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.
Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained
from the Library of Congress.
ISBN: 978-1-4197-0415-4
Text copyright © 2012 Michael Buckley
Illustrations copyright © 2012 Ethen Beavers
Book design by Chad W. Beckerman
Published in 2012 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 Sharon Handler,
defender of nerds
and readers
In this great big world, there are plenty of lousy jobs, and if you aren’t careful, you might grow up to have one. Without the right encouragement and education you could get stuck being:
1. An alligator massage therapist
2. A cat food taste-tester
3. A toilet bowl shiner
4. A roadkill collector
5. A screenwriter
6. The guy who scrapes boogers off the bottoms of movie theater seats
Which one of these jobs is the worst is open to debate, but all of them are soul-crushing nightmares. Still, none of them are as bad as Sherman Stoop’s job. Sherman guarded a humongous head.
To be clear, it wasn’t just a humongous head. It had arms and legs, but they were teeny-tiny and useless. The head had feet and hands, too, but they were even smaller and less useful. But if you were pressed to describe the bizarre creature to a friend, it would be safe to call it a head—a gigantic, RV-size, tiny-limbed head.
Sherman’s bosses told him that this head was evil and could destroy the world, so it was put into a drug-induced sleep. Sherman was also told that if the head were to ever wake up … well, it would be very, very bad—so Sherman had to watch it very, very carefully. It snored, mumbled in its sleep, drooled, and frequently passed gas.
Worst. Job. Ever.
Or was it? It seemed to Sherman that there had been a time when he loved his job. In fact, it seemed like just yesterday. Maybe it was yesterday. He couldn’t be sure. Things were foggy lately, but somewhere in the hazy reaches of his memory there were hints of a time when he thought his job was cool. Didn’t he use to think it was epic to be working around spies in a secret headquarters built beneath a school? Hadn’t it been thrilling to help a secret organization save the world on a daily basis? Wasn’t it awe-inspiring to wear a uniform that was covered in fancy body armor that made him look extremely tough? And what about his oversize laser gun that could burn through metal? None of his friends from high school had a laser gun! And the dental insurance! The dental insurance ruled!
Or did it? He couldn’t be sure. He was so angry now and much of his frustration had to do with his job. What was once exciting and new about working for the NERDS was now tedious and stupid. What used to make him feel important now made him feel disrespected. And the spies and scientists he once admired now seemed like a pack of mouth-breathing apes.
He couldn’t be sure when his change in attitude had occurred, but it all seemed to begin with the flu. It hit him all at once—dizziness, sore throat, and a fever so hot he felt like a marshmallow roasting over a campfire. He tossed and turned in bed, too sick to even call a doctor, and then suddenly the fever, nausea, and aches were gone, replaced by a newfound clarity about the world and his place in it. His job guarding an evil, gigantic, RV-size head was not a matter of national security but a task for a monkey, and his employers knew it! They were jealous and fearful of his brilliance. They wanted to squash his potential and steal the glory that was rightfully his, so they stuck him with a thankless chore. Well, he wouldn’t stand for it. Sherman Stoop was destined for greatness, and it was about time the whole world knew it!
“Sherman, you don’t look well,” Andrea said. She was a coworker on the security staff, and lately the two of them had been eating lunch together. They had a lot of interests in common—kung fu movies, Hungarian goulash festivals, and kitten calendars. Sherman had been building up the courage to ask her out on a date for months, and finally he had the perfect romantic evening—the annual goulash cook-off was a week away. What could be more romantic than taste-testing a hundred different goulashes? He was sure to sweep her off her feet! But now … well, what had happened to all those good feelings? Instead of being smitten by a beautiful woman who shared his love of heavy Eastern European cuisine, he saw a manipulative, cruel jerk who laughed at him behind his back.
“I’m fine,” he seethed. “Not that you care.”
“Sherman, what does that mean?”
“Be gone, woman! Can’t you see I’m thinking?” he replied, enraged.
Andrea’s face fell. As if he had hurt her feelings! What an actress. She should have been in Hollywood, making movies. She probably didn’t even like goulash! He turned and walked toward the door.
“Sherman! You can’t leave your station—”
“Watch me!” Sherman took off his helmet and tossed it to the floor. It bounced around. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The noise caused everyone in the lab to gasp, and all eyes turned to the slumbering head. Its horrible, stretched face grimaced, and it snorted. Was it waking up? What were they supposed to do if it woke up?
But then it licked its lips and went back to its incessant snoring, and the staff breathed again.
Sherman wasn’t going to wait around for the scientists to scold him like a child. He stormed through the exit doors and nearly ran straight into his boss, Dave Hobin. Dave was a short, dumpy man with a full mustache.