“It’s all in the system.”

As soon as the lunch man released his grip, Spencer realized that he was not alone. There were probably twenty or thirty students standing with their backs against the cafeteria wall. The kids were covered in food, some of their faces barely visible beneath a layer of Ragu. And as bad as the students looked, the lunchroom was worse.

Spaghetti dangled from the ceiling like limp stalactites. The floor was a swamp of red sauce and milk, with pieces of pepperoni pizza floating like lily pads. Fruits and vegetables were smeared on the walls, and steamed broccoli was smashed all over the tables. It was as if the food pyramid had exploded and left no survivors.

The lunch man looked like a human salad. His face was still dripping bleu cheese dressing, and a leaf of lettuce covered his head like a skullcap. None of this stopped him from producing a powerful scowl with enough intimidation to keep all the students quietly against the wall.

The cafeteria door opened once more, and a stern-­looking woman entered.

“PRINCIPAL!” the lunch man announced.

The principal carefully maneuvered through the mess, careful not to put her pointy heel through a piece of pizza. At last she stopped, just a few feet in front of the dripping students. She gave a sharp clap of her hands, not unlike a gunshot from a firing squad, and everyone jumped.

“I will be contacting your parents,” the principal began. “You’ll have some explaining to do to them. And you have some explaining to do to me.”

Under the intensity of her gaze, a meatball fell from one trembling student and landed with a splat.

“This cafeteria is your responsibility,” said the principal. “Our substitute janitor has other things to do besides clean up your mess.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. Little did the principal know that the substitute janitor’s “other things” involved abducting the good guys.

“So you will clean it.” She pointed down the line at every student. “And you will not leave the lunchroom until it is spick-and-span.”

The students nodded in submission, bits of food flecking from their faces. “I expect more out of you,” she said. “Now, would someone like to tell me how this started?”

A profound silence overtook the cafeteria. Even the lunch man seemed to hold his breath in anticipation. The students didn’t dare look at each other, for fear of where the blame might land.

Spencer stole a quick glance down the line. Aaron was looking back at him. The Monitor had a pineapple chunk stuck to his nose and a mournful expression on his face.

Spencer thought back to his own mess at Welcher Elementary. Five months ago, he’d caused a disaster at the ice-cream social, hurling cans of root beer like grenades. After it was over, he’d felt horrible. He had disappointed his family and his school and wished there were some way to take it back.

“I started the food fight,” Spencer said, stepping forward. “I got mad at Aaron and threw some spaghetti at him. He wouldn’t fight back, so I threw some food at his friends.”

The principal listened to his false confession with squinted eyes. When he was finished, she tilted her head. “What’s your name?”

“Spencer Zumbro,” he said. “I’m a new student. Like, really new.”

“You clearly don’t understand our expectations at Triton Charter School. Perhaps we should go to my office and discuss them.”

Spencer nodded, wondering how all of this was about to play out. He followed the principal out of the cafeteria, glancing back at Aaron as he slipped through the door. The Monitor put his hands together and mouthed the words thank you!

A moment later, Spencer was seated in the principal’s office. She drummed her fingers against the table, and Spencer wondered if that was standard procedure for all principals.

“Whose class are you in, Spencer?” the principal finally asked.

Spencer shrugged. It looked insubordinate, but he didn’t know how to answer.

The principal pursed her lips. “Okay, so you want to play the hard way.” She grabbed the computer mouse, clicked twice, and typed his name into the system.

Spencer braced himself. He knew what would happen once she discovered that he wasn’t actually a Triton student. The police would have to get involved. He’d be cited for trespassing and who knew what else.

“Hmm . . .” the principal squinted at the computer screen. “So you’re in Ms. Bellingham’s sixth-grade class. She’ll be disappointed in you.” The principal scrolled down. “But I’m afraid that Mr. Alan Zumbro will be even more upset. I’m afraid I have to call your father.”

Spencer’s eyes grew wider as she went on. “How do you know my dad’s name . . . ?” He was so ripe with astonishment that he could barely get the question out.

“It’s all in the system.” The principal swiveled the computer screen so Spencer could see. How was it possible? There was a complete student profile for Spencer Zumbro!

“Min,” Spencer mumbled. Somehow he had hacked Triton Charter School’s system and written a false profile.

The principal dialed Alan’s phone number and waited. “He’s not answering.”

Of course not. Alan was off the grid with the rest of the team. And now Alan was the only team member unaccounted for. Spencer found a clock on the wall. It was 11:58. In two minutes the final rendezvous time would expire. Once Spencer got free of the principal’s office, the team would have to move on without Alan.

The principal had just started to leave a message when the office door suddenly burst open. Spencer went rigid with astonishment.

“I hate to barge in like this, but I got a call from my son’s teacher, saying he was involved in some kind of food fight?”

Alan Zumbro stood in the doorway.