“That’s not fair! Let me pick again!”
Matilda shook her head. “Now you’re putting the weapons in categories. A good secret agent can use anything as a weapon. A back scratcher can be just as deadly as a chain saw. It shouldn’t matter what you choose. I once took out a dozen terrorists with a jelly donut and a cup of cocoa.”
She spun around like a top, then kicked him in the arm. In anger, he lashed out with the back scratcher, but Matilda pressed the plungers on her inhalers and soared out of his reach, easily dodging the blow. Startled, Jackson left his defenses wide open, and Matilda kicked him in the ribs. Enraged, Jackson slashed at the flying girl. Unfortunately, he only managed to hit himself in the ear.
Matilda landed again. She studied Jackson with pity. “Fine. I’ll take the back scratcher. You take another weapon,” she said, then clapped her hands twice. The walls flipped over and the weapons reappeared.
Jackson raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Really?”
Matilda held out her hand. Jackson passed her the back scratcher and eagerly scanned the walls for something, anything, that would get Matilda to stop kicking his butt. There were pitchforks, nunchakus, sabers, throwing stars, bazookas, spears, and crossbows. Finally he spotted what he needed—a Louisville Slugger! He yanked it off the wall, knowing he’d never hit Matilda with it, but he thought perhaps she’d be intimidated enough to back off.
He turned to Matilda. She was spinning the back scratcher in her hands like a baton. “I’ll even let you go first.”
“Your funeral,” Jackson said as he stomped toward her. He tried to swing the bat but never got the chance. Matilda brought the scratcher down on his nose so hard tears welled in his eyes and blinded him. Helpless to her assault, Jackson cowered as Matilda slapped him in the lips, on top of his head, and then on his Adam’s apple. Next she went to work on his chest, his elbows, his belly, his rump, and finally his knees. As he gasped for breath, he saw the small girl fly into the air, spin around in a circle like a cyclone, and then plant her foot on his jaw. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was Matilda standing over him with a proud smile. “I love this job,” she said.
RESULTS: FAILURE
After a serious smackdown from Matilda, Jackson was instructed to meet Heathcliff at the far end of the school building, on a tiny playground reserved for kindergartners. Heathcliff had a smug grin on his face that even his enormous buckteeth couldn’t hide.
“What are we doing here?” Jackson asked.
“Trust me, it’s not my idea. I wouldn’t help you if it weren’t a direct order. I’m supposed to train you to deal with an unpredictable situation.” Heathcliff’s disdain for Jackson dripped from every word. “A good secret agent must be prepared for anything. It’s the ability to think on your feet that will keep you alive.”
“Well, I don’t want to brag, but I saw a lot of unpredictable situations when I was leading the Tigers to the state championship. I don’t think your little training session will be much of a challenge.”
Just then, a bell rang and the door flew open. A sea of five-year-olds flooded the playground. They were as hyper as Flinch after a fluffernutter sandwich, and they ran about screaming, kicking balls, chasing each other, and singing like maniacs.
“What’s this all about?” Jackson said, trying to avoid a soccer ball to the head.
“You’ll see,” Heathcliff said as he turned to the children and smiled, flashing his giant teeth. “Get him, kids!”
The children stared at Heathcliff like he was as transfixing as a talking ice cream cone, then grew very still. All at once, they whipped their heads in Jackson’s direction and screamed in anger.
“Have fun,” Heathcliff shouted as the children rushed toward Jackson. With balls, jacks, rocks, and lunch boxes, they rained fury down on Jackson.
He was stunned at first. No one expects to be attacked by a bunch of hypnotized five-year-olds, but that was exactly what was happening. When a NASCAR lunch box cracked him in the skull, he knew he had to defend himself. But how? He didn’t feel right about fighting back, especially since the children were not in their right minds. He wondered if his braces could help. He tried to focus on the metal in his mouth, and suddenly it was swirling. A moment later, four long tentacles emerged from his lips, dipped down to the ground, and lifted him into the air, making him into a human spider. He picked his tentacled way through the crowd of children, but his escape only seemed to enrage them more. They chased after him, flinging their toys at his back, and shouting threats.
Worse still, he couldn’t outrun them. No matter which direction the legs carried him, the children were right behind, their hypnotized faces twisted in rage. He made a dash across the playground. Suddenly, his metallic legs tripped and he fell face-first into a set of monkey bars. His braces were tied up, and no matter what he did, he could not free them. It was the break the zombie children needed, and they fell on him with jump ropes, dollies, and finger paints. As they beat him senseless, he could see Heathcliff standing over him, laughing.
RESULTS: FAILURE
When Jackson could walk again, he staggered over to the older kids’ playground, where Duncan was waiting.
“What happened to you?” the chubby boy asked.
Jackson frowned and waved off the question. “I’d rather not talk about it. What’s next?”
Duncan gestured to a tetherball pole and led Jackson to it.
“We’re going to play tetherball?” Jackson asked hopefully.
“Not exactly,” Duncan said. He reached into his pocket and took out what looked like a remote control. He pushed a button and the tetherball lifted off the chain like the head of a curious snake. “The tetherball is going to play you.”
“What’s all this?”
Duncan flashed a knowing smile. “I’m here to teach you the fine art of stealth, or in layman’s terms, how to be sneaky. A good secret agent needs to be able to operate in the shadows, move undetected, and keep a low profile. I suspect you’ll have problems with this.”
“Oh yeah?”
Duncan nodded. “You’re what my father would call a showboat. In today’s slang, I’d call you a glory hog. Think you can step out of your spotlight for a bit?”
Jackson scowled. “Let’s just do this.”
Duncan pushed another button on the remote, and the tetherball whipped around and snapped the chain that held it. Then it floated into the air above them. “This is the XP-400 Surveillance and Attack Sphere. I could talk for hours about its design—”
“I bet you could.”
Duncan ignored the interruption. “But to hurry this along, I’ll give you a brief explanation. You are going to hide somewhere in the school. This ball is going to find you. When it finds you, it’s going to shoot you with a high-intensity laser. It will hurt. A lot.”
“A laser?”
Duncan cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, Jackson. Are you afraid of a little ball? I thought you were an athlete. I read in the school paper that you hold our school’s all-time passing record. Now, I don’t know what that means, but I assume it means you’re fast. You can probably beat this thing, but if you’re scared …”
Jackson was aware of how reverse psychology worked. After all, he had once had a mother. But the boy’s tone made him angry. This chubby jerk was questioning his athletic prowess.
He had to prove him wrong. “Try to catch me, porky,” he shouted as he turned and raced into the school.
“Good luck!” Duncan shouted. “You’re going to need it.”