Attack of the BULLIES
Page 1
BY MICHAEL BUCKLEY
The Sisters Grimm
Book One: The Fairy-Tale Detectives
Book Two: The Unusual Suspects
Book Three: The Problem Child
Book Four: Once Upon a Crime
Book Five: Magic and Other Misdemeanors
Book Six: Tales from the Hood
Book Seven: The Everafter War
Book Eight: The Inside Story
Book Nine: The Council of Mirrors
A Very Grimm Guide
NERDS
Book One: National Espionage, Rescue, and Defense Society
Book Two: M Is for Mama’s Boy
Book Three: The Cheerleaders of Doom
Book Four: The Villain Virus
Book Five: Attack of the BULLIES
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Buckley, Michael, 1969–Attack of the bullies / by Michael Buckley ; illustrations by Ethen Beavers. pages cm. — (NERDS ; book five)
Summary: When Miss Information kidnaps the President’s daughter, it is up to twelve-year-old Ruby, also known as Pufferfish, to use her super-nanobyte-enhanced allergies in leading the NERDS’ investigation.
ISBN 978-1-4197-0857-2 (hardback)
[1. Superheroes—Fiction. 2. Spies—Fiction. 3. Kidnapping—Fiction.
4. Time travel—Fiction. 5. Bullies—Fiction. 6. Presidents—Family—Fiction.
7. Humorous stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.B882323Att 2013
[Fic]—dc23
2013015981
Text copyright © 2013 Michael Buckley
Illustrations copyright © 2013 Ethen Beavers
Book design by Chad W. Beckerman
Published in 2013 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
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For Jason Wells—
always managing to
control the chaos
The principal of Thomas Knowlton Middle School was working at his desk when the ninjas attacked. They wore black masks and held sharp swords over their heads. One crashed through the door with a high-pitched wail, his deadly weapon slicing the air, but he was stopped in his tracks when the principal karate-chopped him in the Adam’s apple. Ouch! Another ninja climbed through the window, but his head was crushed when the principal slammed it shut. Oof! A third ninja dropped from an air duct in the ceiling. His nunchucks swirled in deadly arcs, wrapping around the principal’s beefy forearm. But that was a mistake the ninja would forever regret, because the principal used the nunchucks to yank the ninja forward for a skull-splitting head butt. Lights out!
When it looked like the attack was over, two more ninjas popped out of the drawers of a steel file cabinet and attacked using their fists and feet, knocking the principal backward onto his desk. They held him down and, chuckling arrogantly, removed gleaming daggers from the folds of their clothes. But the principal was trained in several martial arts and highly proficient in the monkey, snake, and crane fighting styles. Plus, he was Irish, so he knew his way around a street fight. He snatched a stapler off his desk and slammed it into one ninja’s forehead and then the other’s. Both men cried out in agony and stumbled backward, onto the bodies of their fallen brothers.
The principal stood over the pile of broken villains. Then he started to applaud. “Thanks, guys,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah …,” the men groaned as they staggered to their feet.
One of the ninjas took off his mask, revealing a chubby face and a large bald spot in the center of his curly brown hair. He didn’t look like a ninja. He looked like an accountant.
“Did we at least surprise you this time?” he groused.
The principal nodded. “Absolutely, Randy. I was completely taken off guard. I didn’t see the file cabinet thing coming at all. That was a nice touch.”
“He’s just saying that because he doesn’t want to hurt our feelings,” another ninja groaned. Underneath his mask he had bright red hair and a face full of freckles.
“No, Barry. I really was intimidated.”
Randy shook his head. “I don’t know why you want us to do this, anyway. You’re the boss now. Your biggest fear should be getting a paper cut or someone parking in your designated space. Why keep training?”
“You don’t actually miss your old job, do you?” Barry asked.
“Miss my old job? No! That’s ridiculous. Why would I miss it?”
