Academic Assassins

by Clay McLeod Chapman

  Again. Just like Merridew had probably planned all along.

  “See?” Merridew asked with a smile. “You are all mine, Spencer.” She looked to Grayson and instructed, “Take Mr. Pendleton back to his habitation pod so he can reflect on how he can earn back the privilege of visiting with his family.”

  All the other parents glanced away from their own booths as Mom soundlessly struggled to stay. Her face had grown beet red. The guard clutched her shoulder and escorted her out from the visiting room. I watched her phone, still dangling by its cord, as it swung back and forth like the arm on a grandfather clock—ticktock, ticktock, ticktock….

  One thing was for certain. I couldn’t count on anybody getting me out of here. My parents couldn’t save me from this place. Mom couldn’t save me.

  I had to save myself.

  And if Merridew wasn’t going to play fair, neither would I.

  This means war.

  Here’s how gardening detail worked, as far as I could tell:

  1. Worker ants tended to Merridew’s prized flowers. Planted them. Watered them with their blood, sweat, and tears. Then sorted them into bouquets.

  2. Merridew sold our flower assortments to a local funeral home for some trumped-up price. Our get-well bouquets went to a nearby hospital.

  3. Whatever money we earned went right into Kesey’s coffers and we ants never saw a single cent.

  This was slavery. Hands down.

  Just like in an ant colony, the drones broke their backs for their queen, keeping the Kesey machine running with the toil of its residents.

  Let’s put a wrench in the works, shall we?

  I was surrounded by a boundless amount of barbed wire. From a distance, the two-sided blades of concertina wire perched on the fence looked like a horde of butterflies—each with wings that could fillet your flesh with a single flap.

  The blood-red sea of Merridew’s prized poinsettias reached as far as the security fence. A breeze blew through the garden, rustling the endless stretch of petals as if its crimson waters were boiling over.

  I was going to hit Merridew where it hurt.

  Her flowers.

  The Men in White barely paid attention to the dozen kids working in the field. They kept to the shade, leaning against the side of the building. If an ant started to act up, they would barely move a finger.

  Actually—that’s all they had to do. One unseemly peep from us and out came their C.R.U.s, and with a simple press of the button—Zzzst!

  Refried ants.

  Walking along the poinsettia patch, I made sure not to step on any of the ants kneeling about the garden. Most had scratched “MIMI” into the collars around their necks, so there’d be no mistaking which tribe these pigtailed goons belonged to….

  THE SCREAMING MIMIS

  MEMBERS: 12

  MODUS OPERANDI:

  The Screaming Mimis was an all-girl cult that worshipped the beloved character from Merridew’s ever-popular children’s book series. With nothing else to read at Kesey, Mimi became their mascot. They took their devotion for the clumsy mutt to an all-time high. Or low. Depending on how you looked at it. This rabid fan base followed the saccharine fables as if they were law, misinterpreting the morals of the story.

  Mimis believed that they were the spiritual descendants of the adorable dog. They administered the lessons taught in Mimi’s books with excessive force:

  Be kind to other people—or else get a fist in the face.

  Practice random acts of kindness—or suffer random acts of violence.

  Don’t kick a man when he is down—punch him while he’s up.

  DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS:

  The Mimis’ key distinguishing characteristic was their pigtails. Merridew felt partial to the Mimis and their worshipful reverence to her books, so she threw them a bone. Unlike the rest of us ants, the Mimis were allowed to keep their hair. Not fair. They were permitted to tie it up in a pair of pigtails high up on their head—much like Mimi’s floppy labradoodle ears.

  MOTTO: “What would Mimi do?”

  I spotted Sully by herself, kneeling before an open gulch in the soil. Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing her biceps. I zeroed in on the sliver of raised skin on her shoulder. Her scar; the shallow residue of the mark of the Tribe—a stick figure raising a spear over its head. She slyly slipped something into the ground when she thought nobody was watching. It shimmered in the sunlight, like plastic. She slid a poinsettia over the mystery item and shoveled topsoil over to conceal it.

