Revenge of the Ninja, page 1
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN 978-1-4197-5442-5
eISBN 978-1-64700-278-7
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CHAPTER
1
BACK TO BASS-ICS
Shana O’Hara, aka Scarlett, was a formidable strategist who usually saw ten steps ahead. But even she could not have predicted being trapped inside a booming bass drum. Yet here she was, hands covering her ears, curled up inside the round cavity of a drum kit in the Expression Space, a room in Springfield Academy’s massive and luxurious faculty lounge.
Scarlett and the rest of the Average Joes were planting bugs in each room of the lounge. The Expression Space was filled with all sorts of musical instruments and art supplies. When Scarlett first crept into the room, she’d found it unoccupied. That was no surprise, since all the intelligence she’d gathered beforehand suggested not many teachers used it.
But as she was sticking the bug to the back of a paint supply cabinet, she heard two voices in the hallway.
“Not going to dinner?” It sounded like Mr. Yang, the World History teacher.
“Not yet.” That sounded like Ms. Holker, the Algebra teacher. “It’s been a rough day. I need to work out some stress.”
“I hear you,” said Mr. Yang. “Conrad is doing his best as acting principal, but he can only do so much. Until the school board selects a permanent replacement, things are going to be a little wilder than usual.”
“And with this school, that’s saying something . . .” replied Ms. Holker.
Scarlett was still wondering what Ms. Holker meant by “working out some stress” when she heard footsteps approaching. She scanned the room for a place to conceal herself. It was mostly guitars, keyboards, and paint easels, none of which would give her sufficient cover. Then her eyes fell on the drum set, which was turned toward the wall. The bass drum was large enough for her to fit in, and the drumheads were opaque, so she wouldn’t be seen. All she had to do was take off the head that faced the wall and she had a perfect hiding nook.
And it would have been perfect. But Scarlett soon discovered that Ms. Holker meant to “work off some stress” by playing a ten-minute drum solo. She could hardly think with all the noise thundering around her. Even with her hands over her ears, it was so bad she started wondering if she should reveal herself just to get it to stop. After all, she was fairly certain that Ms. Holker was a regular teacher and not some secret Cobra spy . . .
But no. She couldn’t risk compromising the rest of her team, all of whom where in other rooms planting bugs. Ms. Holker could secretly be a Cobra agent. And even if she wasn’t, she would want to know what Scarlett was doing in the faculty lounge. Scarlett could tell her the truth. That DeCobray—the world’s largest tech company and sole sponsor of Springfield Academy—was a front for an evil terrorist organization called Cobra. But even if Ms. Holker believed her, that knowledge might put her in danger. Cobra had already proven they could make people disappear, even teachers and staff. That was why the guidance counselor, Dr. Hauser, was the acting principal. The previous principal had disappeared without a trace.
Scarlett forced herself to remain inside the cramped, pounding drum. She did, however, promise never to underestimate the musical ferocity of an Algebra teacher.
While Scarlett was still suffering through Ms. Holker’s drum solo, a message appeared on her Lyre display. Every student at Springfield Academy had a Lyre XR device. It was a pair of earbuds connected by a thin strip wrapped around the base of the skull. The Lyre was cutting-edge DeCobray tech that wasn’t available to the public yet. Each person had a display only they could see, sort of like the interface of a video game. It showed them all sorts of information about whoever they were looking at, like names, grades, and birthplaces. The Lyre could do a lot of other things, too—like send and receive messages.
Glitch: @Scarlett whats your status? Everybody else is clear
“Glitch” was their code name for Julien March, another member of the Average Joes and their resident tech wizard. He was the one who had hacked their Lyres so that the JOES could message each other without any snooping from DeCobray—or worse, Cobra.
Scarlett: minor delay
The Lyre could also sense motion, even the wearer’s smallest movements. To reply, all Scarlett had to do was type on her knees as if they were a keyboard, and the Lyre could scan those finger taps and convert them to text.
Glitch: need extraction?
Scarlett: negative. Math teachers can only Krupa for so long
Glitch: wouldve said Blakey, but I get u
Scarlett smiled. Julien’s mom was a jazz pianist, so she knew he would get the reference to legendary drummer Gene Krupa. She liked being able to make obscure references and have friends who understood them. In fact, she liked having friends, period. It was something she’d only started enjoying a couple of years ago, when her best friend, Ichi No Zoro-me, and his family moved to Springfield. Before that, things had been . . .
Well, there wasn’t much point dwelling on it now. That was all in the past.
Finally, after an impressively long time, Ms. Holker was drummed out and left for the Dining Space, giving Scarlett the chance to escape.
Although she waited until the ringing in her ears faded.
CHAPTER
2
ALL IN THE SHINOBI FAMILY
Glitch: ive got visual confirmation of delivery.
All operatives, return to base asap
The JOES could have rendezvoused at their clubhouse. It was an old landscaping tool shack by the soccer field on the edge of Springfield Academy campus. Cobra had bugged it, but the JOES were able to locate and remove the devices. In fact, those were the same bugs Julien reprogrammed to use for the faculty lounge.