“I have no idea,” Randy said. “It was humiliating. You’re a decorated war hero, and they put you in that stupid school kitchen with the hairnet and the Tater Tots. What a waste! This promotion was long overdue. You deserve to be director of the National Espionage, Rescue, and Defense Society, so take it easy.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, guys, but I’m fine,” the principal said. “I’ve got to get back to work. See you next week?”
“Not if we see you first,” Barry said as he slunk out the window.
The others vanished through the air ducts and into the filing cabinet. In the blink of an eye they were gone.
The principal put the upended coatrack back in its place, adjusted his portrait of the president of the United States on the wall, and gathered what was left of his office supplies.
He looked at the stack of paperwork on his desk and sighed. Truth was, he didn’t know how to take it easy. He did miss the adventure of the field. There was nothing as satisfying as the sound of a bad guy’s nose breaking beneath his fist. But what he really missed was … well, if anyone found out, he would be the laughing stock of the espionage community. He crossed the room to a small file cabinet locked tight with fourteen different dead bolts. He fished seven of the keys out of his pockets, opened the hollow heel in his left shoe for another, found two in between his big toe and his second toe, and four more in a secret pocket at the base of his pant leg. When he had unlocked all the bolts, he opened the cabinet and pulled out his most prized possessions: a spatula, a pair of orthopedic sneakers, a hairnet, and a flowery smock.
He caressed them lovingly. Why was it so hard to let go of his previous job as the school’s lunch lady? Why did he miss the heat lamps, corn nuggets, and fish surprise?
Suddenly, the phone rang. It wasn’t the phone on his desk. It was the phone. He stuffed his kitchen tools back in the cabinet and raced to his desk. Underneath his coffee mug was a glowing red button. He slammed it hard with the palm of his hand and watched as his drab, poorly decorated office went through a dramatic transformation. The yellowing walls flipped over to reveal banks of computers and electronic maps of the world. His ancient, clunky desk sank into the floor and was replaced with a blinking, beeping control panel. The grimy ceiling fan collapsed in on itself, and a large television monitor took its place. The glossy black screen blinked to life and his boss, a tough-as-nails five-star general named Savage, appeared on it.
Now, however, Savage’s massive bullet-shaped head looked sweaty and his tiny eyes shifted nervously. “Hello, Director. I wish I had time for chitchat, but we have a crisis on our hands that needs your team’s attention.”
“What is it, sir?”
“We have it from good sources that the president’s daughter, Tessa Lipton, is about to be kidnapped.”
The principal wasn’t the kind of man to gasp, but the news of such a brazen crime took his breath away. “When? How? Who?”
Savage’s massive head dissolved and was replaced with an image of the complete opposite: a sweet, cheerful-looking twelve-year-old girl with a grin as big as the midwestern sky. Her image morphed into a photo of an ultramodern building.
“We don’t know the when or how, but we think we have a where—Sugarland Academy, a very prestigious prep school for the children of political bigwigs and power brokers. It’s here in Arlington.”
“I know the lunch lady over there,” the principal said. “The security is top-notch.”
“Did you say you know the … lunch lady there?” the general asked.
“Um, we used to trade recipes.”
“Okaaaaay,” Savage said slowly. “Anyway, Sugarland has its own twelve-officer police department that cooperates with Tessa’s four-man Secret Service detail.”
“That’s a lot of eyeballs on one person,” the principal said. “Who would even try to kidnap her?”
The image was replaced with a photo of a woman wearing a black mask with a white skull painted on it.
The principal scowled. “Ms. Holiday!”
“She’s calling herself ‘Miss Information’ now,” Savage said. “We managed to get a mole inside her organization. He called it chaotic, filled with hundreds of scientists working on thousands of schemes aimed at every corner of the world. It’s really breathtaking how quickly she’s put this thing together.”
“And she’s had us running ragged ever since,” the principal growled. “I’ve had to split the team to handle it all. What else is this mole saying?”
