1.
Beware!
Outside, the night air was crisp and the island was quiet, except for the melodic sounds of the waves lapping the shore. Olive had a bounce in her step as she headed toward the once-threatening DO NOT TRESPASS! warning, which now read DONUT TRESPASS! The sign had been edited by RASCH art students from a generation or two earlier and featured a drawing of dancing donuts. Yet however silly the notice looked, school staff and students were still convinced that the DONUT TRESPASS! area was anything but that.
Olive took in her surroundings, undaunted by the rumors of pockets of perilous quicksand, packs of sharp-fanged wild boars, and fearsome fog that could swallow you whole. With all the terrifying tales, it was no wonder that hardly anyone ventured beyond the DONUT TRESPASS! fence at the back of Foggy Island.
On most days, once the San Francisco fog cleared, one could drink in the beauty of RASCH’s buildings while approaching Foggy Island from the bay. When she’d first arrived, Olive had been quick to fall in love with the school’s quaint brick cottages, extravagant gardens, and magnificent mansion that was the size of a mini mall. Yet the rear of the island was the mirror opposite. The area was dark and foreboding, and when the wind blew, it sounded like a warning.
Olive loved the rumors. Threats of danger didn’t faze her in the least as she slipped easily under the tarnished chain-link fence. She said hello to the swan family that was taking a nighttime swim along the narrow moat. As she strolled among the rusted machinery, mountains of bricks, and overgrown shrubbery, Olive heard a familiar rustle.
Immediately, she retrieved her nose clamp and FoggyGogs goggles from her fanny pack. They were good for thwarting powerful scents, seeing through fog, and keeping one’s allergies at bay. After her much-discussed sneezing while saving cats during their last mission, Phil had cataloged every Misfit’s allergies:
• Phil: pigweed
• Iggy: coconut
• Theo: none
• James: lilacs and spotted lizards
• Olive: cats
Yet not even allergies could stop Olive from coming to visit the fluffy butterscotch-colored feline who had returned to RASCH with the Misfits after their recent mission. From a nearby bush, Queenie poked her head out and mewed.
“Well, hello to you, too,” Olive said, scooping her up for a hug. Less than a week earlier, Olive had hung upside down from a helicopter to save Queenie--as well as her collar, which carried a priceless diamond from the famous Royal Rumpus necklace.
Cradling her friend, Olive breathed a heavy sigh as she recalled the mind-boggling news she’d learned earlier that day. Apparently, her “recently departed” grandmother wasn’t dead, as Olive had been led to believe. Rather, Mimi was a high-ranking NOCK special agent, code name “the Mouse,” who was very much alive. And if that wasn’t discombobulating enough, Olive had learned this from her rather boring parents, who also weren’t who they said they were. Dr. Cobin Zang and Dr. Zang Cobin, Olive’s mom and dad, were undercover NOCK agents just like her--putting Olive squarely in the middle of a secret operative family!
It was kind of a lot to think about, and it was getting late. The crescent moon cut through the darkness, shining a spotlight on Foggy Island. Olive could see the lights of San Francisco winking at her from across the bay. In the distance, a laser light show from the city’s famed Coit Tower shone columns of colored lights into the sky, like rainbows standing upright. Where were her parents now? Olive wondered. They’d only left RASCH earlier that day--could they see the lights, too? Where was Mimi?
Suddenly the hairs on the back of Olive’s neck began to prickle as she felt Queenie stiffen in her arms. Olive started to slow, listening carefully to a soft crunching sound that wasn’t quite in sync with Olive’s own footsteps.
When she stopped walking, the crunching stopped as well. Olive’s heart was thudding so loud she feared it was echoing all over the island.
She was being followed.
2.
From the Shadows
Some people can sit next to a family of four who are all munching on barbecue potato chips and not hear a thing. Others can tune in to a person on the far side of the room nibbling on a marshmallow.
Olive’s hearing was in the marshmallow category. So when a nearby twig snapped, her ears pricked up instantly, as did Queenie’s. Like synchronized swimmers, they both turned toward the sound.
Olive was prepared to toss Queenie, knowing that the feline would land on all four paws and run to safety. Cat-free, Olive would be able to face and fight whatever was after her. She was about to activate her ComChom, the retainer-like device that the Misfits used to communicate with each other, when she heard a familiar voice: “Don’t be scared, Olive.”
