Billy Sure Kid Entrepreneur Is a Spy! Page 2

  That night we settle into sleeping bags on the floor of my bedroom. I guess I could sleep on my bed, but that sorta defeats the point of a sleepover.

  I drift into a wild dream. In it, I’m wearing a trench coat, a fedora, and dark glasses. I hurry down a dimly lit alley, glancing back over my shoulder every few steps. When I turn back around, I am face to face with two nasty-looking goons!

  “Well, well, well, who do we have here?” snarls one of the goons.

  “My name is Sure. Billy Sure. I eat punks like you for breakfast!” I growl.

  “We’ll just see about that!” shouts the second goon, pounding his fist into the palm of his other hand. “If you’ll just give us the secret defense codes, no one gets hurt.”

  “Go fly a kite, punks,” I say, tipping the brim of my hat down over my forehead. “Preferably very close to a cliff.”

  They both rush toward me!

  BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

  At that second my alarm jolts me awake. It was all a dream! PHEW!

  “Early flight, huh?” asks Manny as he rubs his eyes and rolls up his sleeping bag. “Have lots of fun! Send me a postcard. And watch out for sunburn.”

  For some reason, Manny doesn’t look at me. Maybe he’s really sad.

  “Don’t worry, Manny,” I reassure him. “The time is going to just fly by. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  If I come back, I think guiltily.

  Journey to Spy Academy

  AFTER MANNY LEAVES, It’s time to go. Mom leads me outside to a black unmarked car.

  “Just in case anyone follows us,” Mom says, and she opens the door for me. That’s when I notice something really cool. Like, beyond cool. Like, cooler than ice cubes in lemonade cool.

  The car—which from the outside is just a regular car—is GIANT on the inside. The seats look like long, sleek benches, and there are other cool things, like a dressing room, an archery practice field, and . . . an octopus?

  “Don’t mind Paul,” Mom says. “Well, Agent Paul to you. He’s my partner on secret missions, where he often lends me a hand—or eight!” She laughs at her own joke. I’m not sure, but it looks like Paul cracks a smile as well.

  An octopus that’s a secret agent? A car that expands when you get in it?

  I’m sure your mom is cool, but my mom is definitely the coolest.

  We drive across town. That’s when I realize something.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” says Mom as familiar streets and highways give way to new scenery.

  “I’m a little nervous,” I explain. “I mean, I’m okay with the inventing part. I just don’t know who or what I’m going to meet when we get there. I mean, after all the success and hoopla of Sure Things, Inc., I am kinda used to publicity and being in the spotlight and meeting lots of new people. Still, I’d be lying if I said I don’t get a little nervous in new situations.”

  “Everybody does, honey,” Mom says, and I feel a little reassured. “Anyway, your days will be split between taking classes and working in the lab.”

  “Not so different from my days now,” I say, starting to feel a little less nervous. “But why will I be taking classes? Aren’t I there to invent Spy Dye?”

  “You are,” Mom says, but then her eyes get really narrow. “But there might be an opportunity for . . . later work. It’s better if you get a little spy training just in case.”

  Later work? Spy training? That’s pretty awesome, but what about Manny, my partner?

  After more driving, Mom pulls into an old strip mall. It looks kinda like a scene from a horror movie, and part of me thinks a zombie is going to jump out from behind the Dumpster. More than half the stores are closed and shuttered. The only places open are a package-shipping store, a tiny thrift store, and, right in front of the car, a downright scary-looking diner with food that’s probably worse than Dad’s!

  “Why are we stopping here?” I ask. “You don’t want to eat at that place, do you?”

  Mom smiles and shakes her head. “Just follow me.”

  She parks and grabs Agent Paul’s tank. We get out, and I follow her into the thrift store, wondering exactly what is going on and why an octopus needs to join us. I know that my mom can be an impulsive shopper. I remember family car trips when I was little in which she would yell out, “Turn in there, Bryan, I just have to see that moldy old grandfather clock in the window!” Unless all this time she was doing secret spy stuff I didn’t know about!