  I took a step forward, and my shadow suddenly eclipsed her own. When she realized she wasn’t alone, her spine straightened.

  “You a narc now?” Sully asked as she stood.

  “I’m just looking to get my green thumb on.” I scanned the flowerbeds. “Why? You gonna shoot me with your slingshot?”

  “Don’t be such a drama queen,” she said. Then, almost as an apology, she added, “That little blow up in the visitors’ room sure must’ve stung. You okay?”

  “You heard about that?”

  “Word gets around.”

  “Merridew won that round, but this war’s just getting started.”

  “At the rate you’re going,” Sully shook her head, “you’re not gonna last a week here.”

  “Better place your bets now before it’s too late.”

  “Who says I haven’t?”

  “You’re actually betting on how long I’ll survive?” I asked.

  Sully shrugged. “Got to pass the time somehow. Don’t take it so personally.”

  “What a resounding vote of confidence.”

  “Just try and last two more days for me,” she said. “I’ll win three boxes of Girl Scout Cookies if you live ’til Tuesday.”

  Her eyes. The sun overhead cast its rays across her face, bringing out the green in her eyes. Every last freckle along the bridge of her nose brightened.

  Something in my chest cracked. My throat lumped up. I couldn’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around Sully and squeezing her as hard as I could.

  “I missed you so much….”

  Sully didn’t hug back.

  “#347678,” an orderly shouted from the shade. “Release the resident.”

  “You can’t let anyone see you like this,” Sully whispered. “These punks will eat you alive.” She pulled out of my grip, fixating on the soil. “Stay strong, okay?”

  Sully peered over her shoulder, looking to see if the Men in White were still eavesdropping on us. Coast was clear. “Keep a secret?”

  I nodded—Your secret’s safe with me.

  Sully tilted her head as an invitation for me to kneel next to her. Her fingers pierced the upturned earth, breaking open the ground she had just finished filling.

  “Tell anyone about this and I’ll kill you,” she said.

  “Quit flirting with me.”

  “Shut up.” Sully rolled her eyes as she uprooted a ziplock baggie. Shaking bits of dirt off the clear plastic, the contents slowly came into focus.

  Candy bars.

  “Not bad,” I said. “Keep your contraband under the poinsettias where the Men in White won’t look.”

  “I’ve got a connection to the outside. Anything you need, just come to me. Candy, razors, office supplies….I’m your guy.”

  I thought about it. “There is one thing….I’m looking for a book.”

  “Does this book have a title?” she asked.

  I leaned over and whispered into her ear.

  Sully pulled back and held my eyes for a second before shaking her head. “A book like that could land you in the Black Hole.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  Sully’s attention drifted over my shoulder, only for her face to blanch.

  “What is it?” I asked, glancing behind me.

  “The Men in White.”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re…gone.”

  Sure enough, the orderlies were no longer lounging in the shade.

  All
quiet on the gardening front.

  That couldn’t be good.

  Sully sprung to her feet and surveyed the scene. Our fellow ants continued to weed on their knees.

  One Mimi glanced at me. As soon as we made eye contact, she dropped her gaze and went back to weeding, pigtails flapping at her ears.

  I suddenly noticed another Mimi had crept up on us, and was now crouched not three yards away. She glared at me while rummaging through the soil, as if she were searching for buried treasure.

  “Mimi always says—‘Sharing is caring,’” she muttered once she knew I was on to her. She brought her hands up, holding up a clump of poinsettias.

  “How generous of Mimi,” I answered back.

  A glint of metal shimmered from among the cover of blood-red flowers. Something was concealed inside.

  What is…?

  The Mimi aimed her bouquet at me. The red and green foliage fell away to reveal a homemade crossbow hidden within. The barrel was a bundle of pencils bound together by duct tape, while the bow was a ruler held back by a rubber band.

  And it was loaded. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I would’ve said there was a nail aimed my way….

  “Mimi always says—‘Don’t forget to stop and smell the flowers.’”