From the shadows, her friend Zeke stepped into the moonlight, holding his hands up as if surrendering. Queenie relaxed and let out a stream of soft, melodic purrs.
Zeke brought his finger up to his lips as he looked around nervously. “I’m in danger, and I need your help,” he whispered. “They’re after me, and I don’t know who to turn to.”
Olive loosened her grip on the cat. Back when the Misfits were unknowingly auditioning for NOCK, Zeke had been one of the finalists, and he almost became a top-secret operative. His only flaw at the time was that he was overly confident.
When Olive was chosen to be a Misfit, at first she worried that it was a mistake. After all, she was often scared. However, Modest Cusak, who was one of the Misfits’ instructors, along with his partner and wife, Monica LaMonica, assured everyone that being scared was a good thing, even necessary. “Fear is a great asset, too. It keeps you fresh and on your toes,” he explained to the Misfits while racing on pointe and executing an exquisite grand jeté.
Zeke didn’t look confident right now.
“I just happen to know some people who may be able to help you,” Olive assured him. Instinctively, she placed her hand on her fanny pack, ready to pull out one of Phil’s gadgets to thwart someone from harming him, the cat, herself, or any combination of the three.
Zeke motioned toward the tallest point of the island, where a majestic lighthouse rose from the rocks. “Let’s talk up there.”
Olive set Queenie down gently and watched her scamper away, probably to the warmth of Butter Bakery. With the cat gone, Olive removed her FoggyGogs and nose clamp. If Zeke thought it was odd she was wearing them, he kept it to himself. Then again, at RASCH, the students were often in costume or wearing strange fashions. Here, if you got sent to the dean because of what you were wearing, it was so she could congratulate you on your creativity.
As Olive and Zeke climbed up the craggy hill, the only sound was the wind whipping up whitecaps over the ocean, making the waves look like peaks of vanilla frosting on a coconut cake. The lighthouse loomed, large, red, and foreboding, and Olive’s curiosity grew with each step.
Who was after Zeke? And why? He seemed like the last person on Foggy Island to have enemies.
To Olive’s surprise, even though the lighthouse hadn’t been in service for a century, the door opened, grinding slightly as they entered. Zeke led the way up the winding stairs, and Olive zipped up her fuzzy brown jacket as they climbed higher.
It was only when they reached the top and looked out over the ocean that Zeke finally spoke. “I’m not sure what’s happening, but it isn’t good. Our pod has been assigned to research our family histories, and it turns out mine has a secret.”
Olive couldn’t help but be distracted by his big green eyes and strong jaw offset by the teeny-tiny dimple in his chin. She tried to focus on Zeke’s troubles instead of his looks.
“Go on,” she urged. Olive was somewhat of an expert when it came to family secrets.
“My great-great-uncle was a sailor named Ezekiel Sanchez,” Zeke began. “He was the first mate on a merchant ship that sailed routes between the United States and China.”
Somewhere in the lighthouse, there was an ominous creaking that set Olive on edge. But Zeke didn’t appear to hear it and kept talking. “The California gold rush ended in 1855, and years later Ezekiel used his life’s savings to buy a map of an abandoned mine that was rumored to still be full of gold. He found enough gold to make his crew rich, and he sold it to a group of bankers in New York. The bankers gave him half the money up front and promised the other half when the gold was delivered.
“The ship with the gold never made it to its destination. It just disappeared somewhere along the voyage. The bankers accused Ezekiel of cheating them, and my great-great-uncle was sent to prison--”
“Here?” Olive motioned to the rear of the mansion.
Zeke nodded. “Back then, RASCH was a maximum security prison.”
Olive knew this. There were reminders everywhere. The tall square towers that circled the island once housed guards, and the DONUT TRESPASS! area was originally planned for a prison expansion that never happened. Ironically, Olive sometimes felt like a prisoner at her old school. Yet here at RASCH, she’d never felt freer.
“When Ezekiel was jailed, he managed to smuggle out a few letters claiming his innocence.” Zeke faced Olive, his brow furrowed. “Finally, he was so desperate that he tried to escape and swim across the bay, and he was never heard from again.”
Olive turned back to the ocean, imagining Ezekiel swimming away from the island. Fog, as dense as the congee Mimi made for breakfast, was beginning to roll in. During the day, the choppy water was often gray in the fog or blue in the sunshine, but now it was as black as ink.
