The Cheerleaders of Doom

by Michael Buckley

  Deal Breakers

  1. I want to be released from this hospital.

  2. I want my goon to accompany me. Please call his service and inform him that his presence is required.

  3. I want all my enemies to be destroyed.

  Wish List

  1. I tire of kittens. Find a place to put them and never let me see one again!

  2. I want a lifetime supply of the delicious candy treat called Circus Peanuts. All of the people who think they are gross should be pushed into the ocean so I never have to see someone give me that look of revulsion when I sit and idly eat an entire sack of them.

  3. I want my driver’s license, and yes, I know I am only eleven, but I still want it.

  4. I want to be able to carry a bazooka with me wherever I go.

  5. I want someone to carry the bazooka for me when it gets heavy.

  6. It would be totally awesome of you to give me back my upgrades so I can take over the world;) Just kidding!

  7. I want a major city in this country to change its name to Screwball City and this major city cannot be in Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, or Alaska.

  8. When I went rogue, my parents’ memory of me was erased. I want them to remember who I am.

  Your lord and (inevitable) master, Screwball

  Official Note: After careful review, most of Screwball’s requests were denied. We recommend close supervision of Mr. Hodges—anyone who likes those icky Circus Peanut candies cannot be right in the head.

  An hour later Screwball was taken out of the hospital. Unfortunately, he had missed lunch—and it was taco day.

  “If I am going to save the world, the very least you can do is feed me,” Screwball said as he was led in chains through the halls of Nathan Hale Elementary. Of course he knew he was a prisoner and responsible for the calamity that threatened to tear apart the universe, but would it have killed them to go through a drive-through or something?

  “The cafeteria’s closed, bub,” the lunch lady said. The big brawny brute was escorting him, along with Pufferfish, Braceface, Flinch, Wheezer, Gluestick, and his goon.

  “I will have tacos!” he pouted. “Pizza! A hot dog! I must feed my body and mind!”

  “Kid, if you don’t calm down, I’m going to feed you this chain,” the lunch lady growled.

  At once, the goon stepped forward and the two men shot each other deadly stares.

  “You feeling froggy, pal?” the lunch lady said. “Why don’t you take a leap?”

  The goon flashed his hooked hand.

  “Am I supposed to be afraid? What are you going to do, open a can of SpaghettiOs on me?” the lunch lady asked.

  “Calm down, my friend,” Screwball said to the goon.

  “Listen to Nutball,” the lunch lady said.

  “It’s Screwball!”

  “Does it matter?” the lunch lady argued. “Tell your paid monkey not to be fooled by the dress. I got a right hook that feels like a hammer.”

  “Let’s just get these two into the Playground, please,” Pufferfish said. “My feet are swelling up. Something dangerous is about to happen.”

  “What do you think is causing it?” Braceface said.

  “I think it’s radiation!” Pufferfish said. “I felt it when we met those talking dogs, and it’s all over Wheezer.”

  “So, I’m radioactive?” Wheezer said. “Great! Couldn’t that be what you’re reacting to?”

  Pufferfish shook her head. “Nope. This is bigger.”

  “Graggghhh?” Flinch said, then turned the knob on his harness to calm himself. “Do you think it’s one of those tears?”

  “Then we must get away,” Screwball said. He knew as well as anyone that dangerous things could step through those tears, and the NERDS were stupid enough to want to stay and fight whatever it was.

  “What’s the matter, Hodges?” Jackson said. “Are you afraid you might have to face the consequences of your invention?”

  Suddenly, a bright light appeared in the air in front of them in the hallway. An ear-shattering boom sent Screwball falling backward. He had only imagined the tears and had not seen one in person. It was both frightening and exciting at the same time. He could feel its raw power all around him.

  “I hope whatever comes out of that hole eats you!” Matilda shouted.

