by Cody Wagner
“You promise to stop by every day?” Jimmy asked, during a lull in our conversation.
I gestured around. “Look at this place! Of course we do. We should even do game night here, if they’ll let us.”
Jimmy loved the idea and gave us a tour of his new digs. When we returned to the living room, the subject finally came around to the assassination attempt. It wasn’t a long conversation, though, as Jimmy played his usual avoidance game. From my conversation with Wolcott, I got the impression he’d be in serious trouble if he told us anything. It didn’t matter; we knew what was going on. And I was just glad Jimmy was safe.
Yawning, I glanced at the clock. 11:00. I peeked at the door. Wolcott and the soldier were still there, patiently waiting. Although he couldn’t see me, I shot Wolcott a gracious look.
“We should probably go,” Cassie said. “Blaize, you’re not looking good at all.”
I made a face at her, when Jimmy said, “Yeah, you look like diarrhea.”
I wanted to retort, but they were right. Now that the evening was coming to an end, I was feeling worse and worse.
Cassie turned to Jimmy. “And you have a long day tomorrow, what with classes and rehearsal and everything.”
Jimmy hung his head, looking as sad as when we’d first arrived.
Cassie stared at him for a second and gasped. “They’re making you quit the play.”
Jimmy nodded.
I felt my face heat up and, forgetting about the pain, said, “What? They can’t do that! You’ve been working so hard!”
Jimmy threw up his hands but didn’t respond. I turned to Cassie, who was shaking her head so hard, her hair bounced around.
“No,” she said. “I’ll take care of this.” She looked at Jimmy. “You’re going to rehearsal tomorrow.” She said it so forcefully, he couldn’t protest.
I nodded and we all said our goodbyes (Jimmy thanked us for the millionth time). As we made our way out, Jimmy called me. I turned around and went back to him as Cassie waited in the entryway. When I reached him, Jimmy pulled me into a hug. It was awkward, like he’d been planning it, but didn’t know how to engage properly.
“Thanks for . . . you know,” he whispered.
I presumed he meant saving his life, so I muttered, “It was the strep,” and patted his back. He forced a laugh, let go, and retreated to his bedroom.
Wolcott actually thanked us as I stepped out of the room. My hands tingled and I nodded at him. Cassie didn’t react at all. I could see she was preparing herself for the argument about Jimmy’s play. I balled my fists and got ready to jump into the fray with her. Cassie, sensing what I was about to do, whispered, “I can handle this. Go to bed.”
Normally I would have protested, but she was right. Besides, the idea of arguing with Wolcott twice in one night didn’t sound fun. Without waiting around, I muttered something about taking my medicine, and headed back to our dorm.
I admit I was nervous going into the new room alone. It didn’t seem so bad now that we’d talked to Jimmy. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to look at the couch—a sewage moat seemed to have sprung up around it. Covering my eyes, like the couch was my naked grandma, I grabbed my duffel, took one of my pills, and climbed into bed.
Fifteen minutes later, as I was dozing off, the door opened. Cassie walked in, looking very pleased with herself.
“Let me guess. He can do the play.”
She smiled. “Of course he can.”
I shook my head in awe, and immediately fell asleep.
* * * * *
The following morning, Cassie and I woke early to get to Jimmy’s before class. We wanted to be there, waiting, for his first day. I noted that, of course, we’d have to do this while I was sick (damn you, Murphy’s Law), but I said nothing as we got dressed.
When we reached the admissions building, Jimmy was standing outside next to the soldier who’d guarded him last night. Jimmy inched away from him, like he was planning an escape, but the soldier matched him step for step.
“Can’t you just hide in the bushes or something?” Jimmy pleaded as we walked up.
The soldier said nothing, but I swore I saw the tiniest hint of a smile.
Jimmy groaned and said, “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
As we made our way back to the dorm, I could see Jimmy was right about the attention he’d receive. Every student we passed turned to stare. The soldier remained rigid and upright, adding a formal vibe to our group. It was awkward, but we ignored him, chatting about the day.