“Nothing. He’s dead. We found his remains in the belly of a beached great white shark this morning. We’ve alerted the president. He and the First Lady are beside themselves with worry. If the commander in chief’s own daughter can be kidnapped, what does it say about our national security?”
The principal nodded. “This is not going to be easy for us, General. It will be tough to keep an eye on Tessa without her or the president knowing about it. The founders of this team were very concerned about staying out of the political maneuverings of whoever is running the country. If the politicians were to find out we had a superteam at their disposal, the kids’ lives would be turned upside down.”
“Then I suggest the kids keep their powers to themselves.”
“No upgrades,” the principal said. “Good idea, sir. I’ll have the kids enroll at Sugarland Academy.”
“I’ll work with the Secret Service and the school’s police,” Savage said. “There is one other problem, Director. Sugarland is a sophisticated school. The students are mature and cultured.”
“Sir?”
“And your kids are not—especially the hyper one.”
“Flinch. Don’t worry, sir. The team will rise to the occasion.”
“And leave the crazy one at home.”
The principal paused. Did the boss really think he would do something so dumb as send Heathcliff Hodges on a mission? If only there was somewhere to send him … Unfortunately, until the brains in the science department found a way to return his parents’ memories of him, Heathcliff had to stay in the Playground.
“I don’t think I have to tell you this mission is your top priority,” Savage continued. “I know it’s not easy to fill Agent Brand’s shoes, but if you and the team succeed in keeping Tessa safe, no one will question your leadership.”
“Is someone questioning my leadership?” the principal asked.
But the screen had already gone black. The room’s technology was quickly replaced with the drab, battered furniture of his principal’s office.
The principal was tempted to run to the file cabinet, snatch the spatula, and stuff it safely in the pocket of his suit jacket. It would make him feel better, but deep down he knew Randy and Barry were right. He was the boss now. He had to put the grill and the deep-fat fryer behind him.
“Take me to the Playground,” he said out loud.
A green light flashed and the floor beneath him opened. It was time to fight the bad guys, and he was heading toward a place where he could do just that.
KID, YOU’RE LIKE BEDBUGS:
I CAN’T GET RID OF YOU. I’VE
TRIED EVERYTHING SHORT OF DDT,
BUT YOU KEEP SHOWING UP AND
BEING ANNOYING. FIRST THERE WERE
THOSE EMBARRASSING DNA TESTS,
THEN THE CODE-BREAKING QUIZ, THEN
I THREW THAT PSYCHOLOGICAL EXAM
AT YOU, AND FINALLY THE PHYSICAL
CHALLENGES! EITHER YOU’RE
PASSIONATE ABOUT BEING A SECRET
AGENT OR YOU’RE DIM IN THE HEAD.
MY MONEY IS ON YOU BEING DIM.
SO, WHAT’S LEFT FOR YOU TO PROVE?
NOTHING.
YOU ACTUALLY MADE IT. YOU’RE A
MEMBER OF THE NATIONAL ESPIONAGE,
RESCUE, AND DEFENSE SOCIETY.
CONGRATULATIONS.
SO, STATE YOUR CODE NAME.
REALLY? YOU’RE GOING WITH THAT?
I MEAN, IT’S NOT EXACTLY
INTIMIDATING. IN FACT, IT’S
DOWNRIGHT SILLY. WHY NOT CALL
YOURSELF “FLUFFY BUNNY” OR “THE
CABBAGE”? HUH? MY CODE NAME?
AGENT BEANPOLE.
SHUT YOUR MOUTH!
BEANPOLE IS A FIERCE CODE NAME.
IT HAS AN AIR OF MYSTERY
ABOUT IT, TOO.
STOP LAUGHING.
I HATE YOU.
LET’S MOVE ON. MY NAME IS
MICHAEL BUCKLEY. I WAS ONCE
A MEMBER OF THE NATIONAL
ESPIONAGE, RESCUE, AND DEFENSE
SOCIETY. THESE DAYS I DOCUMENT
THEIR ADVENTURES AND
WEED OUT THE POSERS WHO
WANT TO JOIN THE TEAM.