  “Does Mimi have anything to say about loving your fellow puppy?”

  I had to ask.

  “Not when it comes to dogs like you,” she shot back as the gang of Screaming Mimis tightened their circle around Sully and me. We were surrounded—five of them, all armed, their weapons hidden within their deadly bouquets. One held a handmade mace made from a sawed-off baseball bat. She swung it, petals scattering through the air, revealing a blossom of crooked nails poking out from the club.

  “You’re about to break a pretty long-standing truce between our tribes,” Sully snarled. “Sure you wanna shake things up with the She-Wolves?”

  The lead Mimi nodded. “This isn’t between the Mimis and the Wolves. It’s about him. Unless you’re gonna tell us this mongrel is one of yours….”

  I glanced at another bouquet and could have sworn I saw the slender blade of a sword fashioned from a metal chair leg, poking out from the poinsettias.

  “Pretty bold move,” I said, my eyes still on the blade. “Try explaining this to Merridew when she catches you.”

  “Who do you think put out the order in the first place?” the lead Mimi asked. “Merridew says she’ll chisel off a month from our sentences if we wear you down.”

  Merridew was behind this? She must really think I’m a threat if she’s giving me this much attention.

  “Merridew’s dangling a deal over your head like a doggie treat?” I asked. “Fat chance.”

  The lead Mimi kept her crossbow aimed at me. “She just wants us to have a little fun with you, is all.”

  “You call this fun? Looks more like murder to me….”

  “Gotta break you in somehow.”

  Sully pressed her hand against my chest. “Stay behind me,” she said. “This is going to get ugly.”

  I pushed her arm away. “You said you were gonna stop protecting me.”

  “Old habits die hard.”

  “I never asked for your help.”

  “Yeah, well—you keep needing it!”

  “We’re in this together,” I insisted, “so let’s get out of it together.”

  “Suit yourself.” Staring down the lead Mimi, Sully quoted White Fang with a gravel-in-the-throat growl—“So near did the wolves approach, that the dogs became frantic with terror!”

  Ever see a wolf fight a dog?

  I have. Not a pretty sight.

  Sully broke off before I could stop her, tackling the lead Mimi. The two rolled over each other, crushing a whole row of poinsettias as they went.

  That left four Mimis and me. “Thanks a lot, Sully….”

  The armed quartet charged, brandishing their bouquets. The first Mimi to reach me raised her mace over her head, ready to bring it back down and dash my brains out. I rolled onto my back and brought my knees to my chest, keeping my feet between us. As she barreled down on me, I pumped my legs. The heels of my shoes pressed against her chest and I sent her over in a flailing backflip.

  The next Mimi didn’t wait for me to climb back on my feet before jabbing her sword at my face. I rolled over the flower patch just in time to miss getting sliced and diced. Her blade plunged into the soil inches away from my ear.

  “Is this really what Mimi would do?” I shouted. “What about a belly rub or a scratch behind the ears or something? Let’s not go overboard here.”

  She wasn’t hearing it. “Mimi always says—‘If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything ever again.’”

  The Mimi hovering over top of me reeled her arm back—then suddenly let out a scream as her neck abruptly cricked back.

  Sully had gripped her pigtails, yanking like they were the reins on a horse.

  “I warned you,” Sully snarled as she grabbed the homemade sword out from the Mimi’s hand. Still holding onto her right pigtail—shwing!—Sully sliced it off with one swing.

  The Mimi quickly flopped over face-first onto the ground next to me. She patted at the side of her head where her pigtail had been. Nothing but a few wisps of hair flickered in the wind, like sprigs of wheat.

  Sully turned to the remaining Mimis, sword in one hand, pigtail in the other. “Tell the other tribes this is what happens when you mess with the She-Wolves.”

  The remaining Mimis stepped back. I could tell they were afraid of Sully.

  To be totally honest, so was I.

  “GO!” Sully threw the pigtail at them and all five Mimis dropped their bouquets and ran off yipping. She turned back to me, still on the ground. “You okay?”

  “I totally had that covered.”