So, sure, the JOES could have debriefed at the club house. But why do that, when they could meet at the Arashikage Dojo, where several pizzas had just been delivered?
Thanks to Ms. Holker, Scarlett was the last to arrive. From the outside, Arashikage Dojo looked like a martial arts studio you’d find in a small-town strip mall. But on the inside, it felt as though a real Japanese dojo had been transplanted to Springfield, complete with tatami mats and shoji screens. Not many people knew this, but the Arashikages were actually a highly respected Japanese ninja clan—who were currently posing as simple martial arts instructors so they could fight Cobra.
Since the dojo was the house of a traditional shinobi clan, a lot of Japanese customs were in effect. One of those was not wearing shoes. As soon as Scarlett walked through the door, she traded her sneakers for the soft yellow slippers she kept there. She spent a lot of time at the dojo. So much time, in fact, that when she stepped onto the tatami mat in the main room, she called out:
“Tadaima!”
It meant I’m home! in Japanese. She didn’t speak Japanese (yet), but one of her mentors, Yawarakai-sensei, insisted she learn proper etiquette. She didn’t mind. It made her feel even more like she belonged in this place, with these people she admired so much.
“Okaerinasai,” replied Zoro-me. It meant welcome home.
Ichi No Zoro-me, aka Snake Eyes, had given the traditional response because he was the only Arashikage currently in the dojo. Normally he didn’t talk much. He was a serious boy with short blond hair and scars across his face that he got from a terrible car accident when he was younger. The rest of his birth family had died in the accident, but the Arashikages adopted him. Scarlett still didn’t know why this prestigious family of Japanese shinobi had chosen to raise a little white boy from America. Zoro-me didn’t want to talk about it because he felt like it didn’t matter anymore. He was an Arashikage now, and that was that. She’d tried to get it out of his uncles, but all they told her was that it had been the honorable thing to do. She wondered, had the Arashikage’s known Zorome’s birth family? Had they somehow been involved in the accident? Scarlett would figure it out eventually.
Zoro-me was wearing a black hoodie and jeans as he knelt at a low table with the other two members of the Average Joes club. Stan Magda (aka Clash) was a short, intense boy with brown hair who was born in Poland but grew up mostly in Chicago. He had only moved to Springfield a few months ago. Julien March (aka Glitch) was a tall Black boy from Kansas City with incredible computer skills. His family had moved to Springfield about a year ago. Scarlett was the only member of the JOES who had lived in Springfield their whole life.
The three boys had already eaten most of one pizza, but there were still a few pies remaining. Scarlett knelt at the table beside Zoro-me and pressed her hands together.
“Itadakimasu.” It was traditional to say before beginning a meal.
Scarlett reached for a slice of spinach and feta pizza—but paused. She felt a dark and foreboding presence rise behind her. She turned and bowed respectfully to the person she knew had suddenly appeared.
“Konnichiwa, Hādo-sensei.”
Uncle Hādo wore his traditional black and red yukata, or robe. Scarlett didn’t know how old he was, and she was too wise to ask. At least eighty, she suspected. But his bones were iron and his muscles ropes of steel. He was known among shinobi clans as the Hard Master. Partly because he was strong, and partly because he wasn’t very friendly.
“Konnichiwa, Shana-chan.” He gazed disapprovingly at the steaming pizza pies. “Why does such uncivilized food intrude upon my home?”
“Is pizza uncivilized, Sensei?” asked Stan, who was still kind of new.
“Oh ho!” Hādo smiled grimly, which was really the only way he ever smiled. “If you are so interested, Stanisław-kun, I will tell you about the time your beloved pizza caused the death and subjugation of thousands, perhaps even millions, of people.”
He then launched into a lengthy (and probably mythical) recounting of how Julius Caesar used pizza to inspire the Roman army to conquer Western Europe. Scarlett took a slice and got comfortable. These little “lectures” could last a while.
Fortunately, Uncle Yawarakai arrived to rescue them all.
“Hādo, are you spinning yarns for the students again?” chided the old man as he stepped through the front door and traded his Rockports for slippers. Scarlett always found it strange to see the masters in civilian garb, like the blue oxford shirt and tan khaki pants Yawarakai currently had on. In her mind, he always wore his traditional white and red yukata.
Yawarakai was large, round, and jolly—pretty much the exact opposite of Hādo in every way. In fact, he was known as the Soft Master, although anyone foolish enough to think this made him an easy opponent soon regretted it. He moved like water itself, fast and flexible. In the two years since she started learning from him, Scarlett had never been able to land even a single blow. He was also an incredible cook, which was probably the real reason Hādo was such a snob about food.
Hādo sniffed. “I am merely expressing my distaste for food that one is expected to eat with their hands, like some sort of barbarian.”
“Not everybody eats pizza with their hands . . .” said Julien as he cut a small piece with a knife, then speared it with a fork.
