OCTOBER 15, 10:03 A.M. EVANSTON MIDDLE SCHOOL. EVANSTON, VIRGINIA

“You want me to be a spy? With all due respect, I don’t think you want me. I don’t even want me,” Jonathan said honestly. “I’m not qualified to serve our country. But I’d be happy to make sandwiches for the people that do. My bologna and cheese is acceptable.”

“We don’t need sandwiches. We need you,” Hammett answered, and then turned to Shelley. “And you.”

“Being a spy has been on my to-do list for a long time,” Shelley said, and then made a check mark in the air using her finger. “Shelley Brown, spy. I like the sound of that.”

“I’m pretty sure spies don’t use their real names,” Jonathan pointed out as Hammett abruptly started pacing.

“It sure is a crazy thing to find you two right here in our own backyard, so to speak. You see, we’ve got agents all over this country looking for kids just like you. And trust me, you’re not that easy to find, not these days, anyway.”

“Just like us? Why would you want people just like us?” Jonathan asked.

“I’m the chief operating agent for the League of Unexceptional Children. What exactly is the League of Unexceptional Children? Well, I’m glad you asked.”

Of course, they hadn’t asked, but Hammett knew they would have eventually, and he didn’t like to waste time.

“We are a covert network of spies comprised of this country’s most average and utterly forgettable kids. Why average? Why not the brainiacs? Or the athletes? Or the beauty queens? Well, people remember those kids. They remember their names, their faces. They notice them when they walk into a room and they notice them when they walk out of a room. They are people with a footprint, a paper trail, an identity. But not you guys. You are the forgotten ones. You spend your days reintroducing yourself to kids you’ve known since preschool. And when people call on you, on the rare occasion it happens, they never call you by the right name. And you know why? Because you blend in. You are right there in the world’s blind spot.”

Jonathan and Shelley stared, mouths agape, at Hammett as he managed to praise them for the very asset that they each loathed—their averageness.

“President Eisenhower founded the League of Unexceptional Children after seeing how his granddaughter effortlessly eavesdropped while wandering around the White House. She was a nosy bugger, by all accounts. Really got into everything. And yet no one ever noticed her… she was too plain, too average, too unexceptional. Since that time, the League has reported directly to each successive US president. And while it is a poorly kept secret in the espionage world that the president has his own clandestine organization of spies, no one, not even the head of the CIA or the FBI, knows who they are or what they do.”

“So you work for President Arons?” Jonathan asked in an attempt to keep up with the onslaught of information.

“Glad your ears are open, kid. It’s an essential part of listening,” Hammett said with a smirk before returning once again to his normal no-nonsense demeanor.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I think there has been something of a misunderstanding,” Shelley said, raising her eyebrows at Hammett. “Because I’m actually pretty exceptional. I can break-dance. I speak Russian… Lenin… Stalin… Borscht…”

“Those are just names of dictators,” Jonathan mumbled.

“And soup,” Shelley huffed before returning her attention to Hammett. “I also regularly try new foods. Why, just last week I headed over to Koreatown—”

Jonathan shook his head. “Evanston doesn’t have a Koreatown.”

“No, but they have a Korean food truck, which is basically Koreatown on wheels. Now, as I was saying, I ordered a plate of kimchi. That’s spicy pickled cabbage, for those of you who don’t know. And get this, I loved it,” Shelley stated proudly.

Hammett pulled the toothpick from his mouth. “We have pictures of you vomiting next to the food truck.”

“Exactly. I loved it… until I threw up… and then—”

“Then you didn’t love it so much,” Jonathan chimed in with a self-satisfied grin that made Shelley’s nostrils flare.

“I have a very strong gag reflex, so I vomit easily. Very, very easily. It just shoots out of me,” Shelley explained.

“I don’t want to talk about vomit,” Jonathan said dismissively.

“Well, vomit doesn’t want to talk about you, so burn.… You know what? That really didn’t make any sense. I’m going to need to retract that comment.” Shelley trailed off.

Jonathan furrowed his brow. “You want to retract your comeback?”

“You’ll get used to it. I retract comments pretty regularly. I can’t help it. My mouth talks, and three to five seconds later I realize what it said and sometimes it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

“You can’t retract comments. That’s not how life works. People are responsible for what they say,” Jonathan asserted.

