How to Lead a Life of Crime

by Kirsten Miller

  “Mr. Martin?”

  “Yes, Julian?”

  It’s such a cute little act. These two should have their own show.

  “There may be a student who does have a secret. There was disturbance in the dorms last night. Someone who lives on the eighth floor was screaming and sobbing. He woke us all up.”

  “Oh dear!” Mr. Martin gasps. “Noise is strictly forbidden after curfew! That’s a very serious violation of the rules. Are there any suspects?”

  “Yes, in fact there are four of them in this very room. They all live on the eighth floor. Perhaps we can use the polygraph to identify the culprit?”

  “Excellent suggestion, Julian!” Mr. Martin is looking directly at me. “Any volunteers?”

  By the time class is over, I’ll be the school laughingstock. Everyone here will know what I am. An impostor. A weakling. A fraud and a fake. The Wolves will stop fearing me. They’ll eat me for lunch. My father will never be punished for what he did. I came here for the proof. And I’ve failed once again.

  “Me.” I look back over my shoulder to see Lucas rising from his seat.

  “Wonderful!” Mr. Martin exclaims. Julian doesn’t look nearly as thrilled.

  There’s a pair of rubber straps across Lucas’s chest, two sensors attached to his fingers, and a blood pressure cuff just above his elbow. He’s sitting on an electric chair, and Mr. Martin is itching to throw the switch.

  “I’m going to start by asking you a few simple questions so that we can get a baseline reading,” the executioner states. “What is your name?”

  “Timothy Harper,” Lucas responds.

  “Excuse me?” Mr. Martin looks up. The machine’s needle is twitching wildly.

  “That’s my real name. I thought you wanted me to tell the truth. If I don’t, it might screw up your baseline. Sorry, I’m just a little bit nervous.”

  “Fine,” the instructor snarls. “What school do you attend?”

  “The charitable institution known as the Mandel Academy.”

  “And what class is this?”

  “My favorite class,” Lucas responds enthusiastically. “Taught by the finest instructor at this remarkable school.”

  A chill courses through my body. I think I’ve just figured out what Lucas is doing. I’ve watched enough movies to know that the person administering a polygraph test always starts off with a few basic questions. What’s your name? Where do you live? Who is the president of the United States? They need to know how the machine will respond when the subject is telling the truth. But Lucas is lying. Timothy Harper isn’t his real name. This isn’t his favorite class. And we all know what he thinks about Mr. Martin.

  When they start asking the real questions, Lucas can continue to lie—and the person reading the results will assume he’s telling the truth. It’s a pretty simple trick. I’m sure Mr. Martin would have caught on by now if he weren’t on the verge of an aneurysm.

  “Childish behavior like that is the reason you’re number fifty-two,” the instructor sneers. “Julian? Maybe you should take over from here.”

  “I’d be delighted.” Julian pulls a sheet of paper from the pocket of his jacket. He’s come with a list of prepared questions. I knew this was a setup. “Last night, everyone heard a male student bawling his little eyes out. The source of the commotion appeared to be one of the eighth-floor dorm rooms. Do you know who was responsible?”

  “It was me,” Lucas says.

  Julian’s smile withers as Mr. Martin’s blooms. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Lucas confirms. “I had a terrible dream. I was trapped here at school with a pack of rabid wolves. And the weird thing was—one of them had a pretty little pixie haircut like yours.”

  “What does the polygraph say?” Julian demands, turning to Mr. Martin, who’s busy interpreting the machine’s readings.

  “According to this, Lucas is telling the truth.”

  “He can’t be!” Julian insists. “He’s a technology major. He’s taken electronics classes. He must have found some way to beat the machine!”

  “A Ghost?” Mr. Martin scoffs. I’ve never heard an instructor use that word before. “Highly unlikely.”

  “Are you two going to let me finish?” Lucas interjects. “I haven’t even gotten to the worst part of my dream yet. Students kept disappearing, and everyone thought the kids had gone home, but the truth was they’d all been—”

  “Get up!” Mr. Martin bellows.

  “Murdered,” Lucas finishes. He said the Wolves would come for me. He never told me he’d trade his life for mine.