  The inside of the store smells like a mix of cat litter and bananas. Practically every square foot of space is covered with shelves, old furniture, and stacks of weird books. One of the books is called Dogs Are Aliens from Space and This Is Why! Another is called The Internet: What You Need to Know about the World’s Newest Thing. How old is this place?!

  As I walk down the aisles, I see shelves jam-packed with cracked plates, bowls, drinking glasses, and tiny knickknacks that I think are older than my grandmother. Racks of used clothing are strewn about, and the walls are covered with crookedly hung pictures of sad clowns, dogs playing cards, and ships sailing on the ocean into purple vortexes.

  But perhaps the strangest part about the store is the people here. There are a few of them, aside from Mom and me. They walk slowly. One woman picks up a vase, looks it over, then puts it back down only to pick it back up again. Another grabs a shirt off a tightly packed clothing rack. On the shirt is an image of someone wearing the same shirt.

  Needless to say, I’m confused.

  “Um, I know you love shopping in thrift stores, Mom, but do we really have time for this?” I finally ask.

  I see Mom catch the eye of the woman behind the counter. She nods at Mom. Mom nods back, and then she turns to me.

  “Here’s what you do,” she whispers to me. “Just grab any piece of clothing off the rack and go back into one of those dressing rooms.”

  Mom points to a row of three doors along the back wall of the store. “When you are inside, make sure the door is SECURELY FASTENED.” She looks at me super serious. “Once you’re sure it’s SECURELY FASTENED, hang the piece of clothing on the wall.”

  “And then?” I ask.

  “You’ll see,” says Mom.

  You know, I wish Spy Academy were a little less cryptic.

  Since I’m not actually trying on the piece of clothing, I grab just any shirt off the rack. As I make my way toward the back of the store, I notice some of the other customers whispering when I walk by. A few of them giggle.

  Can this day get any weirder?

  As Mom instructed, I make sure the dressing room door is securely fastened. Then I take a look around. The room is tiny and cramped—what a shock! I can barely fit myself in here, much less move around. I follow Mom’s instructions exactly and hang the shirt on the hook on the well. There is a small click, and then I wait.

  Nothing.

  Is this some kind of spy test? Am I supposed to be patient? Am I supposed to click my heels three times and say “Spy Academy, Spy Academy”?

  That’s when I think, What if I need to try the shirt on?

  I grab the shirt and look at it, hoping that maybe it’s my size. And that’s when I finally notice that it’s not a shirt at all.

  It’s a clown suit. It looks just like you would imagine. Pom-poms, suspenders, ruffles, you name it. There’s even a big red wig safety-pinned to the shirt.

  Just in case this is in fact a spy test, I put the clown costume on over my clothes. I’m just adjusting the wig when I hear another click.

  Click, click, click!

  The back wall of the dressing room starts to slide open. I step away, not knowing what to expect. It keeps going . . .

  When the wall slides open completely, I see what looks like—could it be?—an elevator!

  As soon as I step in, the wall slides closed behind me. Glancing to my left, I see that Mom is already in the elevator, still holding Agent Paul. She laughs. Again, I’d bet Agent Paul is smiling too. That’s when I remember: I’m dressed like a clown!


  “While I can appreciate the art of disguise, you can wear your normal clothes,” Mom says. “Part of being a spy is being patient. Once you heard the first click, you should have waited for something to happen.”

  Now she tells me! Feeling silly, I pull the costume off (remembering to take off the wig, too) and stuff it into my duffel bag. Speaking of my duffel bag, I have no clue how it got here—we didn’t take it into the thrift store, but I know better than to ask. Which reminds me. How did Mom get in here, anyway?

  As if she can read my mind, Mom says, “I came through the back wall of my dressing room. All three dressing rooms lead to this same elevator. Ready?”

  Mom presses a button in the elevator. DING! But instead of going up or down, it speeds . . . sideways!

  The elevator moves really fast, like I’m on the wackiest roller coaster of my life. Then, just as suddenly as it started, the elevator stops and sends me flying! I brace myself before bumping into the far wall.

