“Combines Alex Rider’s espionage skills with a huge dose of the sarcasm of Artemis Fowl.” — School Library Journal Can an undercover nerd become a superstar agent? In the first book in the New York Times bestselling Spy School series, Ben Ripley sure hopes so—and his life may depend on it! Ben Ripley may only be in middle school, but he’s already pegged his dream job: CIA or bust. Unfortunately for him, his personality doesn’t exactly scream “secret agent.” In fact, Ben is so awkward, he can barely get to school and back without a mishap. Because of his innate nerdiness, Ben is not surprised when he is recruited for a magnet school with a focus on science—but he’s entirely shocked to discover that the school is actually a front for a junior CIA academy. Could the CIA really want him? "Twists and turns in the plot keep readers guessing until the very end. The story, over-the-top funny, combines Alex Rider’s espionage skills with a huge dose of the sarcasm of Artemis Fowl. Subtle digs at the stuffiness of a federal agency and the romance of spying abound." ― School Library Journal " This romp is a great choice for reluctant readers of either gender." ― Booklist Stuart Gibbs is the author of five New York Times bestselling series: Spy School, FunJungle, Moon Base Alpha, Charlie Thorne, and Once Upon a Tim—as well as the new nonfiction series Spy School Secret Files. He has written screenplays, worked on a whole bunch of animated films, developed TV shows, been a newspaper columnist, and researched capybaras. Stuart lives with his family in Los Angeles. You can learn more about what he’s up to at StuartGibbs.com. RECRUITMENT Ripley Residence 2107 Mockingbird Road Vienna, Virginia January 16 1530 hours “Hello, Ben,” said the man in my living room. “My name is Alexander Hale. I work for the CIA.” And just like that, my life became interesting. It hadn’t been, up till then. Not by a long shot. That day had been a prime example: day 4,583, seven months into the twelfth year of my mundane existence. I had dragged myself out of bed, eaten breakfast, gone to middle school, been bored in class, stared at girls I was too embarrassed to approach, had lunch, slogged through gym, fallen asleep in math, been harassed by Dirk the Jerk, taken the bus home . . . And found a man in a tuxedo sitting on the couch. I didn’t doubt he was a spy for a second. Alexander Hale looked exactly like I’d always imagined a spy would. A tiny bit older, perhaps—he seemed about fifty—but still suave and debonair. He had a small scar on his chin—from a bullet, I guessed, or maybe something more exotic, like a crossbow. There was something very James Bond about him; I could imagine he’d been in a car chase on the way over and taken out the bad guys without breaking a sweat. My parents weren’t home. They never were when I got back from school. Alexander had obviously “let himself in.” The photo album from our family vacation to Virginia Beach sat open on the coffee table before him. “Am I in trouble?” I asked. Alexander laughed. “For what? You’ve never done anything wrong in your life. Unless you count the time you spiked Dirk Dennett’s Pepsi with Ex-Lax—and frankly, that kid was asking for it.” My eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know that?” “I’m a spy. It’s my job to know things. Do you have anything to drink?” “Uh, sure.” My mind quickly cataloged every beverage in the house. Although I had no idea what this man was doing there, I found myself desperately wanting to impress him. “My folks have all kinds of stuff. What would you like? A martini?” Alexander laughed again. “This isn’t the movies, kid. I’m on the clock.” I blushed, feeling foolish. “Oh. Right. Water?” “I was thinking more like an energy drink. Something with electrolytes, just in case I need to leap into action. I had to ditch some undesirables on my way over here.” “Undesirables?” I tried to sound cool, as though I discussed things like this every day. “What sort of . . .?” “I’m afraid that information is classified.” “Of course. That makes sense. Gatorade?” “That’d be grand.” I headed to the kitchen. Alexander followed. “The Agency has had its eye on you for some time,” he said. I paused, surprised, the refrigerator door half open. “Why?” “For starters, you asked us to.” “I did? When?” “How many times have you accessed our website?” I grimaced, feeling foolish once again. “Seven hundred twenty-eight.” Alexander looked the tiniest bit intrigued. “That’s exactly right. Usually you merely play the games on the kids’ page—at which you performed very well, by the way—but you’ve also browsed the employment and internship pages with some regularity. Ergo, you’ve considered a career as a spy. And when you express an interest in the CIA, the CIA becomes interested in you .” Alexander pulled a thick envelope from inside his tuxedo and set it on the kitchen counter. “We’ve been impressed.” The envelope was marked, To be hand-delivered O