The Cheerleaders of Doom

The tiles on the walls flipped over and converted into thousands of television monitors broadcasting everything from cartoons to the feed from cameras mounted on ATMs. They could observe every corner of the world from this room.

“Fancy,” Ms. Holiday said.

“Indeed,” Benjamin said proudly. “It wasn’t easy after Heathcliff and Upgrade destroyed the school, but I believe the place will feel like home in no time.”

“We have a meeting with General Savage. Could you activate the satellite link?” Ms. Holiday asked.

“Of course,” Benjamin said, then emitted a series of clicks. The tiles on the walls flipped over to reveal a giant, bullet-shaped head. Its owner was one General Savage, a battle-hardened soldier who had seen his fair share of wars—a few he had fought all by himself. It was rumored the man could bench-press four hundred pounds and that his earlobes could deadlift twenty pounds apiece. His personality was just as tough.

“Good morning, sir,” Brand said.

Savage nodded. “We’ve got an emergency. Have you got your facility up and ru

“All the important systems are operational. A little nail pounding won’t get in our way,” Brand said. “Is there trouble, sir?”

Savage’s brows furrowed so deep they nearly covered his eyes. “As you know, NASA satellites monitor the globe. They’ve found an unusual electrical phenomenon near Akron, Ohio.”

“What kind of electrical phenomenon?” Ms. Holiday asked.

“Imagine every flicker of electrical energy being sapped out of every device within a three-block area—no lights, no computers, no instant bank machines. Nothing.”

“Are you suspecting sabotage, sir? It could just be a blackout,” Brand said.

“Not according to this report.” Savage lifted a huge stack of papers, then set them back on his desk with a loud thump! “I can’t make heads or tails of any of it, so we brought in a scientist. In a nutshell, someone has built some kind of machine that is literally sucking electricity out of the power lines—even pulling it out of batteries. It’s happened in seven different locations in Akron, Ohio.”

“What kind of a machine needs all that power?” the librarian asked.

“That’s your job to find out,” the General said. “We don’t know who built it or why they are using it, but if they mean to cause chaos for the United States of America, we need to stop them. This device could shut down communication, defense systems, hospitals, the police, banks, grocery stores, everything. Assemble your team, agents.”

“They’re on a mission, sir,” Ms. Holiday said. “But they’ll be back soon.”

“Well, I hope they’re close by. You’re going to need all of your resources on this one.”

“Space … the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Wheezer. On a five-year mission to seek out new life and new civilizations, and to boldly go where no nerd has gone before!”

With those words, Wheezer pressed the plunger on her inhaler and felt its powerful propulsion system rocket her out into the inky nothingness of space. Her team, the National Espionage, Rescue, and Defense Society, or NERDS, for short, was on a mission to save the International Space Station. They had rocketed through the atmosphere in a superjet, docked with the station, put on high-tech space suits, and were now leaping out of the air lock into nothingness.

Being a secret agent ruled.

“Gruubballla!” Flinch said through the space suit’s communication device.

“Anyone want to translate that for me?” Wheezer asked.

“He said enough with the goofing,” Pufferfish explained. “He wants to get back to headquarters. He says the lunch lady has made him a special dessert today. Grubberlin … or something.”

“Gruubballla!” Flinch cried.

“What is Grubberlin?” Braceface asked.

“Who knows? He’s had too many juice boxes,” Gluestick replied. “After twelve I’m not sure he even knows what he’s talking about.”

“Flinch, this is the experience of a lifetime, and all you can think about is dessert. Don’t tell me you guys are so used to being secret agents that this is boring? What eleven-year-old kid gets to save some astronauts?”

Gluestick’s head bobbed in his helmet. “Wheezer’s right. This is awesome. What a great opportunity to test out the Z-64 Moon Walk Suits. Each one is specifically designed to work with our unique powers,” he said as he strolled along the outside surface of the space station. The chubby boy was the team’s resident techno-geek, and he obsessed over anything that blinked and beeped. Wheezer guessed that, for him, wearing a superadvanced space suit made of a flexible, comfy-cozy polymer—completely airtight—was like ten birthdays rolled into one. “My adhesives work just like they would on Earth.”

“That’s great for you, but my upgrade enhances my allergies and this suit is making me itch!” Pufferfish said, as she tried to scratch her arm through the suit.

“Well, whatever they’re made of, they aren’t stopping the amazing powers of Braceface,” the boy said. His helmet’s faceplate acted like a force field, keeping oxygen in but allowing his braces to morph and grow as he willed them. They swirled around in his mouth and produced a superhero statue featuring his own face.

“Gruubballla!” Flinch cried as he beat on his chest like a gorilla.

As the others talked, Wheezer felt her chest tightening. Too much excitement sometimes triggered her asthma. She closed her eyes and focused on the inhalers in her hands. She felt the click that meant the inhalers had switched from rocket boosters to medicine delivery devices. Then she inserted them into the specially designed slots in her helmet. She pushed the plunger and cool mist eased her breathing. She couldn’t help but smile. Sure, she had asthma, but here she was on a secret mission in outer space, when less than a year and a half ago she couldn’t walk around the block without stopping to catch her breath.

When Matilda “Wheezer” Choi was three years old, she often woke up in the night unable to breathe. She told her parents it felt like an invisible monster was standing on her chest. It wasn’t long before a doctor diagnosed her with chronic asthma and prescribed what he called a metered-dose inhaler—a small canister housed inside a plastic plunger—which he said would help. When she put it in her mouth, a premeasured amount of medication was shot directly down her throat into her lungs. It usually made her feel better, but sometimes her attacks were strong and the inhaler was not enough. When her wheezing was really bad, she used a device called a nebulizer, which delivered a powerful mist into her airways. If the inhaler and the nebulizer both failed, Matilda spent the night in the hospital. Some nights as she lay in her hospital bed, looking up at the tiles on the ceiling and wishing her mother and father could sleep by her side, she prayed for a new life—one with sports; field trips; long, uninterrupted nights of sleep; and family pets. But years passed and her prayers went unanswered.

Then one day a Latino boy with a mouth full of licorice approached her. He was shaking so much from the sugar that she could barely understand what he was saying. Then he reached into his shirt and turned a glowing knob on a strange harness covering his body. One twist and he was normal. That was the day she met Flinch. It was also the day she became a secret agent.

Matilda was invited to join a team of kids who all had weaknesses. Flinch was hyperactive. Pufferfish was allergic to everything. Gluestick ate too much paste, and Choppers had the biggest buckteeth she had ever seen. With the help of a supercomputer named Benjamin and special nanobyte technology, each of their weaknesses was turned into a strength. Flinch’s hyperactive energy made him superstrong and lightning-fast. Pufferfish’s superallergies allowed her to detect lies, danger, and even the tiniest clues at a crime scene. Gluestick’s love of adhesives made him a human wall crawler, and Choppers’s big teeth allowed him to hypnotize people. Unfortunately, Choppers had turned out to be a criminal mastermind who had betrayed the team. The new fifth member was Braceface, whose monstrous orthodontia could become any tool. And for Matilda, the asthma that had made her feel so powerless became her biggest asset when she was given a pair of inhalers that not only eased her breathing but allowed her to fly. She still had asthma, but now it didn’t limit her. Now she was “Wheezer,” and nothing could stop her.