  “You think you’re funny, don’t you?” Julian snarls. “Get out of the chair. We need to test the other eighth-floor students.”

  “I’ll go next,” I say as I stand.

  “Sit down, Flick,” Mr. Martin orders. And I can see it. He knows Lucas was lying. He went fishing for me and caught a much bigger prize. And he’s not about to throw it back. “Julian, thank you for your assistance. I think this has been a very effective demonstration. So go ahead and run along. Now that we’ve identified our troublemaker, we’ll leave Lucas’s fate in Mr. Mandel’s capable hands.”

  I catch Julian’s eye before he flees. The little shit knows he’s in trouble.

  • • •

  I take a seat across the table from Julian at lunch. I’m going to drown him in the soup he’s slurping. Caleb and Austin won’t get in the way. They know I’ve been saving the tale of their treachery for a day just like this. And the rest of the Wolves would probably sit there and watch. Gwendolyn is the only one who might try to stop me. But for the first time this semester, she’s decided to skip lunch.

  I’m staring at Julian. He’s hunched over his soup, doing his best to avoid meeting my eyes. Everyone senses that something big is about to happen, and the cafeteria remains eerily silent.

  Julian drains the bowl and stands up from the table with his tray in his hands. It’s a perfect opportunity to attack, but there’s still a chance that something might go wrong. I can’t risk ending up in the infirmary or locked away in my room. Maybe tomorrow. But not tonight.

  • • •

  I don’t see Gwendolyn until Hand-to-Hand Combat.

  “Where have you been all day?” I demand.

  “Hello to you too.” She rises up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on my cheek. “I’ve been helping Mr. Mandel. He’s choosing new students for next semester, and he wanted my advice.”

  “Aubrey’s gone,” I say.

  “I heard she was expelled.” Gwendolyn takes my hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry. I really did try my best. But there’s only so much the Dux can do.” I can’t decide if she knows. I press my thumb against her wrist. The pulse I detect is slow and steady.

  “Did Mandel tell you that Aubrey would be leaving the other night? Is that why you took me to the party?”

  Gwendolyn sticks out her bottom lip. Have I hurt her feelings? I wish I knew. “What are you asking me? I thought we were a team, Flick.”

  She didn’t say no. Why didn’t she just say no? “Tell Mandel I want to speak to him.”

  “About what?”

  “It’s personal,” I say.

  The Gwendolyn I know would never accept that as an answer. But this Gwendolyn doesn’t seem curious at all. “Mr. Mandel left to meet with a candidate,” she informs me. “He said he’d be back in the morning. Do you think you can wait? Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “If you got permission to leave the academy tonight, would they let you take a guest?” It’s a long shot, but she once helped Aubrey for me. Maybe she’ll agree to help Lucas too.

  “Not without Mr. Mandel’s approval, and he’s already gone for the day. There’s no way that the two of us can leave tonight.” The instructor interrupts us. It’s time for Gwendolyn to take a turn on the mat. “How about tomorrow?” she asks. Before she faces her sparring partner, she blows me a kiss.

  “If there is one,” I mutter.

  • • •


  I have no choice. I can’t live knowing that another person died trying to save me. After I left Joi behind, I thought I was willing to do anything. But I’m not. The proof of my dad’s crime isn’t worth Lucas’s life. They’ll be coming for him tonight. I saw it written on the face Mr. Martin hides beneath that backslapper mask of his. The triumph. The sadistic glee. He knew he’d just sentenced an enemy to death.

  I should have come clean before they strapped Lucas to the lie detector. Then I should have taken my punishment. Mandel can’t show me any favors, but I don’t think he’d let anyone kill me. Not yet, anyway. But I wouldn’t risk finding out, and now a better person may die. Because Lucas is convinced that I’m not like the others. And he’s right. What he doesn’t know is that he just traded his life to spare a crackpot who cries in his sleep and talks to Peter Pan.

