Academic Assassins

by Clay McLeod Chapman

  “I’m all about progress,” I said, straining under the tip of her heel.

  “Our priority now is to make sure that we do not backpedal.”

  “Backpedal? I haven’t hopped a bike in months.”

  “For every step forward,” Merridew continued, refusing to lift up her leg, “we run the risk of taking two steps back. That simply will not do. Not at all. So—what I want from you is to hold your arms out at your shoulders. Palms upwards.”

  Bringing my arms up, I felt like a five-year-old playing a game of airplane, coming in for a crash landing. I even made a propeller noise.

  Merridew’s personal collection of classroom encyclopedias was about three generations behind modern times. The world was still flat as far as these dead editions were concerned. Any noteworthy discoveries beyond seventeen seventy-six just didn’t exist.

  But it wasn’t the information inside that mattered to her.

  Oh, no—it was their weight.

  Merridew picked up a pair of encyclopedias, as thick as telephone books.

  A through D in my left hand.

  E through H in my right.

  “Though your body is the property of the Kesey Reclamation Center,” she said, “your mind belongs to me, Mr. Pendleton.”

  The burn began in my armpits.

  “Somewhere inside you is a dutiful student, and it is my intention to bring him out….”

  The pain sank into the bulb of my shoulder bone. The humeral head began to grind against the glenoid, seething with a sting that seeped into the muscle tissue.

  “Much like Michelangelo found the form of David within a block of marble, it is my duty to carve that model citizen out from within you….”

  I tried to read the encyclopedia with my skin, perfecting some form of educational osmosis. I’m left-handed, so I could skim quicker on this side.

  Aardvarks.

  Africa.

  Antelopes.

  What was my right hand learning?

  E. coli.

  Electromagnetic radiation.

  Endocrine system.

  “No one loves you more than I do, Spencer. Not even your own mother. She cannot help you now. Is that understood? I am all that you have in this world.”

  I started to breathe through my nose. Beads of sweat pebbled my temples. The grandfather clock chiseled away at my ears.

  Come on, Spence, don’t think about the pain don’t think about the pain don’t—

  My arms gave out. The encyclopedias dropped to the floor with a THWOMP.

  Merridew side-glanced at the books, her nostrils flaring as if she had spotted a pile of doggie doo-doo left behind. “Did I say you could put those down?” She brought up her C.R.U. Her thumb hovered above the red button. “Pick them up.”

  I flopped my hands on one of the encyclopedias. My fingers slid over the cover. My hands felt like ropey strands of burning Play-Doh, loose and useless.

  “Are you disobeying me, Mr. Pendleton?”

  My fingers could barely wrap around the encyclopedia’s spine. I managed to pinch the book between my wrists and squeeze. It lifted an inch off the ground.

  Almost there.

  Two inches.

  The encyclopedia suddenly slipped from my grip and fell to the floor.

  Merridew shook her head, then pressed the button and instantly I felt as if I was strung along an electric fence electric wire electric collar electric slide electric blue electric fence electric wire electric collar electric slide electric DON’T LEAVE ME MOM DON’T GO I LOVE YOU PLEASE I can’t stop the flood of thoughts in my brain I can’t get off this electric fence electric wire electric collar electric slide electric blue electric fence electric wire electric collar electric slide and my body slumped to the ground as soon as she released the button, twitching like a fish out of water. There was an intense pain deep within my guts. I felt like I was going to be sick any second.

  Glancing up, I found an out-of-focus Merridew staring back down at me. “I will break you, Mr. Pendleton,” she cooed. “And then I will rebuild you.”

  Some kind of raspy sound reached out from my mouth as I muttered, “Give it your best shot….”

  I could’ve sworn her lips pulled back to her ears. Her smile knew no bounds.

  “That is the spirit,” she said. “I so look forward to taking that spirit and stretching it to the very limits of human endurance. Then I will stretch it even further, and further, until you snap. I want to hear you beg for mercy, Spencer. Mercy. Is that understood?”

