Alice in Wonderland High

by Rachel Shane

  “That’s exactly why I want to do this.” She bussed her plate to the kitchen.

  “Why? If they were still alive, you’d be on opposite sides. You’d be the one trying to investigate them!”

  I thought back to a few days before they died, when Mom had barged into my bedroom in the middle of the night. I was in a deep sleep, and I remember thinking for a moment that I was being attacked by ghosts. Mom sank onto my bed and brushed the hair from my face until I sat up. “Alice, I need you to promise me something.”

  “This better not be about waiting until marriage to have sex.” I wasn’t even a teenager yet but I loved getting a reaction out of my parents. It made the good things I did seem even more angelic.

  “If Dad and I . . . ” She tilted her head toward my wall. “If we go away for a while, will you continue for us? With the protests. We need someone we can trust and—”

  “No!”

  The word ripped through the house, but it didn’t come from my lips. Lorina wrenched open the door to my room, arms crossed, the blue streak she used to wear in her hair striking against her light locks. Dad rushed in behind her. She angled her body to speak to both of them. “There’s no way I’m helping. If you get arrested again—that’s it. It has to stop.” She slammed the door on the way out, drowning out my whispered, “I promise,” to my mom.

  Back in the kitchen, Lorina spun the faucet fast and thrust her hands under the water. She looked so different, so grown up, without the blue streak in her hair. “Alice, it’s not like that. They never did stuff that hurt people.”

  I hopped from my seat. “How is this hurting people?”

  She scrubbed her hands vigorously. “It hasn’t yet. But trust me, it will. My boss showed us studies. What’s happening here started the same way as what happened in Neverland, and several people lost their lives during those stunts. If this continues—” Something clanged against the metal of the sink. Her high school–class ring slipped off her finger from the soapy water and skidded down the drain.

  “Damn it!” she cried. I moved to help her, bending underneath the sink to stop the water flow. After I turned the valve, my fingers froze. Damn it. Running water.

  I thought of Whitney’s words to me, the riddle I didn’t understand. “Damn. Once the floodgates open, things will grow.”

  Did she mean dam?

  And suddenly I knew what I had to do to impress her. Too bad it might make me the prime suspect in Lorina’s investigation.

  My head stopped buzzing from the weird green liquid about an hour after dinner a.k.a. dessert—one of the advantages of having a twenty-one-year-old for a guardian. When the clock blinked a set of numbers I usually only saw during the school day, I paused at the doorway, listening. The silence was eerie at night, each tiny creak of the house settling magnified, ominous enough for a horror movie. I tiptoed down the hallway so quietly, even ghosts would be envious.

  It took forever to get down the stairs, and I readied an excuse just in case. I was still hungry from my lack of dinner. That would play into her guilt. But of course it wouldn’t explain going through her workbag.

  The zipper sounded louder than my morning alarm. I cringed, shaky fingers hovering over the contents.

  I dragged all the documents out of the bag and placed them flat on the entryway table. They were reports but not the kind that appear in the newspaper police blotter. These were photocopied versions that had originally been written longhand on ruled paper. Antiquated in the technology age, but that was probably the point. Paper trails could be destroyed with a quick flip of a lighter or a trip to the paper shredder. Computer files were backed up and archived, making it difficult to get rid of all traces.

  I flipped through the pages, skimming the headlines. Several documents had similar headings like Warehouse vandalized or Parking lot vandalized. But then there were others: Grocery store robbed, Supermarket defaced, Water tainted. There was a giant, stapled packet labeled Greenhouse incident that seemed important.

  I went back to the document about the warehouse. I figured that would be the easiest way to check if Lorina was investigating Whitney and Chess.

  Warehouse covered with plants and flowers . . .

  The metronome of my pulse shifted from whole to eighth notes. I had to set the paper down because it suddenly became too heavy to hold.

  A few deep breaths gave me the courage to try again. Who needed pep talks when you were committing robbery?