  If I were Lucas, I don’t think I could eat. But I see him head down to dinner just after seven. It might be his last supper, so I hope it’s good. As soon as the eighth-floor balcony is student-free, I slip into Lucas’s room and hide myself in the closet. Two hours pass, but I never lose my nerve. I feel like the gods have finally granted my wish. It’s like I’ve traveled back in time to the moment I decided to leave for Georgia. Now I can fix my mistake. I can do the right thing. I can save Jude.

  A minute before curfew, I emerge, just in time to see Lucas enter the room.

  “What were you doing in there?” he yelps. “I looked for you at dinner, and I’ve been waiting on the balcony for over an hour. I wanted to say goodbye.”

  “You’re not going anywhere without me,” I tell him.

  Lucas catches on quickly. “Get the f— out of my room,” he orders.

  “Make me.” He knows he can’t. I could snap his scrawny body in half.

  “Come on, Flick,” he pleads. “Curfew is less than a minute away.”

  “We’re going to have a little slumber party,” I tell him. “You said they came for Aubrey after curfew. I’m going to be here with you when they arrive.”

  “I knew what I was doing! I don’t want your help!” I have to read his lips for the next part. You’re here for a reason.

  “You don’t know what reason that is!” I shout. “Mandel needs me. I might be able to protect you.”

  “No,” Lucas says. “You can’t help me. Please—go before it’s too late.”

  “It’s already too late,” I say, pointing to the ceiling. “They heard everything we just said.”

  Lucas grabs a notebook off his desk, rips out a page, and scribbles a message. His hand is shaking so badly that I can barely read what he’s written.

  If you get out of here without becoming one of them, you can take the whole place down.

  “You’re the only one who can do it,” he whispers.

  I barely have time to absorb the thought. Every door on the seventh, eighth, and ninth floors slides shut. We can hear the rest lock. But Lucas’s door doesn’t bolt. It’s the most terrifying silence I’ve ever heard.

  “No, we’re going to do it together,” I tell him. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  It’s pitch black on the balcony. We trace our hands along the wall until we reach the elevators. I press the call buttons, but nothing happens. The elevators have been shut down for the night. Our easiest escape route has been cut off. But it also means we’re safe for the moment. No one can reach the dorms until the power’s back on.

  “We’ll make a rope out of your sheets and drop down through the atrium,” I whisper.

  “How are we going to make a rope that’s eight stories long?!”

  “I thought you were supposed to be smart. The rope doesn’t need to reach the whole way. We just have to make it two stories long. Then we can loop it over the railing, twist the two ends together, and go down one floor at a time.”

  We slink back to Lucas’s room. It takes forever to rip up the sheets. But we work well together, the way Jude and I always did. Lucas and I can read each other’s gestures. We don’t need to speak.

  The rope is finally done. When we see that it might actually work, I almost forget what it’s for. I’m suddenly overcome by a wave of happiness. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything like this. For a second, I even understand why Joi does what she does. Most of her urchins may disappear, but there’s always the hope that a few will survive. And hope is the drug that helps us forget that the odds are always against us.

  The alarm clock says it’s 3:00 a.m. There’s no sign of anyone downstairs. I turn off the light in Lucas’s room and start tying our rope to the balcony railing. We might just make it out of here after all.

  “Wait—what should we do about the tracking chips?” Lucas whispers.

  I’m glad it’s dark. He can’t see my face. He doesn’t know that I was so drunk on hope that I forgot all about them. “We’ll go to a hospital. Have them cut out.”

  “You really think that’ll work?” He sounds skeptical.

  “Look, I’ll amputate my own arm if I have to.” I mean it. Every word.

  “Hey, Flick?” Lucas says. “Do you still have my note?”

  I must have shoved it into my pocket. “Yeah.”

  “Before we go anywhere, I want you to eat it.”

  I’ve just swallowed the last bit when two doors on opposite sides of the eighth floor slide open. Flashlight beams dance in the darkness. I grab our rope off the balcony, and Lucas and I duck back into his room.

  “Are those students?” I ask. “How did they get out?”

  “Oh shit,” Lucas gasps. “Hide. Hide now!”

  “Why? It’s just a couple of kids.”

  “They’re not kids,” Lucas says. “They’re Wolves.”

  I have time for one regret before Lucas’s room is flooded with light. If only I’d left the rope behind on the railing. They might have thought we’d made our escape.