“Julien,” Stan said earnestly. “I have seen a lot of strange stuff since moving to Springfield, but watching someone eat pizza with a fork might be the strangest.”
“To each their own,” Julien said, eating the piece off his fork with obvious enjoyment.
The last member of the Arashikage family—Zoro-me’s adoptive brother, Tomisaburo—arrived a short time later. When he was on a mission for his uncles, Tommy went by the code name Storm Shadow, which was the literal translation of Arashi kage. He was an Arashikage by blood and nephew to Hādo and Yawarakai, which he seemed to think made him extra special. Scarlett found his attitude obnoxious, but she couldn’t deny that he was at least as skilled in the arts of ninjutsu as Zoro-me—possibly more so.
As usual, he wore a white hoodie and bleached jeans torn at the knees. He took his shoes off but didn’t bother with slippers. Instead, he padded over to the table in white socks to examine the spread.
“No pineapple?”
Julien’s eyes narrowed. “You’re one of those pineapple pizza people?”
“What about ‘to each their own’?” asked Stan.
Julien looked slightly offended. “How you eat pizza is one thing. But what you put on it is something totally different. Pineapple on pizza is just unnatural.”
“Tommy grew up in San Francisco,” explained Scarlett. “Californians have some funny ideas about pizza toppings. Like artichoke hearts.”
“Artichoke on pizza?” Julien shuddered. “And I thought pineapple was bad.”
“Watch it, eighth grader,” said Tommy as he leaned over Julien to reach for a slice, purposefully making him hunch down. Julien didn’t object. He was (wisely) intimidated by the ninja-in-training.
Scarlett didn’t understand how two kids like Zoro-me and Tommy, who were raised by the same people, could be so different. Maybe because of the adults who raised them. Tommy was tough on people, just like Hard Master. Zoro-me was kind and thoughtful, just like Soft Master.
Now Zoro-me turned to Scarlett. Their eyes met, and he tilted his head.
“Oh right,” said Scarlett. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“What wasn’t a big deal?” Stan asked, looking confused.
“Zoro-me is wondering why I took so long with my part of the mission.” For some reason, she always knew what Zoro-me meant, even when he didn’t say anything—which was most of the time.
“Hey, yeah,” said Julien. “Something about a drumming math teacher?”
“A what now?” asked Tommy.
Scarlett recounted her misadventure with the bass drum. Saying it out loud, it sounded a little ridiculous, and everyone got a good laugh of it. Even Hādo seemed amused.
“In the entire history of shinobi,” declared Yawarakai, “I don’t think anyone has ever been forced to endure such a . . . peculiar discomfort.”
Scarlett’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she smiled. She liked being able to share awkward moments with people while trusting they wouldn’t use it against her later.
Yawarakai joined them at the table, and eventually even Hādo succumbed to the pizza’s delicious aroma, although he insisted on cutting up his slice and eating the pieces with chopsticks. Once they’d finished, Scarlett, Zoro-me, Stan, and Julien excused themselves and went outside to sit in the tiny Japanese garden behind the dojo. It had a couple of stone benches, a small shrine, and Yawarakai’s beloved bonsai trees.
“I assume you didn’t run into any problems with the Dining or Game Space?” Scarlett asked Zoro-me. The Dining Space was a fancy cafeteria, and the Game Space was a room with all the latest video game consoles. They were the most popular rooms, which was why Zoro-me—the most skilled member on the team—had handled them.
He shook his head, nonchalant. Not arrogant, but not exactly humble either. Although Scarlett reasoned that fake humility would have been weird coming from him.
She turned to Stan. “How about you? Any trouble with the Spa Space?”
“Oh, yeah . . .” Stan looked like he’d just remembered something worrisome and turned to Julien. “How do those bugs handle heat?”
“How hot we talking?” asked Julien.
“There weren’t many good places to plant it. Lots of little chairs and tables that looked like they got moved around. There was the massage table, which looked too heavy to move. But I figured you shouldn’t hide something under a table that has a hole in it that people stick their face through.” He gave Julien a pained smile. “So . . . I stuck it in the sauna. Sorry.”
“No, that was good thinking, Clash,” said Scarlett.
Stan might be inexperienced, but he had great instincts, and he was someone she knew she could always count on in a pinch. Like his code name suggested, he did not shy away from conflict.
“Really, you think so?” he asked her.
“Given the choice between a potentially failed bug and a bug that gets discovered, you definitely made the right choice. The absolute last thing we want is the faculty catching on to the fact that someone is spying on them.” She turned to Julien. “Do you think the bug will be okay, Glitch?”
“I honestly have no idea,” he said. “I guess it depends on just how hot someone makes it in there, and for how long.”
“Will you know if it fails?” Scarlett asked.
“Definitely,” said Julien.
“Well, going back in immediately would be risky,” said Scarlett. “Especially for something that may not be a problem. So for now let’s just keep an eye on it. If the signal goes dead, we’ll deal with it then.”