  “Mom! What is going—?”

  Before I can finish my question, the elevator starts plunging downward. Mom, Agent Paul, and I hover a couple of inches above the floor for a few seconds before our feet drift back down. A few seconds later the elevator finally slows to a stop.

  What had been the back wall of the dressing room slides open, and I can’t believe my eyes.

  Everywhere I look, I see another piece of high-tech equipment. Dozens of people are busy at work, scurrying from place to place. It’s like a human beehive of activity, hidden deep underground.

  “Welcome to Spy Academy!” Mom says. “Ready for the tour?”

  The Spy Academy Tour

  I HARDLY KNOW what to think or say as I follow Mom around. The size of the place alone is enough to make my head spin. Everywhere we walk it seems like a hallway or tunnel leads off to some secret hidden place, which would make sense, since this is a facility for spies, after all.

  I can’t believe it. If you’d have told me a week ago that I’d be inventing something for my mom the spy, I wouldn’t have believed you. But here I am!

  Just as I start to wonder how long it took Mom (and how long it will take me) to learn her way around this place, we come to a huge steel door, kind of like a bank vault.

  “This is where you keep all the money, right?” I joke.

  Mom smiles. “Everything you’ve seen so far only requires a level four clearance. Everything you’ll see on the other side of this door requires a level seven clearance or higher.”

  “How many levels are there?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry, Billy, that’s classified.”

  She’s serious!

  Mom places her palm onto a smooth glass panel next to the door. The panel starts to glow. A small red light appears.

  “Furry dog with one bone needs to be fed,” she says.

  The heavy steel door rises slowly, making a grinding sound.

  “Is that ‘furry dog’ stuff some kind of secret code?” I ask.

  “You’re catching on,” replies Mom.

  When the door has vanished up into the ceiling, we walk through the opening.

  “ ‘Furry dog’ is my code name,” Mom explains. “I picked that in honor of Philo. ‘One bone’ means I have one visitor with me. And ‘needs to be fed’ means that you are here for a briefing, to learn about your mission.”

  The steel door slides shut behind us. Mom leads me to another door, which swings open as we approach.

  “This is our computer lab,” she says as I follow her in. “Let’s get you set up with a private agency network account.”

  The room is packed with row after row of people sitting at computers, typing away. After scanning the room, I notice that I’m not the only kid here. For some reason I expected everyone who works here to be an adult. I figured I would be a special case, being a young inventor and all.

  But no, there are three kids that look to be about my age—two boys and a girl.

  I guess I must be staring at them, because one of the boys looks up from his keyboard and says, “What, you thought you’d be the only kid here?”

  I don’t know what to say, so I just stand there with my mouth open, trying to get words to come out.

  The kid laughs. “I’m just pulling your leg,” he says. He’s got long floppy black hair that keeps falling into his eyes. “I’m Josh. Welcome to Spy Academy!”

  He points to the other boy, who is short with close-cropped brown hair.

  “This is Drew,” Josh says. “And this is Morgan.”

  He points to the girl with curly black hair whose face is buried in her keyboard.

  “Hi, Drew. Hi, Morgan,” I say. “I’m Billy.”

  “Billy’s my son,” Mom says. “So be nice! Billy, Agent Paul and I have to go take care of something. I’ll be back in little bit.” Mom leaves me with some orientation paperwork, like the school directory, and heads out of the lab.

  “What’s up, Billy?” says Drew, smiling and reaching his hand out to shake mine. There’s something familiar about Drew that makes me feel more comfortable.

  “Um, yeah, hi,” Morgan mumbles, not bothering to look up.

  “So what’s your deal?” Josh asks me.

  “Um, my ‘deal’?” I reply. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “We all have something special about us that makes adults think we’d be good spies,” Drew explains. “Like Josh here is a math whiz. Well, kind of. Watch.”

  Drew pulls out a calculator. Then he turns to Josh.

  “Okay, Josh, what’s 5,489 times 4,512?” he asks.

