Heathcliff closed his eyes tight. Who was the last person to sit at this computer? Matilda! He saw her working on it that morning. Could the password be one of her interests? What was it she liked? … Punching people in the face … No! Wrestling!

“Rey Mysterio,” he said.

“REY MYSTERIO IS INCORRECT ACCESS DENIED PLEASE ENTER THE PASSWORD.”

Heathcliff slammed his head on the desk. “What is it? What is the stupid password?”

“STUPID PASSWORD IS INCORRECT ACCESS DENIED YOU ARE LOCKED OUT OF THE MAINFRAME FOR THE NEXT TWENTY-FOUR HOURS.”

The monitor rose toward the ceiling, but Heathcliff refused to let it go. He leaped onto his chair and clung to the screen like a baby chimpanzee nuzzling its mother. He couldn’t hold on forever, though, and he fell, cracking his head on the floor tiles. Two hours later, he awoke covered in his own drool and sporting a welt on his head as big as a clementine.

Irritated and sore, he drifted amongst the tables of the Playground’s Science Hub, marveling at its inventions. Occasionally he found himself making subtle corrections to one of the scientists’ formulas or an engineering plan—it was one way of helping a team that didn’t want his help.

He poked through project after project until he came across a desk covered in junk. Whoever worked here was clearly in over his or her head. Half-finished gizmos littered the workspace, and beneath it miles of tangled cable were tied in hopeless knots. In a cardboard box next to the trash can he found a small, silver orb broken in two like a cracked egg. Wires and gears spilled out of its insides. Abandoned projects could be found all over the Playground, but this one was not just a pile of junk. Heathcliff remembered this device very clearly.

“Benjamin,” he said. “How did you get in this box?”

Heathcliff gingerly turned over the robot and marveled at the circuitry inside. Benjamin was beyond extraordinary—a mechanical device with a distinct, almost human, personality. Whoever had created it was much smarter than Heathcliff. In fact, Benjamin was the first piece of technology Heathcliff could remember that truly baffled him. He had once asked about its origins and was told it was top secret. Benjamin was a mystery, just like Heathcliff.

But unlike guessing the passcode, Benjamin wasn’t an impossible mystery. It would take time, but Heathcliff was sure he could get the little robot flying again. If the circuit board wasn’t too damaged, Benjamin might be able to tell him about the missing months of his life! He shoved Benjamin under his shirt and walked briskly through the science stations, smiling for what felt like the first time in months.

General Savage’s face was waiting on the monitor when the principal returned to his office. He braced himself for his boss’s rage, but the general wasn’t mad. In fact, he looked uncomfortable.

“He wants to talk to the kids.”

The principal cocked a curious eyebrow. “Who is he?”

“The ‘he.’ The commander in chief.”

The principal frowned. “I can’t let that happen,” he said. “You know that.”

The general’s thick unibrow swallowed his eyes. “Director, you can’t refuse the president of the United States.”

“Sir, this organization was created to exist outside the petty politics of whoever is running this country, and for very good reasons. These agents are children. If they are at the command of the president, or the vice president, or Congress, or whomever, it is clear what will happen. They will be yanked out of this school and sent to war zones to fight. Their technology will be stripped and given to soldiers. They will be studied and experimented upon. It will also be disastrous to our mission, which is saving the world—the entire world. It’s why the team’s security clearance is higher than that of the president.”

“This is about his daughter,” Savage said.

“I am more than happy to talk to him. I can answer any questions he might have. There’s no reason for him to meet one of the agents.”

“This is not a negotiation. This is an order,” Savage barked.

Suddenly, the principal had to resist the incredible desire to grin. He was in a fight—a war of words, but a fight nonetheless—and fighting was what he did best, next to making cherries jubilee. It was the first time since he had become director of the agency that he felt like himself.

“No, sir.”

“I can replace you,” the general growled.

“And, sir, I can have you arrested.”

The general reared back in his chair. “You can what?”

“You have violated the law by divulging sensitive materials to individuals who lack the proper clearance.”

“I did nothing of the sort!”

“What did you tell the president?”

The general stammered, then growled to cover it up. “I—I told him we had a team of kid spies who were sent to protect his daughter. He doesn’t know about the upgrades.”

“You have betrayed these children, General.”

Savage stared back at him. His face was like a bonfire burning the principal’s eyes, but the principal had been in many fires. He would survive this one, too.

“Sir, with all due respect, I encourage you to keep your mouth shut,” the principal said.

Savage scowled and the screen went black.

When Miss Information was feeling particularly good about one of her evil plans, she baked, so that night she whipped up three apple pies, a pineapple upside-down cake, and a batch of her signature blueberry muffins. The next morning she placed them on a tray and took them to Tessa Lipton, whom she found curled up on the bed, flipping through channels on her TV. Hundreds of tear-soaked tissues littered the room.

“He’s not sending the military,” she sobbed. “He didn’t even call the IRS.”

Miss Information sat down on the bed. “Muffin?”

The girl eyed the snacks suspiciously and shook her head.

Miss Information shrugged and set the tray on a nearby table. “Tessa, with the election coming up, your father has to show the world he’s strong. So he’s working behind the scenes to recover you without letting the press find out. If he gets you back, he’ll tell you not to say anything about it, and you and your family will have to act like it never happened. Right?”

Tessa frowned but nodded.

“No wonder you’re a bully.”

Tessa’s face crinkled with indignation. “I am not a bully.”

“Yes, you are, Tessa. You’re a certifiable, one hundred percent jerk. You don’t have any friends who aren’t bullies, and most people are terrified of you. That’s the definition of a bully. But it’s not your fault. You’re like that because you’re hurting. Most bullies abuse other people to call attention to their own pain. Sometimes a bully feels insecure about herself, sometimes her victims intimidate her, and sometimes, as in your case, she just wants some love. You intentionally cause problems in the hope that your dad will become more involved in your life. Am I right?”

Tessa sat up and rubbed her swollen eyes. “Yes.”

Miss Information smiled beneath her mask. “So you’ve gotten meaner and meaner to your classmates and teachers but it hasn’t worked. I can help you get the attention you want.”

“How?”

“Oh, I know a lot about getting attention,” Miss Information bragged. “We can make your father regret his choices, and turn him into the daddy you’ve always wanted. In exchange, you can help me with some of my plans.”

“How can I help you?”

“Tessa, being a bully is a skill that requires years of practice to develop. Few bullies ever get past pushing kids on the playground. But you … you’ve taken it to a whole new level. Not only are you mean and nasty but you’ve also found ways to terrorize everyone you’ve ever met. That, my friend, is a talent I can use.”