  The parking-lot incidents were nearly identical. I shuffled those pages to the back and pulled up the grocery-store stuff. This one looked different, only because it contained a single sentence.

  Reports of missing produce inventory—no connection yet, but keep eye out.

  I flipped the page . . . all Shoptown food chains in a twenty-mile radius were covered with feathers.

  A giggle burst out of my mouth, betraying my oath of silence. I clapped a cold palm over my face, accidentally knocking the papers off the table in the process. They fluttered to the ground.

  The curse word I wanted to say waited in my throat ineffectively. I squatted down and shuffled the papers into a pile in random order.

  Lorina’s door creaked open.

  I froze, body rigid, and then survival mode kicked in. The papers were all turned every which way; I couldn’t put them in her bag like this. I slapped the edge of the pile against the table a few times until the pages settled into a single direction just as the footsteps started in the upstairs hallway. I didn’t have time to zip the bag, so I left it and dashed with the grace of an elephant into the kitchen.

  I thrust open the fridge right as Lorina appeared in the doorway, squinting. “I thought I heard something.”

  I pointed to the undeniable evidence of the fridge. “I got hungry.”

  She nodded. “Me too.”

  My brain was too busy trying to sort out what I’d read to make idle conversation, so I stuffed a cake in my mouth followed immediately by another one before I’d even finished chewing. Lorina grabbed a few cookies from the cabinet and walked with me back upstairs, forcing me to leave her open bag and unread files behind. Besides, I’d come to a decision and the other files probably wouldn’t sway me anyway.

  I wanted to be part of Whitney’s group, whatever it entailed. Committing to this, I nudged my laptop awake on my desk. A few keystrokes later, a new email window popped open. I rifled through the school address book until I found her email address.

  My fingers paused on the keys. I was about to type a long explanation of my plans, but something felt off about that. Like maybe I shouldn’t leave behind such an obvious trail of evidence.

  Whitney embraced spontaneity and mystery; I would, too. Tomorrow, was all I wrote. I hit send before I could second-guess myself. Buffalo stampeded into my stomach. I had to do this. No time for planning, no backing out.

  CHAPTER 6

  The next morning, I left for school before the sun started its daily routine. I wore ugly, yellow rain boots and the jeans I’d accidentally changed the color of from blue to spotted brown with my klutziness—seriously, drinking and driving should be illegal with all beverages, including coffee. Only an oversized men’s flannel shirt could make my outfit sexier.

  Behind the school, the air smelled like wet towel, and my hair frizzed in a direct betrayal of my blow dryer. I amped my pace, determined to get this part over with before any teachers arrived. My yellow boots and terrible fashion sense wouldn’t keep me incognito for long.

  And the only thing I could be sure of about Whitney’s group was that they operated in secret.

  The creek ran parallel to the back of the school, only a few feet separating them. The creek held only about an inch of murky, brown water instead of the five-or-so feet it had the capacity for. A vast field of dead grass stretched beyond it, sucked dry without water. The weather seemed to be conspiring with the township to keep our town from producing crops. Rain at this time of year was rare, and when it showed up, it was underwhelming. Toda
y’s forecast called for disappointment and sporadic mist.

  Hoisting the backpack over my shoulder, I followed the creek in the direction of the lake that sat a few hundred feet away. My flashlight beamed a circle of light along my path, and the heavy flirting of crickets kept me company.

  A snapped branch in the woods drew my attention. I squinted into the distance but only spotted trees swaying in the growing wind. I shook my head and forced myself to keep going. Stop being paranoid.

  Several hundred feet along the creek, the sound of rushing water made my ears perk up. Large rocks, piled higher than my head, blocked the flow of the water. But that was no surprise; there were some dollhouses taller than me. Twigs and dead leaves stuck out between the rocks, water seeping through the crevasses. It looked massive, but I hoped I could redirect at least a trickle of water back to the field.

  After I set my bag down, I stepped into the creek and braced one hand on the dam. The rocks wobbled beneath my fingers. I smiled. “Easy peasy, mac and cheesy.”

