“Hey, Avery,” a waitress said. “How’s the car?”

“You’ve got a busted water pump, Rose,” he replied.

The waitress frowned. “How much is that going to cost?”

Avery smiled. “Next to nothing. I pulled one out of a junker at the dump. It’s like new. You’ll be able to drive it home tonight.”

Rose’s face lit up. “Avery, you’re the best. How much do I owe you?”

“One chocolate milk shake and we’ll call it even,” he said.

“All right, Tessa,” Miss Information muttered. “You need to do something before he sees the real Aiah.”

“He seems like a nice guy,” Tessa said. “We’re wrecking his life.”

“A guy like that will find someone else,” Miss Information said. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you? If you want your dad to go to prison, we can just go back. It’s really up to you.”

Tessa nodded and got out of the booth.

Miss Information watched her walk over to Avery. She flashed him a smile and he flashed one back.

“Here you go, Avery,” the waitress said, handing him a large glass filled to the top with chocolaty goodness, whipped cream, and a cherry on top.

“Thanks, Rose,” he said.

“No, thank you,” Rose said before moving away to pour coffee for a customer at the counter.

“So … I hear you fix things,” Tessa said.

Avery nodded.

Tessa took the milk shake from his hand and poured it on his head. It dribbled down his face and all over his clothes.

“Well, fix this,” Tessa said.

Avery sputtered and grabbed a handful of napkins from a dispenser. He wiped the drink out of his eyes. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes, I’m crazy. You should stay away from me, Avery,” Tessa said, then she turned toward the team. “Let’s get out of here.”

Funk’s face grew big and toothy. “That was epic.”

Miss Information grinned and got to her feet. “All right, team! That’s two down, three to go. Who’s next, Benjy?”

The little ball clicked and buzzed. “According to bank statements, Ben Choi, father of Matilda ‘Wheezer’ Choi, purchased a ticket to South Korea for a flight leaving at 2:35 P.M. on September 14, 1990. It is on this trip that he met his future wife, Matilda’s mother.”

“Unless, of course, some kind of trouble occurs at the airport,” Miss Information said.

TOP SECRET DOSSIER

CODE NAME: THIRD DEGREE

REAL NAME: AMOS “JUNIOR” CASTO

YEARS ACTIVE: 2001–07

CURRENT OCCUPATION: CEO OF HAWAIIAN TROPIC SUNTAN LOTION CORP

HISTORY: AMOS’S PALE SKIN WAS

HIGHLY SUSCEPTIBLE TO SUNBURN.

FIVE MINUTES OUTSIDE WITHOUT

APPLYING AN INCH-THICK LAYER

OF SUNSCREEN AND HE WOULD TURN

INTO A FLAMING-HOT TOMATO. SOME

STUDIES SHOWED THAT STANDING

NEXT TO THE BOY WAS ENOUGH

FOR A PERSON TO CONTRACT A

VICIOUS RED BURN. MOST OF THE

SKIN DAMAGE OCCURRED ON THE

LOWER HALVES OF HIS ARMS AND

LEGS AND ON HIS NECK, DUE TO

THE SHORT-SLEEVED SHIRTS

AND CUTOFF JEANS HE WORE

EVERY DAY.

UPGRADE: THIRD DEGREE’S BURNS

WERE ENHANCED SO THAT THEY

GENERATED HEAT, ALLOWING HIM

TO START RAGING BONFIRES

WHENEVER NEEDED.

The NERDS and the principal dragged Agent Brand into Marty Mozzarella’s, which was mercifully deserted for the night. Brand still wore the big mouse head and was groaning indignantly.

The principal waved the children a safe distance away. “He’s angry. I’m going to take the head off and then the gag, so be careful of his teeth.”

Brand blinked hard against the restaurant’s harsh fluorescent lighting. As soon as the gag came out, so did a tirade of potty language not appropriate for print. Ruby waited patiently for him to stop, but there seemed to be no end in sight. When he didn’t calm down, she took the gag from the principal and stuffed it back into Brand’s mouth.

“Sorry, boss, but we have to act fast. Here’s what’s happening. Ms. Holiday has built a playground just like ours.”

“Identical,” Matilda said.

“She’s assembled a team of kids just like us,” Ruby said.

“They even have upgrades,” Jackson said.

“They call themselves the BULLIES,” Duncan said.

“Her science team created a time machine,” Ruby said. “She’s already erased one of our members, a kid named Flinch, who you won’t remember because he never existed, and now she’s probably going after the four of us.”

“You mean three,” the principal said.

“Huh?”

“There’s only three of you on the team, unless you’re counting Heathcliff, but he’s just helping.”

Ruby looked around at her friends. “Where’s Duncan?”

“Who?” Matilda asked.

“Duncan Dewey! Agent Gluestick!”

The others gave her the increasingly familiar You’re going crazy look.

“Aaargh!” Ruby shouted, then turned her attention back to Brand. “Your girlfriend just erased Duncan Dewey! I know you don’t remember him, but he was a really nice guy.”

Brand moaned something unintelligible through his gag.

“Shush!” Ruby snapped. “I know you want to sit up at your stupid cabin and scare away the wildlife with your oboe, but you might be able to reach whatever is left of Ms. Holiday, so you’re helping whether you want to or not.”

Ruby looked to the principal.

He nodded. “Yeah, what she said.”

Ruby removed the handkerchief from Brand’s mouth. The former spy took a long, frustrated breath. “Well, I guess that’s settled.”

Ruby smiled.

“Heathcliff, you’re on!” the principal shouted.

Heathcliff raced into the room, arms filled with papers and a calculator. He came to a screeching halt in front of Mr. Brand. He peered into the former spy’s shaggy face.

“What happened to him?”

Brand growled and Heathcliff jumped back.

“Where are we with our time machine?” the principal asked as he untied Brand’s hands.

“Well, first of all, whoever designed Ms. Holiday’s time machine was a real knucklehead. I mean, it’s genius, but every time she turns it on, it threatens to destroy the universe. It’s obvious that it’s based on the Decoyer Loop Universe theory, which is like so last year, but—”

“Can you turn the science down to one and the English up to ten?” Jackson asked.

“Yeah, sorry,” Heathcliff said. “Basically, her time machine rips a huge hole in space-time, which could have some nasty side effects. Black holes. Supernovas. Plus, it’s a dirty technology and bad for the environment. I threw out her entire design and started over with a pet theory of mine. I have always believed there are tiny tears in the space-time continuum—little dimples, if you can imagine. Turns out I’m right. They’re all over the place, and we can stretch one so it’s big enough to travel through. It’s much safer, and we don’t need a huge machine.”