We had just passed the dorm parking lot and I was saying, “I’m going back to bed,” when Jimmy’s eyes got huge. I followed his gaze and jumped back in shock. Tracey was standing there with a giant suitcase at her feet. From what I heard, she was leaving school and must have been waiting for her parents.
I didn’t know what all happened, but the police were never called and she was never charged with anything. The extent of her punishment for attempted murder? Voluntarily leaving Sanctuary Prep Academy. That did it in my mind: she was definitely brainwashed and the school knew it.
Seeing Tracey shifting nervously back and forth, I could picture Roze saying, “At least we don’t have to see her stupid face anymore.” Curious, I turned to see if Jimmy agreed. He was upset, but not in an angry way. If anything, he looked sad for her, and practically whimpered. I peered at Cassie, who watched my face. It was like a weird staring triangle.
Before anyone could stop him, Jimmy bolted for Tracey. The soldier didn’t see it coming, and took off running after him. Tracey flinched when she saw Jimmy coming and threw her hands up, expecting him to start punching her. Jimmy lurched to a stop in front of her, almost tripping over the suitcase. He stared at her for a second and, in the silence, she burst into tears.
Without a word, Jimmy reached out and hugged her. I gaped at them and turned to Cassie. She watched, completely calm. The soldier’s face relaxed, as if it were perfectly normal for a guy to hug the girl who’d tried to kill him.
Jimmy leaned in and whispered something in her ear. When he pulled away, she actually smiled at him and nodded. Jimmy smiled back, playfully punched her (apparently mimicking Roze), and joined us.
“What did you tell her?” I asked, completely bewildered.
“That she’d better come back next year.”
Eighteen
The Play
After finally getting over stupid strep, the next six weeks flew by in a whirlwind of craziness. I felt like I was being pulled in a hundred directions and struggled just to keep afloat. Our schoolwork was becoming impossible. It seemed like the teachers were out to get us. Mr. Pryor began giving these insane multiple choice tests. The choices would be like ‘A and B but not C’, ‘B only’, ‘A and C’, and so forth. Logical Cassie aced every one, but modestly hid her papers before anyone could see.
The tests were nothing compared to the heightened security around campus. And by security, I mean Jimmy. He stood outside the classroom center every morning, watching people enter. All other entrances were closed, so all students were forced to pass by him and his security guard. He must have been using his . . . power? . . . to tell if anyone else was being brainwashed.
Seeing that made me look at him completely different. This unpopular, nerdy kid could do something that no one else could do. Wolcott and the school were obviously dependent on him, so he must have been rare, maybe one-of-a-kind. How did he get whatever ability he had? And what all could he do? Admittedly, I was a little jealous. At the same time, I felt sorry for him; he shuffled back and forth miserably as he scanned students walking in. As if having a bodyguard weren’t bad enough, the staff flaunted him in front of the entire campus.
That brought on another thought: what happened when he wasn’t around?
I got the answer in gym class my first day back from being sick. As Roze and I walked through the double doors, Adkins stood at attention with a small metal flashlight.
“Ms. Clarke, please put your hands down and open
your eyes.”
“Do what?” she said, crossing her arms.
“Please don’t argue,” Adkins said. His voice rasped from exhaustion. I guessed he’d been questioned by students all day. But I couldn’t blame Roze; this was weird.
“Can you at least tell me what you’re gonna do?” she asked.
“I’m just inspecting your eyes. For signs of a new drug.”
Roze shot me a smug Told you Tracey was on drugs look, put her hands down, and stood still as he shined the light in each of her eyes.
“You’re clear,” he said, motioning me forward.
As Adkins ran me through the same drill, I swear he didn’t pay attention. Whereas he studied Roze’s eyes carefully, he barely looked at mine. I didn’t question him about it, though. Enough weird stuff had happened this week where an eye exam didn’t warrant my freaking out. Not that I believed Adkins’s line about the drug test. If he were telling the truth, what was Jimmy doing at the classroom center? Magically detecting drug users?
