’s speakers.

  “Yeah yeah yeah. I’ve got your back.” He chuckled again. “Have fun with the Burperator. Can’t wait to read your mission notes about this ‘episode.’ Sure they’ll be ‘a gas.’”

  He paused on his way out the door and gave me a crooked grin.

  “And by the way, Dirk, next time, for your face, you might want to use something less…long-lasting…than a Sharpie.”

  Transcript of phone message left by Mrs. Helen Troy on Preston Middle School’s voice mail. 11/09 08:31:16.

  Hi. This is Helen Troy calling. Darren Dirkowitz’s mom. He’s in Miss Templeton’s class, Room—what’s your room number again, Darren?—Room 5. He won’t be in to school today. He has a painful rash on his face. It’s pretty bad, red and raw, like he scrubbed half his skin away! No other symptoms—hope it’s not contagious! Will keep you posted. Thanks.

  There is no mission too challenging for Dirk Daring, Secret Agent. But some are more delicate than others.

  Some require split-second timing.

  Some require the reflexes of a cat, or the unflappability of a hawk.

  And some require winning the trust of others.

  And then betraying that trust.

  For there are times, in the shadow world, when betrayal is loyalty. And places, in the shadow world, where evil is goodness.

  Dusk was falling. The footpaths were emptying of civilians. I, Dirk Daring, checked my surroundings. Left, right. Left, right. No one was watching. I unlocked my conveniently located but secure hidey-hole and removed my mission gear from within. Then, nonchalantly, I sauntered toward my designated mission coordinates.

  Unobserved, I slipped inside.

  The room in which I found myself was dark. Empty. Silent as the grave, except for the drip drip drip of a persistent leak.

  I carefully removed my weapon from my backpack. Prepared it to fire.

  Unexpectedly, it made a peculiar rattle. The knocking together of old bones. I quickly stilled my weapon to silence it. Luckily, no one else had heard. For Dirk Daring, Secret Agent, would allow no witnesses to his dark doings. None to hear, none to see, none to live.

  It was time—now or never. I aimed my weapon at my target, lining it up with incredible precision. And I struck.

  Shzzzt! Shzzzt shzzzt shtzzzt! Shzzt! Shzzzt shzzzt! Seven quick, perfect shots.

  Each left a distinctive mark. Together, they created a very specific pattern. It was one I had practiced, over and over, till I could reproduce it with exactitude.

  Every time.

  In any place.

  No matter what.

  What was this mysterious pattern? I can only reveal that it contained a message. A clearer-than-clear message.

  One I knew my intended recipient would receive.

  I knew, too, that my message would garner a swift and immediate response.

  Strike = Counterstrike.

  Action = Reaction.

  Tit = Tat.

  I paused for a moment to admire my handiwork. It was sheer brilliance. Then I stowed my weapon and moved on.

  Opal met me at my locker.

  “I’m SOOO glad you didn’t miss school today. Travis said you had some icky rash that turned your face all oozy red and purple yesterday.”

  I felt my face turn redder than ever. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Good. And you look almost normal now. Except that you’re blushing. Gee, you look cute when you blush, Darren!”

  I thought I might just melt into a puddle of red-and-purple shame, right there and then. But I couldn’t escape, not via liquid runoff shame melt or any other method. Opal was still talking. And when Opal talked, you listened.

  “What do you think of the flyers? I finished them last night. Used up all the printer ink. So?”

  She stuck the stack of flyers under my nose.

  They were excellent.

  “Aw, Darren, so sweet of you to say so! But now it’s time to get to work. We have to hand out all of these sheets—every single one of them—to every kid we can before the buses leave. I’m counting on you to hit everybody I miss.” She put her hand on my sleeve. “You ready?”

  “Ready!” I hiccupped.

  I followed Opal to the front doors, where the buses were already pulling up. Kids were milling about and goofing around. Some had already started getting on the buses.

  “Quick! You start there!” She shoved a handful of flyers at me and pushed me toward the first school bus. “I’ll take the next one!”

  I climbed the bus stairs.

  “Step right up! Take a f lyer and get candy back in school! Give these little babies to your parents! Don’t forget! Bring your folks to Parent Council night if you want candy back in the vending machines! Come and lend your support!”

  I was having so much fun, I almost forgot I was doing this candy thing for Waldo. Because, of course, I was now doing it for Opal too. And Opal smelled a heck of a lot better than Waldo. I’d never seen Opal picking her nose either.

  As I made my way through the bus, kids grabbed for the flyers. There was a lot of excited jabbering.

  “Awesome! You mean we can get candy back again?”

