"THE ORGANIZATION is back!"

Ozo's exclamation rang out through the Odd Squad Academy library. In her excitement, Ozo had spoken a bit too loudly—and since we were in the library, it was quieter than any other place on campus. The cavernous room was extremely tall, ringed by three mezzanines on which thousands of books were shelved. Ozo's words seemed to echo off every last one of them: "THE ORGANIZATION is back . . . THE ORGANIZATION is back . . . THE ORGANIZATION is back. . . ."

Ozo winced, realizing her announcement had been a lot more public than she'd intended. Then she quickly sat down at the table where she had just interrupted my homework.

The library was far more crowded than usual. On most afternoons, my fellow students and I would have probably been studying in the school dormitory, but on that day the new recruits had their first homework assignment in Introduction to Odd Explosives: Each was assigned to defuse a small bomb. The bombs weren't supposed to be strong enough to cause a significant amount of Oddness, but where explosives were concerned, things could always go wrong, so it made sense to play it safe and steer clear of the dorm. More than a hundred students were hunched over tables throughout the library. They all tried to act like they weren't interested in Ozo, but I could tell they were desperate to hear more.

Until recently, No one knew of THE ORGANIZATION'S existence: But last month they had attempted to assassinate every Odd Squad Director in the world. After that, there was no hope of keeping THE ORGANIZATION confidential at the Odd Squad Academy.

I made no attempt to hide my own interest in Ozo's news. THE ORGANIZATION had attempted to recruit me—so I had a vested interest in knowing what they were up to. I looked up from my Odd Diseases homework and asked, "How do you know?"

Ozo slid into a seat across the table from me and whispered, "Chameleon and I overheard. We were doing our eavesdropping project for Advanced Covert Ops, and we figured the higher placed our target, the better our grade would be. So we went after the Idiot."

Ozo was into nicknames. Chameleon was Ores, who excelled at camouflage (but was lacking in most other skills). The Idiot was our school principal, who was an idiot. A big one.

"And you pulled it off?" I asked.

"Yeah." Despite her worried state, Ozo flashed a proud smile. "We slipped two wireless transmission bugs into his office last night."

"His office?" I repeated, impressed. The principal wasn't an easy target. True, he wasn't a very intelligent kid—his job was basically to handle paperwork and administrative issues that no one else wanted to—but the Odd Squad knew he wasn't intelligent, so he had far more security around him than a capable person would have required. His office was on the top floor of the building we were in, five floors above us, and entry to it was protected by an advanced network of cameras and armed guards. "How'd you get past all the security?"

"I distracted the guards while Chameleon did the infiltration."

"And he did it without any problems?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"Because Ores's a lousy agent. The last time he tried to infiltrate a room, he got stuck in the air vent. We had to call the fire department to get him out."

Ozo frowned. "Chameleon's been working hard to improve his skills lately."

"That doesn't mean they've actually gotten better."

"Yes, they have," snapped a nasal voice behind me.

I wheeled around to find Ores standing at the shelf next to me. Although if he hadn't spoken, I might not have noticed him. His camouflage was even better than usual. He was wearing a set of clothes and face paint that exactly matched the ancient oak furniture of the library, allowing him to blend in perfectly at the end of a row of shelves.

I wasn't the only one who'd failed to notice him. Most of the nearby students were caught by surprise as well. A girl who'd been pretending to browse the books behind us while furtively listening to our conversation was so startled by Ores's sudden appearance that she yelped in fear and dropped a heavy volume of The Pictorial Guide to Hazards of Tube Travel on her foot.

Ores sat down beside me, gloating smugly. This was disconcerting, as he'd done such a good job with the face paint that he didn't really look human. Instead, it was like sitting next to an extremely obnoxious ventriloquist's dummy. "You're no better an agent than I am," he declared. "The only reason you were able to save the directors was because you were lucky enough to have THE ORGANIZATION try to recruit you."

"I wouldn't exactly consider that lucky," I said.

"Whatever. The point is, if I'd been there, I could have saved the day instead of you."

"Chameleon, you were at the raid on THE ORGANIZATION's headquarters," Ozo pointed out. "And you didn't save the day."