  Just then a battalion of figures dressed in strange silver suits raced out of the hole. At first glance they appeared human, but as the light from the tear dimmed, Screwball could see they were shaped more like gigantic grasshoppers. Their faces were flat and green with black, bulbous eyes. Two spindly antennae poked out of their foreheads, and their mouths were nothing but pinchers. Each held a strange weapon attached to tubes that led to tanks strapped on their shoulders.

  “Looks like we’ve got an infestation of humans, people. Prepare for spraying,” one of the bugs said.

  “Try to keep them in the hallway. If they get loose, they can go back to their lair and lay eggs. We all know what a hassle it is to clean them out,” another one said.

  “Ugh, the contract said it was just some vermin. Not humans! We should get them on the phone and tell them it’s going to cost more. I don’t want anyone complaining about the bill when it comes,” a third bug said.

  “I’ve heard these things are practically indestructible. They say they could survive a nuclear bomb. Filthy little things could crawl under a refrigerator and live until the end of time. Spray them!”

  The bugs fired their weapons, spraying every corner of the hallway with a thick green liquid. Screwball couldn’t help but scream, and later he would feel embarrassed, but these were bugs—he hated bugs. Talking ones were even freakier. Luckily, the usually dimwitted Jackson sprang into action using his braces to build a shield that protected everyone from the toxic chemical.

  Suddenly, the bugs were shouting at one another to stop the spraying.

  “What kind of pest has its own force field, boss?” one of them asked.

  “It must be a new strain! Keep spraying!”

  The bugs continued their extermination with the same result.

  “You have to stop this!” Screwball shouted at Pufferfish.

  “Me? This is your fault!”

  “Wait, did one of them talk? Guys, we’re not getting paid enough for this nonsense. You get that fat beetle on the phone and tell him we don’t do this kind of work. Humans that talk and have force fields need the military—not exterminators.”

  “Nonsense!” another said. “It doesn’t matter what they can do; we were paid to clear them out. Get the flamethrower ready.”

  “Flamethrower!” Screwball cried as he scurried behind his goon. “My friend, this is a perfect time for us to prove our trustworthiness. We need to sacrifice ourselves to save the others.”

  “That’s genius, boss,” the goon said. “What do ya suggest?”

  “Leap out and attack them,” Screwball said.

  “Um, they’re shooting poison at us.”

  “It will appear very brave,” he said. “Naturally, I will command you to do it, which will make them believe I have good intentions.”

  “Where is the ‘we’ in this sacrifice?” the goon asked.

  “Someone has to stay back to make sure the other’s sacrifice properly celebrated,” Screwball explained. “These fools are not smart enough to understand how selfless we’re being, and I will be there to remind them.”

  “Why can’t I do the reminding and youse do the attacking ?” the goon grumbled.

  “I would be happy to go! But tragically, I’m locked in chains, if you haven’t noticed. Can you even imagine the envy I have that you will be saving the day? Now, enough rubbing my nose in it. Go save us—but wait for my heroic command!”

  The goon sighed.

  “Minion! Stop these monsters and save us all!” Screwball shouted, then watched as the goon jumped into the fray. He punched one of the insects, then kicked another in its armored belly. He used his hook to slash the hoses that led to the poison tanks and
had nearly wiped them all out when he turned and found a weapon pointed right in his face.

  “I hate you creepy-crawly things!” the bug shouted and sprayed him in the face.

  The goon screamed and clawed at his eyes. “I can’t see!”

  Screwball watched as his former teammates leaped to the goon’s defense. Flinch snatched the giant bug and tossed him into the gaping, bright energy hole. Braceface used his shield to push others back, and Pufferfish leaped up, planting her foot into another’s face.

  The rest of the bugs fled, running headfirst into the light, vanishing into nothing as the hole shrank and disappeared.

  “We’ve got to get this one to the infirmary,” the lunch lady said, as he hefted the goon over his shoulder.

  Screwball saw his employee’s face was red and swollen, covered in horrible blisters. He was a mess! What luck! He couldn’t have planned it better himself.

  “Did you see what I did, old friends?” Screwball asked. “Did you see the sacrifice I made? I commanded my only companion to save us all. I hope that you will see how courageous that was of me. Clearly, I’m trustworthy.”