(WELL, I TRY TO WEED THEM OUT.)
THE ORGANIZATION WAS FOUNDED IN
THE 1970S, LONG BEFORE YOU WERE
BORN. WHAT WERE THE ’70S LIKE?
A-W-E-S-O-M-E! EVERYBODY DRESSED
REALLY WELL AND WE ALL HAD THESE
COOL HAIRCUTS. DON’T BELIEVE ME?
ASK YOUR PARENTS TO SHOW YOU
SOME PICTURES. I’LL WAIT.
SEE, I TOLD YOU. MAN, DO I MISS
MY BUTTERFLY COLLARS. ANYWAY,
LET’S GET STARTED. WHAT YOU’RE
HOLDING IN YOUR SWEATY HANDS IS
THE LAST NERDS FILE. AND UNLIKE
THE PREVIOUS FOUR, THERE’S NO
TEST. THIS CASE FILE IS ALL ABOUT
HISTORY. YOU’RE GOING TO GET A
GLIMPSE OF THE GREATEST
AGENTS THE NERDS HAVE
EVER SEEN. SO READ THIS
CAREFULLY, AND YOU MIGHT
JUST LEARN SOMETHING
ABOUT BEING A SPY.
BUT I HAVE MY DOUBTS.
“How did I get here?” Ruby Peet grumbled to herself as she climbed onto the roof of a British express train. The air was bone-rattling cold, the train was racing at nearly 140 miles an hour, and she was sure the jostling would send her flying over the side at any moment. But, as they say, there isn’t any use in complaining when you have a job to do—and Ruby’s job was saving the world.
Most people couldn’t see past the fact that Ruby was in the sixth grade, only twelve years old, allergic to practically everything in the world, and
a social misfit. But the truth was, Pufferfish, as she was known, was actually a very good secret agent.
At that moment, she was in pursuit of a scientist named Dr. Hans Julian, the world’s expert on poop. Yes, you read that correctly. Poop. Dr. Julian knew everything there was to know about dookie, kaka, turds, racing stripes, floaters, and toilet bombs. He also knew how waste could be used for fuels, building materials, and fertilizer, plus a million other very gross things. One could say that he was number one at number two. What he didn’t know was how deep the doo-doo would be when he tried to sell some of his knowledge to a very bad person.
What could a guy with a degree in dung know that would put him on the nation’s Most Wanted list? Dr. Julian had created a superlaxative that caused intensive, explosive diarrhea. One drop of that liquid in a city’s water supply and every man, woman, child, and animal would be racing to the bathroom. With everyone indisposed, any number of crimes could occur and there would be no one to stop them.
She stood, fighting the wind, and peered into the darkness. In the moonlight she spotted Dr. Julian running away from her along the top of the train. Mustering all her courage, she darted after him.
If it were up to her, she’d be calling the shots while one of her fellow agents did the legwork. Gluestick could use his sticky hands and feet to never fall off the train, Braceface could snatch the doctor in a giant fist made from his orthodontic braces, and Wheezer’s inhalers would allow her to fly alongside the train and scoop up the bad guy in her arms. Even Flinch’s sugar-fueled strength and lightning speed would easily overpower the scientist. Unfortunately, her teammates were on other missions, and Ruby was all by herself. All she had were her allergies—a collection of runny noses, swelling feet, itchy hands, rashes, hives, blisters, and weepy eyes enhanced by the latest science. Coursing through her bloodstream were millions of nanobytes, tiny robots that made her allergic reactions so sensitive she practically had psychic powers. A puffy eye alerted her to explosives. A sudden hacking cough warned her of an assassin’s presence. A swollen ankle was a clear sign that she was about to get punched in the face. Her allergies put her one step ahead of every villain, even if she would never know what peanut butter tasted like.