Ores recoiled like a puppy who'd been caught piddling on the carpet, the way he always did when Ozo hurt his feelings. While Ozo was developing into a very good agent, she somehow remained completely oblivious to the fact that Ores had a massive crush on her.

"Hold on," I said to Ozo. "Did you say you infiltrated the principal's office last night?"

"That's right," Ozo replied.

I looked back at Ores. "Then why are you still camouflaged?"

"The paint won't wash off," Ores said morosely. He looked as though he might have turned red if he hadn't been painted brown. "I couldn't get the perfect oaken tone with standard face paint, so I had to use wood stain instead. Now I can't remove it."

Ozo snickered despite herself.

"It's not funny!" Ores whined. "Today in Unnatural Disasters class, Instructor O mistook me for a table and set a book on my head."

Ozo laughed even harder.

"We're getting off track," I reminded her. "What'd you hear in the principal's office?"

"Oh, right." Ozo returned her attention to me while Ores sulked. "We've been monitoring the bugs ever since we placed them last night, but we didn't pick up any intel until just now."

"Was the principal out of the office all day?" I asked.

"No, he's been in since oh-nine-hundred," Ozo reported. "He just hasn't been doing anything important. He spent most of the day filling out gadget-request forms and playing games on his badge phone. And it took him an hour to decide what to order for lunch. But then, about thirty minutes ago, he got a phone call about THE ORGANIZATION."

"From who?" I asked.

"I don't know," Ozo admitted. "We didn't tap the phone. We only bugged the room, so we could only hear the Idiot's side of the conversation."

"What did he say?"

Ozo glanced around the library before answering. All the other students who'd been eavesdropping made a show of pretending to read their textbooks. Ozo removed her badge phone from the pocket of her jacket and slid it across the table to me.

A set of earphones was wound around it. I stuck the buds in my ears. Ores gave me a jealous look, as if I were the luckiest guy on earth because I might have come into contact with some of Ozo's earwax.

Ozo's phone was already cued up to the proper audio file. I pressed play.

The file began with the principal muttering what sounded like nonsense. "Stupid hedgehogs!" he yelled. "Stop stealing my flapjacks!"

I looked to Ozo, intrigued. "Is this some sort of top-secret code?"

"No," Ozo replied. "It's about the game he's playing on his phone."

"It's called Flapjack Frenzy," Ores explained. "You try to make as many pancakes as possible and these hedgehogs try to steal them. So you have to fight them off by shooting them with maple syrup. . . ."

"The rules of the game really aren't important right now," Ozo told him.

Ores frowned sullenly.

On the recording, the principal's phone rang. He let it ring ten more times while he apparently tried to finish the level of the game, before finally giving in and answering. "This is the principal," he said curtly. "This had better be important. I'm in the midst of something very serious." Then he gasped in surprise and asked, "THE ORGANIZATION? Really? How do you know?"

This was followed by a period during which the principal was obviously listening to a lot of information that the person on the other end of the phone line was giving him. For the most part, it seemed he was trying to sound interested, saying things like "Hmmm" and "Fascinating" and "Wow," although I could also hear the distinct sounds of the game continuing: tinny music punctuated by the occasional squelch of maple syrup and squeal of hedgehogs. Suddenly, the principal said, "No, I'm not playing a game on my phone! I'm listening to you!" And then the tinny music shut off. Afterward, the principal continued to make interested sounds, as if trying to prove that he was rapt with attention.

At the entrance to the library, Omicah slipped through the doors.

My fellow students regarded him with almost as much surprise as they had given Ozo's announcement that THE ORGANIZATION had returned. Omicah was well known on campus as the newest recruit to the Odd Squad Academy. Until only a few weeks before, he'd been my best friend from the outside world. However, even though Omicah was my age, he had been forced to start as a new student. Which meant he should have been dealing with his odd explosives homework, not sauntering into the library.

"What's he doing here?" Ores hissed.

"Maybe he finished his homework already," Ozo suggested.