  “Gee, Miss Merridew,” I strained. “If that’s all you wanted, all you had to do was ask nicely….”

  I limped out of Merridew’s office. I had a horrible thirst, the shocks sapping all the saliva from my mouth. The back of my neck throbbed with a dull ache.

  At the end of the day, Merridew clocks out and reenters the world outside of these cinder block walls. She heads back to her house to sleep in her own bed.

  She washes the day away.

  This was just a job for her….

  But this was our home.

  We lived here. Twenty-four-seven. The world was no longer round for us ants—but a box. Four cinder block walls that barricaded us from the rest of society.

  She should try living here for a change, I thought. I’d like to see how long she would last at Kesey.

  “Special delivery,” Sully whispered over my shoulder as she slipped a ratty paperback under my armpit. “Know what’ll happen if you get caught reading that?”

  “Worth a shot….”

  “Worth a shock is more like it,” she whispered. “Eight hundred milliamps worth of electroconvulsive therapy coming your way.”

  “Some books are worth it.”

  “If anyone asks, you didn’t get it from me….”

  I turned to say something, mouth open—only to realize Sully was already long gone. That girl sure could move like the wind when she wanted to.

  I kept the book tucked in my armpit until I had stumbled back to the library.

  Peter Pan.

  It was dog-eared and dusty. The pages felt brittle under my fingers, curling at the edges. I cracked it open and took a deep whiff, inhaling that old book smell that I loved so much—better than any brand of asthma medication I’d ever taken before.

  Time to get reading.

  Nobody saw Merridew for hours. Not until that evening. She paid us ants a surprise visit while we stood in line for headcount.

  Babyface stepped up next to me. “Nice job on the gardening,” he said. “You should go into the landscaping business.”

  “I just might.”

  “Word is Merridew ordered the Peer Facilitators to pull up her flowers. You believe that?”

  I could. She would rather uproot every last one of her prized poinsettias than live with the tainted arrangement a moment longer. That had to sting. I’m sure Buttercup obliged with flower-stomping aplomb. I could picture her tugging up all those poinsettias, clumps of dirt still clinging to their roots, and lobbing fistfuls of flowers into the air, scraps of red leaves drifting down as if it were snowing blood.

  “So—are you trying to get yourself sent to solitary or what?”

  “Nah,” I said with a sigh. “I just want to see how many of Merridew’s buttons I can push.”

  “I think you might’ve just found her self-destruct button.”

  I laughed. “You’re a lot like me, you know that?”

  “Only better-looking.”

  “That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble if you’re not careful.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Babyface said. “You’re Patient X for Foot-In-Mouth disease.”

  Walking along the Yellow Brick Road, Merridew took in every last one of us with her placid mask. Mouth pinched shut. She breathed evenly through her nose.

  “Horticulture Hour is suspended indefinitely until further notice,” Merridew broke the news as she strutted down the line. “Until such time that we feel we can place our trust back in you, no res
ident will be allowed outside. Is that understood?”

  “She loves us,” I said just as Merridew passed. “She loves us not….”

  Merridew halted, shoulders tensed, like a bear trap about to snap off her own head. She spun on her heels and scanned the row of ants until her eyes settled on me. “Mr. Pendleton.” Her mothball breath spread over my face. “Pick a resident.”

  The invitation threw me off guard.

  “Go on,” she encouraged. “Pick.”

  I turned and looked down the row. I didn’t like where this was heading.

  “Are you disobeying me?”

  “What if I am?”

  “Then I will pick for you.” Merridew’s cold stare settled on Babyface. “You.”

  Babyface turned his head to look behind him, then turned back to Merridew. He pointed at himself and asked—“Who? Me?”

  “I am sure you have heard other residents mention our Solitary Housing Unit, Mr. Pendleton,” she announced loud enough for the entire line to hear. “Solitary is reserved for children who have been deemed beyond our control, beyond all hope of reclamation.” She pointed at Babyface. “You have secured your friend a visit….”