Bull.
* * * * *
Outside the weirdness bubble, Cassie, Roze, and I worked furiously to keep our promise to Jimmy. Early every morning, we waited outside the admissions building and walked to breakfast together. I hated having to get up that much earlier, but he appreciated it. Especially with Soldier Boy trailing him everywhere. Then, we waited outside the classroom center and headed back to his room right after classes were over. When it was dinner time, the whole routine started again and we walked him back and forth, finally ending when we said our goodbyes, only to wake up early and start again.
Roze and I also kept to our workout schedule, trying to whip Cassie and Jimmy into shape. We had been going at it almost daily for weeks and were beginning to see improvements. Especially with Cassie. She was one of those people who put everything into whatever she was doing. One night, after she threw up following a particularly grueling run, we had to tell her to slow down. She wouldn’t agree. Maybe because she was busy dry heaving.
Jimmy, on the other hand, typically complained within the first five minutes. Once he got past it, though, he was pretty resilient. I think we had Cassie to thank for that—he didn’t want her to make him look bad. One day, we had them arm wrestle and, when it ended in a draw (Jimmy hee hawed like a donkey as he struggled), he began working harder.
I have to say, Jimmy was definitely more fit. After a month, he proudly announced he’d lost ten pounds. Roze and I rewarded him by scouring the campus for gifts like I did at Christmas. We settled on a sneaker we mounted to a piece of wood, like a smelly exercise trophy.
Despite being so busy, Cassie and I dedicated time to researching Sirens. Even with her help, we still didn’t find any evidence. There was absolutely nothing out there to suggest a Siren existed in real life. I just found the same crap you learn in middle school mythology.
Was it some kind of cover-up?
The idea seemed insane but, after discussing it at length, even Roze admitted there was something weird going on. Especially after Wolcott talked to me again, making sure my original story about Tracey being under control held true.
Unfortunately, Jimmy was our only real source of information, and he refused to divulge anything. Cassie and I tried steering the conversation several times, but he always blew it off or got upset. It sucked that we couldn’t tail him anymore. Living in the admissions building, we never saw if or when he woke up.
All in all, the whole Siren thing was like hitting brick wall after brick wall. A scary brick wall. We had no idea what she was trying to accomplish. Frustrating times a billion.
As April neared, our focus shifted to Jimmy’s play. It shouldn’t have affected us like it did, but he became so nervous, it drove us crazy. He kept insisting on running through his lines with us. Normally, that would have been fun. Well, for Cassie and Roze, that is. The one time I tried, they ended up mimicking me for an hour (“How dare YOU barge in here, demanding ANSWERS.” Apparently, I was good at stressing the wrong words.) The problem was, Jimmy wanted us to read them in a manner called “an Italian.” I didn’t know where the name came from, but it meant reciting the lines as fast as possible. For days, we sat there, blankly speeding through the play. Talk about boring.
A week before the show, Jimmy’s breathing got wilder, like he was constantly on the verge of hyperventilating. He also started having nightmares. One night, he said he dreamed he was naked and forgot all the words. I tried finding the silver lining and told him, “Better naked than wearing a pair of your fish and bubbles underwear.” He didn’t like that very much.
The soldier guarding Jimmy wasn’t having a great time, either. Jimmy was so frenetic with classes, rehearsals, being a one-man scanner, and working out, he was constantly on-the-run. The guard had to follow him everywhere—first to school, then to lunch, then back to school, then to dinner, then off to rehearsal, then to the exercise field, then, finally, back to his apartment.
It was funny watching Jimmy try to talk with the soldier, who pretended he was alone in a cave. After countless questions, Jimmy learned no more than his name (Tanner). Despite his standoffishness, though, Tanner wasn’t put off by Jimmy—or any of us—which made me realize something: he had to know we were all gay. Would a soldier here threaten the privacy of the school? He never expressed anything negative, not even a tiny homophobic scowl.
Just more wierdness at Sanctuary.