"There's no way," Ores said. "They only started the timers fifteen minutes ago. Even Orica didn't defuse her first bomb that fast."

Omicah spotted us, waved happily, and hurried over, pausing to smile at a few girls along the way.

Most of the girls smiled back. That's the kind of guy Omicah was.

The recording on Ozo's phone was still playing. On it, the principal suddenly spluttered, "OJ?" He sounded extremely annoyed. "What do you want with him?"

I stiffened, surprised that he'd just used my name.

Unfortunately, nothing else was said. The principal returned to listening again, only now his occasional grunts and interjections sounded much more aggravated than they had before.

The principal wasn't a big fan of mine. I had accidentally frozen his office which caused some dragons to completely destroy it. That hadn't entirely been my fault, but no matter how many times this had been explained, the principal refused to listen. He was stuck using a broom closet as his office, and he hated me for it.

Omicah reached my table, spun a chair around, and sat in it backward, resting his arms on the backrest. "What are you listening to?" he asked.

"Class lecture," I replied quickly. I didn't know if Omicah had learned about THE ORGANIZATION's existence yet (he had only joined the Odd Squad two days after the invasion of THE ORGANIZATION'S secret base), but I certainly didn't have clearance to tell him about it.

Omicah gave me a sideways glance like he didn't believe me and wanted me to know it.

"What happened to your odd explosives homework?" Ozo asked, trying to distract him. "Did you defuse it already?"

"No," Omicah said.

Ores gasped. "You mean you left a ticking bomb in your dorm room?"

"Calm down, Salamander," Omicah told him. "I didn't do that either."

"My nickname's 'Chameleon,' " Ores said testily. "Not 'Salamander.' "

Omicah shrugged. "They're both lizardy things."

"So what'd you do with the bomb?" Ozo asked.

"Well, I started to try to defuse it," Omicah explained, "but it was ridiculously complicated. So I figured, what's the point? I mean, suppose some bad guy had really left this bomb for me. Defusing it wastes valuable time. While I'm dorking around with it, the villain escapes. So why not just forget about it and let the villain think I'm busy defusing it? He drops his guard, figuring I'm out of the picture—and that's when I nab him!"

"So you're going to let the bomb go off?" Ozo pressed.

"Yes," Omicah said, then thought to add, "Although I left it in a safe place where it won't make a mess. I also moved the timer up so it'll detonate earlier than expected."

"Why would you do that?" Ores demanded.

"Diversion," Omicah told him. "The bomb explodes, and the bad guy thinks, 'Aha! He's stuck in caramel syrup!' and then really lets his guard down."

Ozo and I shared a look, realizing that, while unorthodox, Omicah's plan actually had some merit. This was where Omicah had already stood out at The Odd Squad Academy. Unorthodox thinking could let you solve a case much faster, and Omicah didn't merely think outside the box; he rarely even noticed there was a box in the first place.

Ores, however, was one of those kids so rigid about proper procedures that he could barely brush his teeth without consulting a manual. Omicah's refusal to play by the rules always exasperated him. "In exactly what sort of safe place did you leave this bomb?"

"Out in the quad," Omicah replied. "It's far from any innocent bystanders—and I placed a nice heavy pot from the kitchen over it to cut down on messiness. I also taped up some signs warning people to keep their distance."

"Signs?" Ozo repeated. "What'd they say?"

" 'Live bomb in the area,' " Omicah replied. " 'Beware of caramel syrup.' Things like that."

"You can't do that!" Ores spluttered. "It's against the rules!"

"The bad guys aren't going to play by the rules," Omicah countered. "Why should we?"

"Yes they will they have a whole handbook and every.."Ores shouted.

A large wet caramelly SPLOSH erupted from the quadrangle. The books shuddered on the library shelves. All the students who hadn't been close enough to overhear Omicah's plan leaped from their tables and ran to the windows to see if the dormitory would become a feasting ground for any sugar-loving creatures.

"See?" Omicah said proudly. "The perfect diversion."

Ozo grinned, impressed. Ores glowered even more.

On the recording I was listening to, the principal finally stopped grunting, indicating that whoever he was talking to had finished speaking. "Fine," he said petulantly. "I'll approve his activation." Then he hung up.