  Babyface took a step back, slowly shaking his head. “No…” His foot left the yellow line. “I’m not going—”

  Babyface was suddenly on his knees, clutching his collar, grimacing at the surge of electricity. I turned to find Grayson digging his thumb into his remote.

  “He didn’t do anything and you know it,” I said as I lunged for Babyface before he could fall off the Yellow Brick Road.

  “I believe being an associate of yours, Mr. Pendleton, is reason enough,” Merridew suggested.

  “So send me to the Black Hole.”

  Merridew glowed, her cheeks flushed pink. She shook her head, tsk-tsking me with her tongue against her teeth. “What good are you to me in solitary?” she asked. “I need you amongst the other residents, where I can make an example out of you.”

  “I am not going to be your poster boy,” I seethed. “Go find someone else.”

  “But you already are, Mr. Pendleton,” Merridew said as she nodded to Grayson. “Send that one to solitary.”

  Babyface pushed off from me and started swinging his arms through the air. He looked like a scrawny whirligig defending himself against the encroaching Men in White, screaming, “Get away from me! Get away!”

  Grayson jolted him with another shock. His spine arched backwards, teeth chattering. It only took three seconds to send him falling to the floor, out cold.

  “It was me,” I said. “I did it. There. Are you happy? I pulled up your stupid flowers!”

  A look of glee played across Merridew’s face. “Thank you for claiming responsibility for your actions, Mr. Pendleton. But I am afraid you are too late….”

  “Please,” I begged. “Don’t do this. Not to him….”

  Merridew leaned forward until her chin nearly touched my shoulder. Her lips hovered just next to my ear.

  “You crushed my poinsettias,” she whispered, “now I will crush you.”

  Babyface was gone and there was no one else to blame but me.

  He’s just a kid, I thought to myself. Babyface is harmless. What did he do to deserve getting tossed into solitary like he was a piece of trash?

  That’s easy. He was your friend, Spencer….

  Staring at my distorted reflection in my pod’s steel latrine, I suddenly saw myself as the monstrous miscreant all these adults told me I actually was.

  This is your fault, Spencer. Babyface is in the Black Hole because of you.

  You.

  I have hurt people. Lots of people. People I could’ve considered friends.

  What kind of friend am I if I keep dragging the people closest to me into a vortex of my own chaos?

  How many people have I inadvertently hurt?

  How many more are going to end up as collateral damage in my one-man war against Merridew?

  I gripped the edge of the latrine and closed my eyes. I could feel my pulse picking up, my heart punching against the inside of my chest.

  You need to make this right, Spencer.

  You need to get Babyface back.

  You need to stop Merridew.

  But how?

  Simple. It begins with a book….

  The first rule of Book Club is that there is no Book Club.

  The second rule of Book Club is…

  THERE IS NO BOOK CLUB.

  I spread the word that the Academic Assassins would be meeting in the library. Anyone could attend. Other tribes welcome. Free punch and pie.

  Only two ants showed up.

  So much for solidarity.

  Table Scrap was first in—and he only came after I got down on my hands and knees and begged. He leaned against the stacks in the far back, bored before we even began. Mickey and Minnie scurried up his arms and onto the shelves, pouncing on a dusty copy of Mimi’s First Thanksgiving and nibbling on its cover.

  “You can come closer, you know,” I suggested. “These books don’t bite.”

  “I’ll stick by the door if that’s alright,” he said. “Just in case the Men in White crash the party.”

  “I’m on library detail now,” I said. “Trust me, we’re safe here.”

  “Tell that to Babyface.”

  That cut deep. But Scrap was right. How could anyone trust me now?

  A Screaming Mimi followed him in. It was unclear whether she had actually received the invitation or was simply skipping her work detail.

  “I was told there’d be pie,” the Mimi peeped.

  “Later,” I said and waited another minute. Just in case anyone else might show up.