  Everyone stared at him in disbelief.

  Could they really not see his sacrifice? “I was quite heroic commanding my goon to save us—selfless, you could say.”

  They continued to stare.

  “Really! I’m without a goon now. Do you know what it feels like for an evil genius to be without a goon? It’s like being naked!”

  They continued down the now-empty hall and stopped in front of a row of lockers. They opened the doors, stepped inside, and were whisked downward several stories until they reached the Playground. A team of medics carried the goon away. Benjamin zipped over and hovered around Screwball like an angry wasp.

  “So, you’re back,” the orb chirped. “Just so you know, I have my fiber-optic eye on you. You can’t be trusted. In fact, I can sense your heartbeat is elevated, proving that you are lying.”

  “I didn’t say anything!” Screwball said.

  “You don’t have to!” Benjamin replied.

  Agent Brand and Ms. Holiday were waiting there as well. The rugged director stepped forward to address the staff of scientists standing in a group. “Attention, everyone! As you can see, Heathcliff has returned to help us with our current dilemma. You are to give him your complete cooperation, but let’s make something perfectly clear. Mr. Hodges is not to be trusted. If he is meddling in things he should not be, then alert security and me at once.”

  “What a lovely introduction,” Screwball grumbled. “I feel so welcome.”

  Brand turned to him. “All right, kid, you’ve got the finest scientific minds at your disposal. You have space-age technology and materials. It’s time to get to work.”

  “What I want to build is complicated, and most of these so called ‘brilliant minds’ are nothing more than monkeys in lab coats. I don’t have the time or inclination to explain to them the science behind my plans. It’s best to put me in the upgrade chair, give me back my teeth, and then I can control them all. Hypnotizing them to do the work is really the most efficient approach.”

  “You’re not getting anywhere near the upgrade room,” Matilda said.

  Heathcliff was indignant. “You came to me for help!”

  “I want guards on the upgrade room twenty-four hours a day,” Brand shouted. “No one goes in or out—not even team members.”

  “I see,” Screwball said as he scowled. His anger got the best of him, and before he knew it he was turning red and shouting vicious threats at everyone. Soon he found himself strapped to a heavy chair.

  The blue orb zoomed over to him and hovered in front of his face. “Now that you’re comfortable, we should get started.”

  Screwball fumed. “To counteract Gerdie Baker’s machine, I am proposing we build something of our own. I call it ‘the atomic harpoon.’ In its simplest form we’re going to use a rope of tightly packed subatomic material which we will fire at our Earth from another dimension. We will build a second harpoon, as well, that we’ll activate here. The two harpoons will reel us back into the universal constant. Once we’re back in place the crisis will be over.”

  “Fascinating,” Duncan said.

  “That’s an incredible understatement, Duncan. It’s nothing short of enlightened. This plan cements my standing as the most important mind in this universe … or any other!” Screwball bragged.

  Duncan rolled his eyes. “How long will it take for you to build it?”

  “Oh, it would take me thousands of years to build it,” Screwball said.

  “All right!” Brand shouted. “You’re going back to the hospital!”

  Screwball was surprised by the spy’s anger. “This machine is theoretical and the math necessary for it to work is beyond anything anyone can do. No one is more frustrated than me. Imagine being a genius and fully aware of your limitations! It’s bumming me out!”

  “THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE?” Brand cried.

  “Because it’s not beyond the brainpower of Gerdie Baker, or at least not beyond that of the Mathlete. Bring in Gerdie and give her back her upgrades. Her supercharged brain will help me assemble my invention.”

  “Absolutely not!” Pufferfish said.

  “Gerdie’s upgrades are essential!” Heathcliff said. “I can’t build it without her.”

  “We can’t find her!” Wheezer cried, then used her inhaler. “She’s changed her appearance. She doesn’t look anything like she did.”

  “The answer is rather obvious. It’s math,” Screwball said.

  “Math?”