  “Well, well, what do we have here?” Caleb and Ivan enter and close the door behind them. Ivan is both confused and elated, as if we’ve thrown him a surprise birthday party. Caleb still looks bored. “I think we’ve interrupted a little boy-on-boy action. I do hope that’s what this is, Flick. Anything else could prove very embarrassing.”

  “What are you doing?” I demand.

  “Just culling the herd,” Caleb says with an exaggerated yawn. “Ivan’s going to perform the manual labor. I’m here to supervise. It’s one of the perks of being a human resources major.”

  They’ve been sent to kill Lucas.

  “If you take the pansy,” I tell Lucas, “I can handle the ape.”

  I’ve barely taken a step when I suddenly discover I’m falling. I hit the ground, unable to move. My muscles are rigid, and the only thing I feel is an unpleasant buzzing. I’ve been Tasered. Lucas shouts once before he joins me on the floor.

  “Let’s get them both into the bathroom,” Caleb orders.

  “Can we kill Flick too?” Ivan asks.

  Caleb sighs. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. We aren’t authorized to deviate from the plan. But we’ll let Flick see what’s in store for him, and then if we’re lucky, we’ll get the order tomorrow.”

  They prop me up against the wall. Caleb sits on the toilet. Ivan dumps Lucas’s body in the bathtub. He pulls on a pair of latex gloves, twists the cold water tap, and then takes a saltshaker from his pants pocket. It’s the same kind they use in the cafeteria. He pours the salt into the sink basin and places the empty glass shaker on the floor before crushing it under the heel of his shoe. Then he bends down and sorts through the shards of glass until he finds one that suits his needs.

  They’re going to make it look like another suicide. But they can’t use a razor blade or a knife. None of us are supposed to have access to anything sharp. A piece of glass is the only thing Lucas could realistically use to slash his own wrists.

  I am screaming and thrashing inside my head. But I must look a lot like Lucas. Limp. Helpless. The only thing moving are his eyes.

  As soon as the tub has
filled, Ivan kneels beside it. He pulls Lucas’s arms out of the bath and pushes up the boy’s sleeves. His movements are so precise that they almost seem gentle. When both of Lucas’s wrists are exposed, Ivan chooses one and draws a long, red line with the sharpest edge of the glass. The cut doesn’t seem deep enough to do any harm. But when he drops Lucas’s limp arm into the bath, a brilliant red flower blooms beneath the water’s surface. I watch Lucas’s eyes as the second incision is made. For almost a minute I can see only the whites. When his irises finally reappear, I can tell that Lucas is gone.

  Ivan drops the shard of glass into the bath. There’s not a speck of blood on him.

  “Nice work,” says Caleb.

  “Will they believe he did it himself?”

  “Doesn’t really matter,” Caleb says. “It’s all just for show.”

  Ivan grunts. “What about him?” he asks, prodding my thigh with the tip of his shoe.

  “I should give him another zap,” Caleb says. “We need to make sure he’ll still be here in the morning.”

  Before he hits me with second jolt of electricity, Caleb squats down. This must be how it feels to come face-to-face with a serial killer. There’s no mercy. No trace of a soul. I should have realized that the Wolves all share the same empty eyes.

  “I can’t wait to see if you manage to talk your way out of this little dilemma,” Caleb says.

  I don’t feel the zap. I just disappear.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  * * *

  THE HYBRID EXPERIMENT

  I must be dead. I’m in a morgue. The first thing I see is the wall of metal drawers where they store all the corpses. I try to roll my head to the right, but a sharp, searing pain prevents me. I look to the left instead. Lucas is lying on an autopsy table. The blood has been drained from his body, and he’s perfectly white. I return my gaze to the ceiling. I won’t examine my own body. I don’t want to know what they’ve done.

  I hear footsteps approaching. Peter Pan has come for me. I’m finally ready to go.

  “Hello, Flick.” Mandel’s boyish face appears above me. He’s wearing a lab coat. I won’t be leaving for Never Land. I’ve been sentenced to hell instead. “You should be able to sit up by now. Here. Let me give you a hand.”