  She held out her hand, which I took, hoisting me up easily. “Sure you did.”

  “What’s with the civil war?” I asked.

  “Just another day at the office.” She threw the homemade sword away, vanishing in the poinsettia patch.

  “This place is insane, Sully….You can’t be enjoying this.”

  “Home sweet home.”

  Sully took a step toward the building, but I grabbed her by the wrist. “This isn’t your home,” I insisted. “Merridew wants you to believe that, but it’s not.”

  “You really think I should be free?” she asked. “Out there, in the real world?”

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact—I do.”

  “Look at me.” She shook her head. “I belong here. You belong here. We all do.”

  Sully tried to pull her arm out from my grip, but I held on.

  “Break out with me,” I pleaded. “We can go home. Your real home.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Out there. With your family.”

  Sully only stared. There was a slight sadness around the corners of her eyes. Sad for me—or for herself—I couldn’t tell. “For the first time,” she said, “I feel like I belong somewhere. I’m in charge. I’ve got my own tribe. I have people who care about me—and I care for them. I’ve got a family—in there.”

  She pulled free from my grip.

  “Try it some time,” she said as she walked away from me. “You’d be surprised how good it feels to care for someone other than yourself.”

  I watched her disappear into the building. She didn’t glance back. Not once.

  Alone, I turned around to face the surrounding flowers.

  Merridew’s poinsettias bristled in the wind. A beautiful feast of crimson.

  I had some weeding to do.

  This revolution will not be fertilized….

  Merridew’s Gerbera daisies had been mysteriously replanted into a tribal flowerbed. The orange and white flowers now formed a stick figure raising a spear over its head, encircled by a blood-red ring of poinsettias. The vibrant icon greeted Kesey’s incoming guests as they entered the building for the afternoon—abandon all hope ye teens who enter here
—before it was finally brought to Merridew’s attention.

  I wish I could have been there. Just to see the look on her face.

  I’m sure she loved it.

  “Years, Mr. Pendleton,” Merridew hissed. “A countless number of years have gone into cultivating that garden. Tireless work—all gone, thanks to you!”

  “If by ‘work’ you mean forcing us ants into slaving over your flowers,” I said, “then, yeah, I guess I can see how that might sting a little….”

  I had gotten under her skin. Her brittle, arid skin.

  Merridew wouldn’t show it in the Ant Farm. She couldn’t expose her emotions to the rest of the residents—but here within the wooden confines of her office, I could tell she was starting to crack. She roamed about like a tiger pent up in a cage, pacing back and forth within its tight confines—while I, a sweet fluffy bunny, remained kneeling before her desk, as instructed. Her eyes never left me. Even when she strode behind my back, I could feel the heat from her stare burrowing into my skull. She marched up to me and opened her mouth once, the fissures of her liquid foundation crackling along her cheeks, only to shut it again and walk off fuming.

  “You must be very pleased with yourself,” she said. “I am sure you cannot wait to share your little indiscretion with the rest of your friends.”

  “Which indiscretion are we referring to, exactly?” I asked. “Could you be a little more specific for me, please? I feel like there have been so—”

  Merridew swooped down upon me and dug the steel tip of her high-heeled shoe into the calf muscle of my left leg.

  “Do not play coy with me,” she snarled, the words wet with phlegm. “Do you really think you can undermine me? Me? I have dealt with far worse than your rabble-rousing. Far worse! I have been stabbed, sliced, poked, choked, whittled, and burned a total of twenty-nine times!”

  “Should I be taking notes?” I asked. “If so, I’ll need a penc—”

  Merridew drove her heel deeper into my leg before I could finish.

  “Spine straight,” she shouted. “Arms up!”

  The question mark of my spine straightened into an exclamation point.

  “Forgive me for my outburst.” Merridew cranked up her grandmother thermostat and radiated her mothballed warmth through her smile. She slipped her mask back on. “How rude of me….I should be congratulating you. What a relief it is to finally hear you communicating. Verbal interaction is a definitive indicator of progress.”