  One by one, I lifted the rocks and heaved them into the forest. Birds fluttered their wings in response. I wiped sweat from my brow, probably leaving a giant streak of dirt behind. Excellent. I’d neglected to put on makeup this morning and the dirt really completed my outfit.

  If only my parents could see me now. They might even be proud.

  Rain dripped from fat, gray clouds—sporadic at first, but then coming faster and more fervently. My windshield-wiper eyelids couldn’t clear my vision fast enough, but it was too late to stop now. The meteorologists had a warped sense of humor if they classified this as mist. I lugged rock after rock, each one growing heavier in my tired arms. Mild chatter from the students hanging out near the side of the school marked an hourglass of time running out.

  I slid my shaky fingers beneath another average-size rock and couldn’t budge it. My hands felt useless, like decorative bathroom soap, there only for show. Tears broke through and streamed down my face. I sagged, breathing hard.

  This was stupid. Crying wouldn’t move the rocks, and giving up definitely wouldn’t. Picturing Chess’s impressed smile if I completed their test, I lunged for another rock. My muscles screamed, and the ache triggered another stream of tears. I yanked with all my strength, freeing the rock. Several more teetered. I hopped back farther into the creek right before all the rocks tumbled to the ground in a desperate escape from their tight-knit clique. I sympathized with their bid for freedom from the status quo.

  The water shot out at me, and I lost my balance, falling on my butt into the mud. I didn’t have time to react—the water pulled me under and covered my head. Goodbye, feet, I thought when the water swallowed them. My first instinct wasn’t survival—it was embarrassment.

  How lame would it be to drown in a five-foot creek?

  My head burst through the surface and my lungs gulped oxygen. I grabbed a nearby branch, but the current protested, pushing against me. One finger slipped, then another. I gave in, flipping onto my back and floating down the creek, in control now that I wasn’t panicking.

  The scenery blurred by, trees becoming streaks of green. Then I saw the school rushing at me like a car accident I couldn’t swerve away from. The water had overflowed the banks and was rising up the side of the building. Something liquid this way comes.

  “Oh my God! Someone fell in!” a voice yelled.

  “Anyone a lifeguard?”

  I reached for the edge of the creek and tried to pull myself up, but the current was too strong. I kept slipping. So I raised my arms in the air and did my best drowning-victim impression.

  “Move over, lametards.” Whitney sloshed through the flooded grass to reach me.

  Her hand gripped my wrist. The water pooled around her ankles. She tugged so hard, I thought she might take my arm and leave the rest of my body. That would certainly put an end to my environmental endeavors. And my homework, except for French oral pronunciation. Soon both of us crashed into the shallow water covering the grass, panting.

  Yet, I couldn’t help smiling. The grass was wet, wasn’t it?

  “Nice outfit,” Whitney said, releasing my wrist and hopping to her feet. Her black leggings hid the water stains.

  “Thanks.” I stood up and crossed one ankle over the other, concealing my boots as best I could to prevent them from drawing any more attention. “I mean, for saving me.”

  I wiped water away from my eyes and scanned around for my bag. Crap. I’d have to double back to the dam once the commotion was over. A crowd of students watched us, umbrellas shielding them. Thank God I’d left the boring white T-shirt at home and opted for something colorful. “This is not a museum attraction.” Whitney gave the crowd a dirty look.

  Most scattered, heading for the entrance, while a few lingered, pulling out cell phones and turning into amateur paparazzi.

  “So, what? Figured it was a good time to practice your crawl stroke?” Whitney forked her fingers through her straggly hair.

  “No, I was auditioning to become a lifeguard. I think I failed.” My teeth chattered and goosebumps embossed my skin. I rubbed my shoulders.

  “Really, because I think you had a different agenda,” a male voice said. I turned around to find Kingston stepping toward me, the forest behind him as though he’d come from the opposite direction of the school. He carried an umbrella, but his jeans were soaked through, like he’d been standing outside for a while. His bright-yellow rain hat matched my boots. Well, if Di had an outfit twin, I guess I could have one, too. “Wasn’t necessary with the weather forecast, huh?”