* * * * *
The day of the play, Jimmy’s mood worsened, and I worried he might not survive. He bit his tongue twice during breakfast. All through algebra, I saw him mouthing the words of the play over and over. Ms. Meeks asked him a couple questions, but finally gave up when he shrugged and screeched, “No time!” I began to wonder if a kid could have a heart attack from nerves alone.
To make matters far worse, Coach Adkins burst through the door toward the end of class.
“I need to borrow Jimmy, please,” he said.
Without question, Ms. Meeks said, “Of course.”
Wary, I turned to Jimmy, who was shaking his head.
“Not now. Now now. Not now.” He was whispering it over and over, but stood. Before taking a step, though, he threw his arms up and said, “Can’t it wait, please? I have a play tonight.”
Adkins’s eyes softened. “It can’t, I’m sorry.”
Jimmy looked at me, face white as fluorescent milk. He wanted encouragement, but I didn’t know what to say. With thoughts of Sirens and seekers and secret missions racing through my head, I only managed to blurt, “You have plenty of time.”
Jimmy nodded but hung his head and marched out of the room, Tanner following close behind.
“He’s coming back, right?”
We all turned and looked at Darrin, who had stood, arms crossed.
Adkins stopped and spun around in a very military fashion. “We’ll do our best.”
“Your best?” Darrin said, his jaw tight. “Our play opens tonight. He has to be there.”
Again, Adkins said, “We’ll do our best.”
Darrin puffed out his chest. “That’s not good enough. He has to be there.”
I had to admit, I respected Darrin’s guts. I didn’t think I could ever talk to Adkins that way.
Adkins raised an eyebrow and said, “That’s enough, Mr. Winborne. We’ll do our best.”
Darrin sat back down, furious. Luke leaned in and whispered, “Told you you shouldn’t have cast him.”
Darrin shot him a look that said, I’m done with this subject. They didn’t talk to each other during the rest of class.
At lunch, I told Cassie and Roze what happened as soon as we sat down.
“What could they have him doing that’s so important,” Roze said. I couldn’t blame her for being angry. Jimmy was nervous enough as it was. This was the last thing he needed. Couldn’t the teachers have let . . . whatever it was . . . go until tomorrow?
Cassie stood up.
“Where are you going?” I said.
“To find Ji
mmy.”
Roze and I looked at each other and nodded. Cassie was right— maybe we could help.
The three of us went straight to Jimmy’s room first. Of course, that would have been too easy, and he wasn’t there. Still, we knocked a couple times before moving on. And by moving on, I mean Cassie began pressing her ear to the other doors on the hall.
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
“There’s no telling where he is. But if there’s one thing Jimmy is, it’s loud.”
Roze smiled and ran to another door. Groaning, I walked across the hall from Cassie and pressed my ear to the door. Nothing.
Over the next fifteen minutes, we went up and down the halls to every apartment in the building. At one point, I grew impatient and plopped my head against a door with an audible thud. I didn’t think anything of it until the door opened, causing me to fall into the entryway with a yelp. I jumped to my feet and gaped back at Cassie, who covered her mouth with her hands.
“What can I do for you Mr. Trales.” It was Mr. Pryor. I froze and slowly turned to him.
“Yes?” He said. I continued to stare at him, my head completely empty.
Thankfully, before my silence crossed the line into extremely awkward, Cassie stepped in.
“Mr. Pryor, Blaize wanted to talk with you about yesterday’s test.”
“You got the same test as everyone else, Mr. Trales.”
I nodded absently and said, “I think I got question twelve right.”
He squinted at me. “You came here to ask me about question twelve?”
Without waiting for an answer, he led me out, saying, “This can wait until class,” before shutting the door.
“Sorry,” I yelled to nothing, my face blossoming bright pink.
“Nice one,” Roze whispered into my ear.
“Shut up,” I hissed back.
For the rest of lunch, we went outside and circled the building, peeking into every window. It sure beat listening to doors, but Jimmy wasn’t anywhere.
“I don’t think he’s here,” Roze said, exasperated.