  “All right! Whose idea was this anyway? Jason’s? Wow!”

  “Nice work, D!”

  I was feeling pretty ace until a foot jutted out across the aisle and blocked my way. A very big foot. In a very fancy running shoe. With pi
nk glitter on it.

  Amber Vega. Opal’s sister. Green Team co-founder. Archenemy of candy.

  “What exactly is this?” She grabbed one of the flyers and scanned it rapidly. Her eyes narrowed. Her mouth dropped open as she read the last line. “This is Opal’s hand-writing12 That little scheming, two-timing backstabber!”

  Amber got to her feet, and when she did, she towered over me. Even though Amber and Opal are twins, they aren’t identical. In fact, they are almost exact opposites. Where Opal is small and delicate, Amber is a wildebeest: fierce, athletic and tough as nails. Where Opal’s eyes are palest Wedgewood blue, Amber’s glow like yellow fire.

  It was rumored that Amber also possessed the most powerful left uppercut of anyone in grade 5.

  I didn’t know what to say or do, so I stalled.

  “Excuse me? Are you talking about yourself again? That’s not very polite.”

  Amber ignored me. With great ceremony, she ripped the flyer into little bitty bits. Then she stared down the rest of the kids on the bus. “The meeting tonight is canceled. Do you hear me? Any of your parents who go will be wasting their time. And I’ll be there, at the door, to advise them of that fact. And to see who exactly shows up.” She cracked her knuckles. Slowly.

  “Hey! That’s voter intimidation!” I said. “Cut that out!”

  She put her nose to mine. “Get off this bus, Darren. Now.”

  I put my hands up. “Whoa, I’m just doing a little service for our school prez.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Get off the bus, Darren. And when you see my so-called sister, tell her I’ll be waiting for her. Tonight. To have a little sisterly ‘chat.’ Got it?”

  “Yeah yeah yeah. Remember, folks! Parent Council meeting tonight! Come one, come all! It’s going to be quite the showdown! Candy versus granola! Amber versus Opal! Don’t miss it!”

  I had a big grin on my face as I swung down the bus steps.

  This couldn’t be any better. As soon as word got out that there could be a big ugly fight between Opal and Amber at the meeting, I knew interest would shoot up. We’d make our goal, easily-peasily. Unless something unexpected happened, that is.

  The Parent Council meeting room was packed. Jammed to the gills. People were standing in the hallway, unable to get through the doors.

  “Wow!” Lucinda said. “All these people came out to vote for candy?”

  “Don’t be such a dweeb,” Amber said. “Most of them came to support us. Because intelligent people know health and physical fitness matter.”

  “Oh, stuff it. You don’t care about health. You just like bossing people around.”

  Waldo got between them. “Ladies! Ladies!” He wore a big fat cheese-eating grin on his ugly mug, making it even uglier. “We can agree to disagree and still behave civilly. Can’t we?”

  “Mind your own beeswax, Jason,” Amber said.

  “Certainly. After we get candy reinstated. Shall we?” He extended his arm, ushering the two girls into the meeting room.

  Opal was suddenly at my side. “Oooh—she’s one pissed Vega.”

  “Well, she should be—we’re gonna win. Thanks to your flyers.”

  She beamed up at me. I felt a thousand feet tall.

  Travis came around the corner with his mom. He’d told me earlier that his mom didn’t give two hoots about candy, but she sure wanted to see Fancy Boots get a drubbing. Apparently a lot of the other moms felt the same way—there was a giddy, gossipy buzz in the room, and it was getting shriller and shriller.

  If I’d been smart, I’d have set odds and taken bets on the outcome.

  Fancy Boots banged a gavel on the lectern. “This meeting is now called to order. It’s so amazing to see such a big turnout tonight. I understand many of you have taken a special interest in our final item on the agenda: the motion to reinstate candy in the vending ma—”

  Her words were cut off by loud cheers and boos. Not all of them coming from us kids.

  “Order! Order! So let’s get through the rest of the items on our agenda as quickly as possible.”

  Fancy Boots smiled brightly, but her forehead bore a deep double crease down the middle. She cleared her throat about 12 times, and finally the crowd began to settle. She began rattling off some information about new staffing models for the library.

  I stopped listening about half a word in—instead, I had my eye on Amber. She was glaring at Opal with a hard, hot stare I knew could only mean trouble. Every fiber of my being went into high alert. My instincts, honed by my secret identity as Dirk Daring, Secret Agent, told me to stand guard. To keep Opal safe.