How many lives had been lost there?
“Ezekiel.” Olive let the name roll off her tongue. “Are you named after him?”
Zeke’s worry was momentarily replaced with a familiar warm smile. “I am! My family is keeping his memory alive, and as a namesake, I felt I should, too. Besides, I’ve always liked a good mystery.”
Olive wasn’t sure what to think. The whole story sounded far-fetched. Zeke had always been popular, handsome, athletic. Someone you might want to be jealous of and hate, but can’t because they’re so nice. He wasn’t the sort to make up strange tales for attention--unlike several others at RASCH, especially his fellow drama students, and snooty Primrose and her followers, twins Ethel and Enid.
“What makes you think your life is in danger?” Olive asked. “When all this stuff about the gold happened so long ago?”
Zeke took something out of his jacket. Carefully, Olive inched the letter out of the envelope and read it out loud:
“Leave Ezekiel alone or you’ll end up like him.”
3.
Family Matters
As Olive reread the message, an alarm went off in her head. Did Zeke know that she was a Misfit? Was that why he came to her? Did he even know what the Misfits were, or about NOCK? No one was supposed to know about NOCK--that’s why it was called No One Can Know.
Because RASCH celebrated unique, creative people, it made this unconventional academy the perfect cover for covert training activities. Other than the Misfits, Olive had no idea if any other RASCH students were NOCK operatives. It could be that the Misfits’ pod of five contained the only undercover agents here. Or, as Anonymous, the leader of NOCK, had hinted, Foggy Island could also be the training site for other top-secret government groups outside of NOCK.
Olive braced herself. She had to proceed carefully with Zeke. The Misfits were repeatedly reminded that they could not reveal their secret identities. Was this a test?
“Why did you come to me?” Olive tucked her hair behind her ears, then immediately undid it when she remembered that one of her ears was ever so slightly larger than the other. She did not want to appear lopsided.
Zeke didn’t seem to notice her ear imbalance. “I’m not really sure,” he admitted. “You always seem like you’ve got things figured out.”
She straightened. Was this how Zeke saw her? It was only after Olive became a Misfit that she started to feel good about herself. For the first time, she had friends, and teachers who applauded her skills, like death-defying acrobatics and the ability to sneak around unnoticed. Even her tendency to worry was praised as a strength instead of a weakness.
“I can’t tell anyone in my pod, or my friends, what’s going on,” Zeke explained. “What if the note is from one of them?”
“Maybe it’s a dumb prank?” Olive reasoned. Iggy and James were always pulling pranks on each other. “I’m not sure what you want me to do. Why don’t you tell Sunny”--she was the dean of RASCH--“or the police?”
“Right, tell Sunny that my homework caused me to call the cops? No one would believe me,” Zeke insisted. His usual confidence was nowhere to be seen. “I’m not even sure you do. I just . . . just wanted to tell someone I trusted.” Olive blushed and was suddenly glad it was dark so he couldn’t see. “You know, in case something bad happens to me.”
She pressed two fingers to her forehead to help her think. “So . . . you don’t want me to do anything, unless you go missing?”
Except for the howl of the wind and the whoosh of the waves, there was silence between them. He nodded. “I guess that’s right.”
Olive scrutinized Zeke. Under the watchful eye of former World Boxing Champion Monica LaMonica and her husband/partner ballet dancer and former spy, Modest Cusak, the Misfits morphed from awkward loner kids to a team of awkward, nimble secret agents. Monica--who was sharp as a new knife and could hit two bull’s-eyes by throwing daggers simultaneously with both hands--taught the Misfits to follow the facts. Modest, who had been famous for lifting two ballerinas at once and was known to weep at sad songs, emphasized listening to one’s instincts.
“Okay,” Olive agreed. She needed more information, but her gut told her that he was being sincere. Besides, it was a strange note, and if she was honest with herself, she really wanted to know what was going on. “I won’t do anything, unless something happens to you.” Then, more quietly, she added, “You can trust me with this.”
Zeke gave her a small, hopeful smile. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
By the time Olive got back to Foggy Manor, it was late, and the mansion was aglow like a birthday cake. Then, like candles being blown out, the rooms began to darken one by one.
Copyright © 2025 by Lisa Yee. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