  So far, no Sully.

  “Guess it’s time to bring this meeting to order,” I said with a sigh. “The first official gathering of the Academic Assassins is now in session….”

  “Is it Story Hour?” Table Scrap asked. “You gonna read us a fairy tale?”

  “What if I did?”

  He leaned his head on the shelf and closed his eyes. “Tuck me in when you’re done.”

  “Keep your eyes shut for all I care,” I said. “That’s exactly how Merridew wants you—nice and blind.”

  Scrap stepped forward, gripping his fists. “You calling me blind?”

  “I’m calling you a casualty,” I said. “All of us are. Every last ant. Because, when you get down to it—what’s Merridew to us?”

  “A granny-gone-rogue?” Table Scrap suggested. “A senior-citizen-psycho?”

  The Mimi raised her hand. “Mimi always says—‘Listen to your elders, as they have seen more and lived longer than you,’” the disciple of doggy-dumbassery said.

  “Merridew is a bully,” I said. “The worst kind.”

  “She ain’t demanding our lunch money or anything,” Table Scrap said.

  “The type of bullying I’ve seen around here is systemized torture. Merridew makes you lick her heels and then has the nerve to say it’s for your own good.”

  “So that’s what happened to Babyface?” Scrap asked. “He got bullied into the Black Hole?”

  I shook my head. “Merridew’s getting back at me. She knows Babyface was my friend. She’s trying to hit me where it hurts.”

  “Okay—so she’s a bully.” Scrap shrugged. “Big deal. Who cares? Get in line. We’ve been bullied by everybody. What’re we supposed to do about it?”

  “Fight back.”

  That made Table Scrap laugh. “How?”

  “What’s the most dangerous weapon you can find in Kesey?”

  “A shiv,” he said.

  “I’ve got something more dangerous than that.”

  “What?” He didn’t buy it. “You got a bomb under your belt?”

  I tapped my finger to my temple.

  “Oh jeez….” Table Scrap rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna get all ‘We Are the World’ on us now? Talking about how we can change our lives by using our minds?”

  “Think about it,” I
said. “What frightens the Men in White the most?”

  “That one of us is gonna stick ’em.”

  “The orderlies are trained to handle a situation that gets out of hand,” I said. “But what the Men in White never anticipate is for us ants to use our heads.”

  “My brain never broke anybody’s bones before,” Table Scrap said.

  “It’s not about breaking things,” I insisted as I reached behind my back. “Actually, I was thinking about something more along the lines of this.” I tugged Peter Pan out from the elastic waistline of my pants. “This will really scare Merridew,” I said, and held it up for the others to see.

  Their eyes zeroed in on the cover.

  “You’re pulling my leg, right?” Table Scrap asked. “Is this a joke?”

  “A book like this gets people thinking.”

  “Yeah—but it don’t get people reading,” Table Scrap muttered. “Nobody here’s picked up a book since they were six.” He pointed to the haphazardly stacked kiddie books scattered over the shelves. “You’re better off sticking with Mimi. At least they’ve got pictures in them.”

  The Mimi nodded, her pigtails flapping about the sides of her head. “Mimi always says—”

  “We get it,” I cut her off. “Mimi’s got a lot on her mind. But for right now, I’d rather have Peter Pan take the floor.”

  “There’s no book that can get me out of here,” Table Scrap said.

  I held up the book to him. “Just read this paragraph and tell me if you still feel like books are bogus.”

  Table Scrap pushed my hand away. “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Why?” I half-laughed. “Don’t know how to read?”

  Table Scrap didn’t laugh back, tightening his eyes. All the blood in his body rushed up into his cheeks at once. “I can read. I just don’t want to. I’ve got smarts, just not book smarts.”

  I cleared my throat and read the first sentence of Peter Pan out loud to him—“All children, except one, grow up.”

  “The movie was better,” Table Scrap said.

  “How would you know?” I asked. “You haven’t even read the book!”