Zeke Bartholomew Page 15

  “Come on, Zeke,” my dad said. “Let’s see you off.”

  He went to pick up my duffel, but I stopped him. “I got it.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Keep forgetting you’re not a little kid anymore.”

  We went downstairs and outside. My dad walked me to the end of the driveway. The school bus door opened. The driver was a bored-looking man who didn’t even bother to look at me. I could hear all the other kids. I wondered who they were. What their gifts were. How I would fit in.

  “Good-bye, son,” my dad said. “You’re not too old to give your dad a hug, are you?”

  “Of course not.” I wrapped my arms around my father and squeezed him tight. I heard him choke back a sob. Then I let go and boarded the bus to my destiny.

  The door closed behind me, and the bus peeled off. I walked down the aisle looking for a seat. Strangely, none of the kids seemed to notice me or pay me any attention. Did I smell strange or something?

  Then, something really strange happened…

  When we rounded the corner, there was an electronic humming sound and all the kids disappeared. Like, there one second, gone the next. I was alone on the bus. I turned back to ask the driver what was going on…but there was no driver. The bus was operating automatically. The kids and the driver were an electrical projection to keep up appearances.

  “Whoa…” I muttered.

  “Ezekiel J. Bartholomew,” a voice said. I recognized it. Sparrow. “Sit down anywhere.”

  I slid into the nearest seat. The moment I sat down, a small screen opened in front of me, and a video began to play.

  On the screen was Sparrow. She looked just like the last time I’d seen her. Strong, wiry, bold, and brave. With steely blue eyes and auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was wearing a rubbery-looking suit with the letters SNURP sewn into the chest.

  She spoke.

  “You are here because you’ve been chosen to be a part of the most elite young spy trainee program in the world. Do not take it lightly. You will learn more in due time. These are the fellow members of your team. They will be your competition and your backup. You will get to know them better than you know your best friends.”

  On the screen appeared a boy. Only this didn’t look like any boy I’d ever seen. He stood about six feet tall, with bright blond hair and a chiseled face. He had muscles in places I didn’t even think I had places. The video showed him lifting free weights the size of my dad’s car.

  “This is Thor Knudson,” Sparrow said. “Thor was born with a rare genetic mutation called myostatin, which doubles its owner’s muscle mass. Thor is from Oslo, Norway, and is the strongest kid in the world.”

  The video showed Thor being awarded a gold medal, while other, slightly less-muscular kids looked on in disappointment. I gulped.

  Then, a video came on showing a young girl. She was tall, lithe, dark haired, and olive skinned, wearing shorts and a tank top. She was standing in the middle of what looked like a giant obstacle course.

  “This is Laila Mansour. Born in Marrakesh, Morocco, Laila has secured her own prominent title.”

  Just like that, Laila swung up onto a pair of high beams, and proceeded to flip, flop, and glide through the air like her body was made of rubber. She was like a combination bird, frog, leopard, and one of those rubber bouncy balls. Then, she literally did a backflip, springing off a wall, and landed on her feet.

  “Laila Mansour is known as the Princess of Parkour.”

  Sparrow’s voice continued to narrate as I was introduced to the rest of my fellow SNURP trainees. I met Henry Chang from San Francisco, who was trained in every martial art known to man. The Ninja. Alexi Pontneuffe from Monte Carlo, who could blend into any environment. The Chameleon. And lastly I met Astrid Ingall from Mozambique, South Africa. She could pick up any scent, follow any lead, and find anyone, anywhere. The Tracker.

  And lastly, a picture came on the screen end the presentation. I recognized it. It was my fifth grade yearbook photo. I had braces. I had the worst haircut in the history of bad haircuts. And there was a hole in my sweater from when I snagged it on the handle of Mr. Statler’s homeroom.

  “This is Ezekiel Bartholomew,” Sparrow said. “Looks can be deceiving. Zeke is a master inventor, able to use infrared technology, fiber optics, and household items to create items that are necessary in any tactical mission.”

  I’m pretty sure my face turned bright red—but it made me smile.

  Sparrow came on the screen again.

  “This is your team. You will meet them in person very soon.

  “Now, search the seat pocket in front of you. You will find a small, wrapped pill and a bottle of water.”

  I stuck my hand into the pocket, came out with the water and a tiny white pill.

  “Swallow the pill. Wash it down. And I’ll see you soon.”

  I stared at the pill.

  “Here goes nothing,” I said. I unwrapped it, popped it in my mouth, and took a swig of water.

  Seconds later, my head felt woozy. One minute later, I was out like a light, my adventure about to begin.

  Even though books are written alone, they are never published alone. So Zeke and I have a lot of people to thank for making this book come to life.

  First I have to thank my agent, Joe Veltre, who championed the idea for Zeke’s adventures before I’d written a single word on the page. If Zeke ever decides to write his own books, Joe is the guy he should approach. And if Joe has any sense, he’ll turn Zeke down. I don’t want him stealing my spotlight.

  The team at Sourcebooks has been incredible every step of the way, and I owe them thanks for their vision, expertise, and exquisite fashion sense. Massive thanks go to Todd Stocke, Kelly Barrales-Saylor, Aubrey Poole, and Dominique Raccah. I bow down to my fantastic and patient editor, Rebecca Frazer, as well as my copyeditors, Kristin Zelazko and Jill Hughes. I also owe Daniel Ehrenhaft tremendous gratitude for bringing Zeke to Sourcebooks Jabberwocky. If Zeke had any musical talent, he’d definitely audition for Tiger Beat. But he doesn’t, so that’s a moot point.

  My family, as always, has given me the love and support every growing boy needs, and I can’t thank them enough. I’d like to thank Wilson, my dog, even though he tried his hardest to delay the writing of this book. You try writing a thousand words a day with a small, furry dog constantly trying to climb up into your lap.

  I’m a book lover deep down to my core, and my thanks go out to all booksellers and librarians who have expressed enthusiasm for Zeke. You are the gatekeepers to the best stories ever created.

  Most of all, I want to thank all the kids (and adults!) who read Zeke’s adventures. I wrote this book because it was the kind of story that enraptured me as a child. I hope my joy and love of adventure shines through on these pages. It’s all of you who made me want to create Zeke, and I hope you enjoy many more of his adventures for years to come.

  Jason Pinter is the author of five thriller novels with 1.5 million copies in print in many languages, nearly all of which he cannot understand. His first novel, The Mark, was optioned to be a major motion picture, but Steven Spielberg has stopped returning his calls. He has also been nominated for numerous awards—and lost every one. He tells people that it is an honor just to be nominated, but silently wishes he could have won just one of them. He lives in New York City with his dog, Wilson, who constantly has to dig him out from under a pile of books. This is Jason’s first book for young readers. You can learn more at www.jasonpinter.com, email him at jason@jasonpinter.com, or follow his every random thought on Twitter at twitter.com/jasonpinter.