Shelley threw up her hands and then turned to Hammett. “I think it’s pretty obvious that I am nothing like this unspecial boy next to me.”

“Unspecial isn’t a word,” Jonathan piped up.

“Well, it should be!” Shelley retorted.

“I hate to break it to you, doll,” Hammett interjected, “but you’re not special either. No one remembers you. Your talents leave you in the middle. And while you’re strange, that doesn’t change your unexceptional status. As a matter of fact, we have a lot of talentless weirdoes in our program.”

Hammett then slipped his hands into his pockets and started tapping his left foot, his face awash with tension. “Now, as I mentioned earlier, we’re in dire straits. Things are bad, real bad, which is why we had to move up your recruitment to the League of Unexceptional Children. You see, we’ve been following you two on and off for years, waiting until we thought you were ready, but due to an incident last night, we couldn’t wait any longer.”

“You’ve been following me? I feel like I should apologize. I’m a really boring subject,” Jonathan said sheepishly.

“You are, kid, but it’s one of the many reasons you are primed to save your country from the brink of disaster,” Hammett responded.

“I’ve got to say, Hammy, Harold, whatever your name is—you really had me going there for a while. This is a prank, isn’t it? Come on, spill the beans! Who put you up to this?” Shelley prodded Hammett with a knowing grin.

“I’m going to be as blunt as an old razor. Neither one of you has any friends, or even foes, for that matter, so who would prank you—your pet goldfish?”

“How did you—” Shelley started before being interrupted by Hammett.

“That’s right, doll, we know about your secret goldfish, Zelda. And frankly, we don’t think her quality of life is very good in that closet of yours.”

As Hammett spoke, Nurse Maidenkirk entered the sick bay carrying a clipboard under her right arm.

“I knew a woman named Zelda once. She’s dead now,” Nurse Maidenkirk stated as she removed a slip from her clipboard and passed it to Hammett. “Died from an infected paper cut. The first case in history.”

Jonathan stared at Nurse Maidenkirk, wondering if the sour-faced woman had ever experienced a happy thought. Not that he was known for his optimistic approach to life, but even Jonathan found reason to smile from time to time.

“Someone could really use a puppy. Or a leprechaun with a pot of gold. Or better yet, a leprechaun with a pot of puppies,” Shelley whispered to Jonathan as Nurse Maidenkirk exited the room.

“That dame’s a fine spy, one of the very best. Put Maidenkirk in with a target for five minutes and they’ll spill their guts just to get her to stop talking,” Hammett stated with genuine admiration. “But don’t let her give you any shots, you hear?”

Shelley and Jonathan nodded as it dawned on them that Nurse Maidenkirk wasn’t actually a nurse. She was like an actress on television, just pretending. It was a frightening thought for many reasons, not the least of which was her propensity for using students like pincushions.

“I need both of you down at headquarters after school, but before I can give you the address, a few facts need to be reviewed,” Hammett said as he unfolded the slip of paper from Nurse Maidenkirk. “Neither of you speak a foreign language, correct?”

“No, but that will be dealt with shortly, as it’s on my to-do list,” Shelley answered as Jonathan shook his head.

“Have you ever received an A on a test after the second grade? Anything prior to the second grade is meaningless, since we all know they’re only grading on a kid’s ability to nap and maintain bladder control.”

“No,” Shelley and Jonathan replied.

“Have you ever been accepted onto a team? And remember, if a team doesn’t reject someone, it isn’t a real team.”

“Definitely not,” Jonathan answered, followed by Shelley’s “No.”

“Has anyone other than blood relatives ever attended your birthday party?”

“No,” the two answered in unison.

“Have you ever taken part in a school play? It should be noted that an exception will be made if you played a tree, a rock, or any other background object without lines, as those are universally accepted to be pity parts.”

“No,” the two replied yet again.

“In that case I’ll see you at four p.m. sharp,” Hammett said as he pulled a silver case from his pocket, popped it open, and handed them a card.

“Famous Randy’s Hot Dog Palace. Order a double dog with a side of mustard, two sides of relish, a can of diet Fanta, fourteen packets of ketchup, two straws, and seven napkins. Got that?”

“Uh… kind of,” Jonathan mumbled as he scribbled the list on the back of the card.

“And, kids, keep your wits about you and your mouths shut. The future of this nation depends on it.”