  “She loves math,” he said. “No! Love is the wrong word. She’s obsessed with math. Gerdie can’t help herself. If there’s a problem, she has to solve it—and the more complicated the better. She’ll give herself away with the right equation.”

  “If we bring you Gerdie, is it going to take thousands of years?” Brand asked.

  Screwball shook his head. “Together we can build it in no time at all. Gluestick and Pufferfish can activate one of the machines here. Gerdie and I will go to the other Earth to set it up there.”

  Screwball watched Brand stew in his anger. “Wheezer, time is running out. We need Gerdie Baker and we need her right now!”

  Matilda sighed and turned to Duncan. “I need the hardest math equation you can find.”

  Matilda slipped back into camp while the girls were eating breakfast. They had hardly noticed she was gone.

  “No eggs?” she grumbled as she sat next to the others at one of the picnic tables outside. Her tray was covered in the four b’s: broccoli, brown rice, bean curd, and blech!

  “Jeannie’s vegan,” Kylie explained as she sipped on her ginger bean-curd soup. “And Toni thinks breakfast food gives her pimples.”

  Matilda sniffed her rice and stuck out her tongue. She picked at it until only Kylie was left at the table.

  “You don’t enjoy this, do you?” Kylie said.

  “I’m sort of a pancakes, waffles, sausage, eggs, and more sausage kind of girl,” Matilda replied.

  “Not the food, silly. Cheerleading,” Kylie said.

  Matilda froze. Ms. Holiday had warned her about staying positive around the other girls. Cheerleaders were usually happy people. Had her early disdain for her mission painted her as a grouch?

  “I get it,” Kylie said. “I wouldn’t want to be here if my parents were splitting up, either.”

  “What?”

  “Lilly told me you’re upset about it. Mine broke up, too. You’re probably doing this whole cheerleading thing to get attention.”

  Matilda nodded. She didn’t know where this conversation was going, and she didn’t necessarily agree with Kylie, but as long as one of her suspects was talking she would let her.

  “My mom and dad got so caught up in fighting they sometimes forgot how confused I was. The only way to get their attention was to throw myself into cheering. My mom did it when she was my age. My dad said he met her at a game. Once I showe
d a little interest in it, they showed a lot more interest in me. Still, I feel like a fraud sometimes. The skirts and the hair aren’t really me. I’m kind of a tomboy.”

  “I’ve been accused of the same thing,” Matilda admitted.

  “I turned myself into someone my mom and dad could get excited about—and the fighting stopped … a little. I know lots of kids who did the same thing. They got into sports, or art, or whatever. I know this kid back home who started dressing like a misfit just so his parents would worry about him. He had a pair of combat boots he never took off—he even wore them to bed.” Kylie smiled sadly. “We all do what we have to, I guess.”

  Matilda couldn’t speak. Suddenly, she didn’t feel much like a secret agent. She was supposed to be collecting information on Kylie and the others, but her friend seemed to be the one with all the understanding. Matilda’s strange clothes, the wrestling, the Ultimate Fighting—it had all been an effort to get Molly and Ben to stop arguing.

  When her nanobytes helped her asthma, there was nothing to keep her mom and dad busy. The crazy clothes and hair had been an effort to get them back on the same team. She had created a version of herself for them to pay attention to—an alternate Matilda—but it hadn’t worked.

  She sat quietly through the rest of breakfast, listening to the girls giggling and telling stories about boys and teachers.

  Suddenly she sneezed; someone on the team needed to talk to her. She excused herself and headed to the bathroom. Checking to make sure that she was alone, she slid into an empty stall and reached into her pocket. There was Duncan’s equation. Matilda couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but if Screwball was right, it would be a second language to the Mathlete.

  She sneezed again and Duncan’s voice popped into her head.

  “How is it going?”

  “I’ve got the equation right in front of me. Wish me luck,” she said.

  “It’s a shame this is such a priority, Wheezer,” Duncan added. “The NCA finals are tomorrow and Team Strikeforce has a real shot.”