  While I was considering which was the better option—throwing myself like a human shield over Opal or taking out Amber with my karate chop’s incredible speed and pinpoint accuracy—I felt a hand grip my neck from behind.

  Waldo.

  I tried to wrench myself free, but I couldn’t. His grasp was as strong as his body odor, and just as objectionable.

  “Lemme go!” I hissed.

  “Sure, little bro.” He released me with a simultaneous shove that almost knocked me to my knees. “Sorry. Don’t always know my own strength. I just wanted to find out the status of that other matter. The one we discussed.”

  “It’s done. Now leave me alone.”

  “No can do, Dirk.” He laughed an evil laugh. “You see, I need you. Just as much as you need me.”

  And then he was gone, leaving me to ponder the meaning of his words. Because as far as I was concerned, I needed Waldo about as much as I needed a crevice in the cranium. Less, actually.

  We’d just finished singing the national anthem when the intercom buzzed like a sick fly. A moment later, Ms. Wycoff ’s delightful nasal tones reverberated through the loudspeaker. “Miss Templeton, send Travis Sendak down to the principal’s office. Please.”

  Travis pointed to himself with a “Who, me?” look on his face.

  A whisper ran through the class like a bad oyster.

  What had Travis done to get “The Call”?

  As he passed by my desk on his death march, I nodded to him in a silent show of support. He gave me a “thanks, dude” wink and was gone.

  The clock ticked.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  No Trav.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Gone waaaay too long.

  A lump of fear congealed in my gut. Maybe something really bad had happened, like to his parents. Maybe—Travis would be fine. He was always fine.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Only 3 more ticks until the bell would ring for lunch.

  Tick. Tick.

  The classroom door swung open and banged against the wall.

  Travis stood in the open doorway. His face and eyes were red, and his lips were bone white.

  The whole class gasped as one just as the lunch bell rang. Travis spun on his heel and was gone.

  I ran like mad after him, but I was already too late.

  I finally found him in north bathroom 4B. He was sitting in one of the stalls, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. I gaped at him. Was he producing a confidential, ahem, memo?

  No. Impossible.

  So what was he doing, sitting on the can? At school?

  I tried to make light of the situation. “Dude, you’re supposed to pull your pants down before using the throne,” I said.

  Travis gave me a withering look, then returned his head to his hands.

  “What happened?” No reply. “Come on, it can’t be that bad…”

  “Oh yeah? Detention. FOR A WHOLE MONTH. For something I DIDN’T do!”

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “Spill it. Before it eats your guts from the inside out.”

  His eyes flicked to mine and he nodded. In a somber tone, he described how Principal had sat him down in the execution chair and fixed his beady seagull eyes on him.

  Travis gave me his best, syrupy impression of Big B. “Why don’t you tell me about it, son? I had no clue what he was talking about. So he gets all pissy. I’
ve had just about enough of your bad attitude, Mr.Sendak. He marched me down the hall to the south bathroom. Pushed me into a stall. Practically shoved my face into it.”

  “What? A toilet?”

  “Don’t be a dweeb. The door. There was a tag there. My Surfer Dude guy!”

  I swallowed hard. “You drew Surfer Dude on the bathroom stall? What were you thinking, Travis? Dumb dumb dumb…” I shook my head.

  He gave me a deadeye. And a severely curled lip.

  I got framed, man! And now swear! I’ve got to write a stupid apology to the stupid school janitor and serve one whole stupid month in the can.”

  I mumbled something sympathetic, but Travis was beyond hearing.

  “Who’d do that? Who’d want to screw me over like that?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “No one. Not that I can think of. Er…other than Waldo, that is.”

  Travis gave me a sharp look. “Waiiiitttt…do you think it was Waldo?”

  I lifted my hands in helplessness. “How should I know?”

  “Because you live with the psycho? And you’ve bugged his room?”

  “Can’t help you there. He hasn’t copped to art forgery. Not out loud anyway. Of course, that doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

  Travis drummed his fingers on his knees. He shrugged one shoulder, then the other, like he was shaking off especially persistent f lies. Then he gave me such a desperate, pleading look, it pierced me to the core. “Will you find out for me, Darren? I mean, can you spy on him for me while you’re spying for you?”

  “Sure. Hey—that’s what friends are for. Now can we please get out of this stall before I get the urge to draw a pair of spy eyes on the door?”

  He smiled at the thought. “That’s funny. I could use that idea in my next installment of Surfer Dude.”

  I waved my arm and bowed. Sort of—it’s pretty hard to wave and bow in a toilet stall. There was a near-clunking of heads.

  “Feel free. I share with you the fruits of my brilliant imagination. Free of charge.”