  Drew types the numbers on the calculator. The answer comes up on the screen. He shows it to me. Josh closes his eyes for a second and then answers: “24,766,368.”

  I look down at the calculator again. Josh is right! Down to the last digit!

  “You are a human calculator!” I cry. “That’s amazing!”

  After a second of silence, Josh and Drew burst out laughing. Morgan’s mouth rises slightly in a kind of half smile.

  “Nah,” Josh says. “My actual ‘deal’ is even cooler than that. When people ask me a question, I can read their minds.” My mouth drops open. Josh is a mind reader?!

  “But it doesn’t last very long,” Josh continues. “I can only read minds when people ask me a direct question, or if I ask them a direct question. It’s pretty cool, but it is limited.”

  I barely have a moment to wrap my head around this when Drew chimes in.

  “And I have a photographic memory,” he says.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Your mom was here for what, like, thirty seconds?” says Drew. “Here’s what I remember. She was wearing black pants, black patent-leather shoes with little bows on them, a one-inch heel, a red-and-white printed shirt, and a black blazer with three gold buttons. She had a black leather purse with a strap that was worn out on the left side and was carrying a spiral notebook with a red cover, and her smartphone, which was in a navy-blue case. Here’s a picture I took of her to prove it.”

  I’m not sure who I’m more impressed by—Josh or Drew. I was with Mom all morning, and honestly, if anyone asked me what she was wearing, I wouldn’t have a clue. All I know is she wasn’t wearing a clown suit like me.

  I turn to Morgan.

  “What about you?” I ask, thinking she must be equally as cool. “What’s your deal?”

  Morgan doesn’t answer. I look back at Josh and Drew. Josh just shrugs. “She’s working on some big project,” he says. “But don’t underestimate her. Morgan is really strong and superfast—she’s like a ninja!”

  “Yeah, don’t mess with Morgan,” Drew agrees.

  Josh continues. “She’s also awesome with languages. She speaks eight fluently. Right, Mo? MO?” Josh shouts.

  Morgan finally looks up, sighs, and rolls her eyes.

  “Dējame en paz,” Morgan says. “That’s Spanish.”

  “Lasciami in pace. That’s Italian.”

  “Lass mich alleine. That’s Ger
man. Can I stop now or do you need to hear the other four languages?”

  “Um, just the English translation would be great,” I say.

  “I wish you would LEAVE ME ALONE!” she replies. “How’s that for a translation?” Then she looks back down and returns to her work. Josh and Drew howl with laughter.

  “Okay, Billy. Your turn,” says Josh. “What’s your deal?”

  “I guess my deal is that I’m good at inventing things,” I say, and wonder if that sounds incredibly boring, especially because Manny runs a lot of our business. “You might’ve heard of some of my inventions, like the All Ball or the STINK SPECTACULAR?”

  “You’re the kid who invented the All Ball?” Drew exclaims. “I never go anywhere without my All Ball! I love it! I think it’s the coolest invention ever!”

  He reaches into his backpack and pulls out the small model, then tosses it into the air and catches it a couple of times as it changes from baseball to tennis ball to golf ball. “You really invented this?”

  I never like to assume that anyone has heard of me. Still, I’ve been all over TV for a while now. Then again, maybe spies don’t have enough time to watch TV.

  “Uh, yeah, that’s me,” I admit.

  At that moment Mom pops back into the computer lab.

  “Come on, Billy,” she says. “Time to get you set up in your room, and you’ll get to meet your roommate.”

  “See you guys later,” I say as I follow Mom out.

  That’s when it hits me.

  Roommate?

  I hadn’t even thought about that. A roommate. I mean, at home I share an office with Manny, but we’re best friends. What if this roommate and I don’t get along?

  And suddenly I no longer feel like a great inventor on the adventure of his life. I’m back to being just an anxious kid.

  Roommates and Table Mates

  THE LIVING AREA at spy Academy looks pretty much like my bunk at Camp Lots O’ Activities. It even has the same lingering scent of old campfires and slimy lake water, which is strange because we’re underground.