  “Perfect cover?” I tried.

  “Maybe if you didn’t almost get caught.”

  “I’ll get better next time, I promise.” I directed my words at Whitney.

  “There won’t be a next time.” For emphasis, Kingston tapped on his watch. “It’s broken, remember? No time but right now.”

  “Let me just observe or something.” Beggars couldn’t be choosers, but they could still be beggars. “Or send me on another mission! I don’t care what or where—”

  “If you don’t care where, then it doesn’t matter which way you go.” Kingston kicked his leg, spraying water at me. “And my advice is to go whichever way we’re not.” He pointed in one direction with one arm and the other direction with the other arm, then switched them so his arms folded awkwardly. “What are you waiting for? You’re sure to get somewhere if you walk long enough.”

  “I want to go with you guys,” I said in a small voice.

  Whitney studied me for a moment. “The keeper of secrets will never leave the trail.”

  “No, Whit.” Kingston shook his head.

  “What does that mean?” I asked Whitney, knowing she wouldn’t actually tell me.

  “It means a few things.” She left it at that.

  Kingston’s head shaking grew more frantic. “It’s a terrible idea.”

  “What is?” I eyed Kingston. Whitney might not tell me, but I hadn’t yet tested him.

  “It,” he replied with an eye roll. “You do know what it means?”

  “I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”

  “What, did you cheat your way through English class?”

  Oh, he meant that it, as in the pronoun. Well, at least I cleared up that confusion. “I wish I could just prove my—”

  Kingston reached into his pocket and tossed a handful of pennies at me. They ricocheted off my wet clothes. “Here, wish on them. Find a penny, fuck a penny. Because wishes are useless. Just like you.”

  “What’s going on here?” Our principal sludged through the mud, clapping her hands in warning. Her eyes turned to the new moat surrounding the school. “Which one of you fell in?”

  “Alice did.” Whitney stood up. “The rain must have caused the creek to overflow. I rescued her.”

  I nodded to corroborate her story, grateful that at least we were in this together. Sort of.

  “This is the second time you’re on the front lines of a recent incident.” Principa
l Dodgson studied me with squinted eyes. She seemed sober now. Too bad.

  Kingston snickered and backed away from our little powwow.

  Mr. Hargreaves came running out, his pants dripping water onto the ground. “The English wing is flooding!”

  “Get the students away from it. Send them home!” Principal Dodgson turned to me. “Alice, you go to the nurse and wait there for me.”

  “But I . . . ” needed to go back to the creek. My eyes pleaded with Whitney, but unfortunately my gesture was as difficult to decipher as her riddles.

  Principal Dodgson grabbed my hand. “We don’t want you tripping again, now do we?” I stifled a cringe. Just what I needed after my embarrassing fall, to be seen engaging in a public display of affection with my principal.

  My foot slipped on a muddy area, and Principal Dodgson tightened her grip. When I stood on solid concrete, she let go and watched me take a few teetering steps. After a minute, she rushed off toward the English wing.

  I turned back toward the creek to call out to Whitney, but she and Kingston were already gone.

  In the nurse’s office, I shivered under a cotton blanket and tried to coax my body temperature back up. As each second passed on the clock I grew more and more antsy, practically ripping the paper covering the exam table into shreds with my shifting. Principal Dodgson came back about a half-hour later. Her wet pantsuit clung to her in a way that would never pass the school dress code. “You’re not dry yet.”

  “We have that in common.”

  “Nothing gets you drier than a dry confession.” She shook her finger at me. “You don’t normally hang out behind the school.” She said the words behind the school like they included a one-way ticket to detention. “And this is twice now you’ve been connected to school vandalism.”

  “I swear. Last time I was just trying to make flyers and—”

  “I know you couldn’t have stolen the paper because you were with me at the time.”