Ah, RECESS—ENGRAVED IN OUR MEMORIES AS LONG-AGO SIGHTS AND SOUNDS. BUT FOR SECOND GRADERS AT PAGE ELEMENTARY IN SPRINGFIELD, OREGON, RECESS IS NOT FAR AWAY. IT'S TWICE A DAY.

The two spies dive headfirst into the grass, hidden in the shadow of the green playground bench.

"Shhh," freckle-faced Nathan hisses to Diego, his tagalong.

On the edge of the blacktop ten feet away, a few of their girl classmates—including the incredibly dangerous Maya—play tetherball, talking non stop.

Neither of the spies knows whether the new base is safe or not. Nathan, who has declared himself the best spy in the second grade, pushes up to his knees and clutches the back of the bench, his knuckles white. He raises his head like a periscope, scans the playground, then lowers himself from view.

The spy smiles, showing his buckteeth. The base is safe—for now. Luckily, the girls didn't notice; they just kept talking, and the whole point of spying is to hear what the girls are saying, especially Maya.

But the two have to be careful. If a girl (relatives excluded) touches one of them, he will get girl cooties. While most cooties can be instantly cured by a boy's touch, Nathan says Maya's version will kill him—but only for a day. His brother told him that when he turns twelve a doctor will give him a cooties immunization shot.

But until then he's vulnerable, and his bright blue jumpsuit isn't helping things. They have to remain undetected. Nathan tells Diego the base is too crowded.

"I think I should stay here," Diego whispers.

"No way," Nathan argues. His eyebrows squish together beneath his graham cracker-colored hair. His voice quickens. "You need to move out. They'll see us if we both stay here. Go over there."

He motions to a new shelter: the blue ball bin. Located where the path from school meets the blacktop, the new post is too far away to hear the girls. Deflated like the few balls remaining in the bin, Diego rolls his eyes and sighs at the obvious demotion.

As his sidekick readies to make a break, Nathan remembers something and pulls Diego back down by his sweatshirt collar. "If I'm in trouble," Nathan says, "I'll go like this." He motions a "come here" sign using his right arm. "No, no—wait," he says, correcting himself. "I'll go like this." He adds his left arm so that both arms churn toward his chest. "Okay," he says. "Move out."

Nathan watches Diego streak across the playground and arrive safely at his new post. Alone at the bench, he rubs his palms on his thighs to stay calm. He knows his clothes are bright, but what he doesn't know is that he's only partly hidden.

"HEY!" a voice from the tetherball court booms. Jasmine, a redhead, is looking straight at the bench. Nathan freezes.
"They saw me, they saw me," Nathan says, his whisper rising in panic.
"He's spying on us!" Jasmine yells at the top of her lungs. Suddenly the girls rocket toward the bench.

The spy shrieks. He stands to sprint, but he's too hasty. He falls to the ground. By the time he gathers his feet to run, only an arm's length separates him from Jasmine's infectious grasp. Diego blows the ball bin's cover and runs to Nathan's side. He bravely distracts the pursuers, veering off into the soccer fields. His strategy works: two girls leave Nathan to chase him.

Now only three remain—Jasmine and the inseparable Emily and Maya. They hotly pursue the spy as he weaves around the play structures, bark chips kicking up from his heels. As he sprints, his arms pumping like oil wells, he thrusts his stomach forward and arches his back like a crescent moon.

When Nathan reaches the blacktop, he sneaks a look over his shoulder. Maya and Emily have quit the chase; now only Jasmine remains. Nathan switches into a cocky skip.

Then his feet tangle.

He crashes to the blacktop hard, his body sprawling.

While he lays motionless, Jasmine touches his shoulder and asks him if he's okay. He says nothing, nor does he move.

Diego joins his fallen friend. "Nathan," he says, "are you hurt?" Only when Diego touches him, curing his cooties, does Nathan move.

He grabs his leg, scrunching his face. Together, Diego and Jasmine sit him up and push his pant leg up to his knee. They wince at the shin wound.

As he limps across the playground toward Mrs. Eisele in the health room, Nathan drapes an arm around Diego's shoulder for support and considers himself lucky: if Maya had touched him, the cooties would have killed him—but just for a day.