The recording ended.

I looked to Ozo and Ores, disappointed. "That's it?"

"That's all there was," Ozo replied. "What more do you need? He confirmed that, uh"—she glanced at Omicah warily—"what we were discussing before is actually happening."

"Wait," Omicah said. "Are you guys talking about THE ORGANIZATION?"

We all turned to him, surprised.

"THE ORGANIZATION," he repeated. "The international consortium of former Odd Squad agents and various assorted goons committed to causing chaos and mayhem for revenge and a quick buck?" He looked to me. "Don't pretend like they don't exist. They've tried to kill you."

"How long have you known about THE ORGANIZATION?" Ores asked suspiciously.

"Oh, for a while now," Omicah said. "It's not like its existence is a secret."

"Actually, it is," I said.

"Really?" Omicah asked. "Well, it's not a very well-kept secret."

"Apparently not." I sighed, then slid Ozo's phone back to her. "Though I'd love to know what they're up to now."

"You'll find out soon enough," Ozo said brightly. "They're activating you!"

"We don't know that for sure," I said. "I know the principal mentioned my name, but that was a couple minutes back. For all we know, he's activating Ores."

"Ores?" Ozo laughed. "Don't be ridiculous! He can't handle THE ORGANIZATION!"

"Um . . . I'm right here," Ores pointed out gloomily.

"The Idiot was obviously talking about you," Ozo told me. "He sounded really upset. He wouldn't be that peeved about activating most people. But he hates you with every last fiber of his being and will until the day he dies."

"Well, that's reassuring," I said.

"You blew up his office," Ores told me.

"Because you put a real gadget data chip in the cannon!" I reminded him. "If I hadn't aimed it toward this building, a bunch of innocent people would have been frozen!"

Ores shrugged, as though this argument wasn't convincing.

"If you're getting activated," Omicah said eagerly, "can you pick me as your partner?" "No!" Ozo squealed, raising her hand. "Pick me! I have seniority."

"This is an undercover mission, not a kickball game," I informed them. "I don't get to pick teams. And I'm still not completely convinced I'm the one being activated."

"You should be," a voice said.

We all jumped in our seats.

Orica was leaning against a bookshelf. Unlike Ores, she hadn't gotten close to us by camouflaging herself. Instead, she simply moved with a stealth and grace that would impress a tiger. Orica had only been at the Odd Squad Academy a couple of months longer than I had, but she was still the best agent-in-training at school by far. Much of this was due to having exceptional natural talent, but she was also a legacy: Her family could be traced all the way back to Agent OGABAJA of the stone age. Her grandfather had trained her since she was a baby. There were rumors that at age three Orica had thwarted a trio of villains with only a juice box and a Slinky.

I had a serious crush on her, as did almost every other guy on campus. However, I was the only student who had really spent any time with Orica. Orica was so determined to be an elite agent that she considered friendships to be liabilities, which led her to be distant and reserved. (Ozo called her "Ice Queen.") I'd only gotten to know her because she'd been my partner on my previous mission.

"Get your coat," Orica told me. "It's time to move out."

"Wait," I said. "Am I being activated right now?"

"This is a crisis situation," Orica said flatly. "There's no time to waste."

"How about bathroom breaks?" I asked. "Is there time for one of those? Because I should probably go while I have the chance."

Orica sighed, like needing to go to the bathroom was something that only happened to other people. Now that I thought about it, though, this might have been true. I couldn't recall her ever needing to make a pit stop. "Fine," she said. "You can go. But make it quick."

I started to grab my books and backpack, but Orica said, "Don't bother. You won't need those." She looked to Omicah. "Can you take those back to OJ's room?"

"Sure." Omicah flashed her his standard winning smile. "Anything else you need me to do?"

"No. By the way, that was good thinking with the odd explosives homework."

Ozo and Ores gaped in astonishment. Hearing Orica give anyone a compliment was almost as unlikely as a day without Oddness.

"Good thinking?" Ores spluttered. "What he did was reckless and dangerous and against the rules!"

"Yes," Orica agreed. "It's exactly what I did on that assignment." She shifted her attention back to me. "Why aren't you in the bathroom already?"

"I was waiting for you," I said.

"Why? I don't need to go."

"I just thought it was good manners to not run off. . . ."

"There's no room for manners in the Odd Squad game," Orica told me.

"Your father has excellent manners," Ozo pointed out.

"My father's the worst agent on earth," Orica countered.

"Good point," Ozo conceded.

I waved goodbye to everyone and hustled out of the library, slipping my winter coat on as I went. I could feel the eyes of every other student on me as I exited. Most had returned from the windows, having confirmed that Omicah's explosion hadn't caused any mess, and were now watching me jealously.

Despite the ego boost, I was still awfully nervous. I did my best to put on a good show, holding my head high and striding confidently through the library, but inside I was a mess. I was worried about what lay in store and how dangerous it might be. I was concerned that I might not be up to the task and feared that I might fail—or die.

And, to be honest, I was pretty disturbed by how Orica was behaving around Omicah.

There were certainly other things I should have been concentrating on, but this one kept gnawing at me: Orica had given Omicah a compliment. She'd barely ever given me a compliment—and I'd helped her prevent the Odd Squad from being forced to shell out millions to THE ORGANIZATION. Meanwhile, Omicah had a way of winning over girls.

I glanced back toward my friends, trying to be subtle about it, fearing I might catch Orica giggling at something Omicah had said, giving her hair a coy flip, or batting her eyes at him. None of that was really Orica's style, but then, neither was complimenting people.

Thankfully, Orica was on her way up the aisle behind me.

Although, she was also looking back toward Omicah.

He waved goodbye.

And Orica, to my astonishment, waved back.

Which made me feel even worse than being assigned to a potentially life-threatening mission did.

I shoved through the big oak library doors into the soaring entry foyer of the Management Building, ducked into the boys' room, quickly took care of business, then emerged to find Orica waiting impatiently for me. She checked her watch, as though the fifty-three seconds I'd taken to pee had been fifty-three seconds too long. (I have an unusual gift for math, and one of the side effects is an uncanny sense of time. I always know exactly how long it takes me to do anything, right down to the second.)

Orica strode toward the main doors of the Management Building.

I dutifully followed her. "Where are we going?"

"We?" she said icily, though her annoyance didn't seem directed at me. "We aren't going anywhere. Only you are."

I froze in astonishment. "You're not on this mission?"

"No. I'm just the messenger." Orica barged out the doors, allowing a blast of cold air to knife into the foyer.

I suddenly felt even more worried than before. My success on my earlier mission was due, in large part, to Orica. She had been close by to help me out, determine what to do, and clobber a few bad guys. The idea of being activated without her was terrifying. She was smarter than me, calmer than me, more confident than me—and a hundred times better at combat than me.

I emerged from the Management Building to find Orica standing by the driveway that circled past the entrance. It was nasty cold out. The grounds of the academy were a carpet of dead grass encrusted with ice.

A large black SUV was idling in the driveway.

A stoic kid sat behind the wheel, her eyes shielded by sunglasses.

The rear windows were tinted, so I couldn't see who was in the back.

Orica opened the rear door and said, "Here he is," to whoever was inside.

I looked to her, hoping for some hint of what was going on, but she didn't give me one. "Have fun," she said, though she didn't sound like she really meant it.

I climbed into the SUV and Orica shut the door behind me.

The interior of the vehicle was unusual. It was designed more like a limousine. The middle row of seats faced backward, toward the last row, so you could face whoever you were riding with. There was a plate of soundproof glass between the middle seats and the front, so the driver couldn't hear anything if you didn't want her to. There was a small bar built into each of the side panels, with rows of glasses and an ice bucket.

But the most unusual thing about the SUV was the two other people inside it.

The first was O'Cyrus, Orica's grandfather and one of the finest agents the Odd Squad had ever produced.

The other was the head of every Odd Squad in the world.

A/N: And we're back folks! sorry for the long wait wanted to release this on the four-month anniversary of Villain Academy's release date.