by Brian Lies
But the raccoon shook his head. “No, that’s not the way it works, Malcolm. You don’t get to decide who to help or how to help or even to judge what kind of help they’re asking for. First of all, who are you to decide any of that?”
Malcolm squirmed. Hadn’t he heard this before? Then he remembered, he had said it, with Billy and Jesse, when he first met Sylvia. But that was different! Sylvia was a helpless squirrel—with squirrelings, no less!—not a murderous carnivore with fish-hook claws.
The Striped Shadow continued, “But secondly—and mostly, as far as I’m concerned—you promised. Under the stars. You don’t want to break an under-the-stars promise.”
Malcolm didn’t care. He couldn’t keep an under-the-stars promise either—not if this was what it meant. “You said I’d need to tell you a secret. I’m ready to do that. But I can’t do this—I won’t. I’m not going to put everyone I know at risk.”
Snip snarled then. “Forget it. I’ll find my own way. I don’t need anything from him. As for you”—she arched her back and her fur spiked in the Shadow’s direction—“I should have known not to trust someone who hides in the shadows.” She dragged her claws along the ground, leaving long scrapes in the frozen dirt and snow, then stalked off.
“Good! Leave!” Malcolm shouted after her. “Keep away from our school!”
Behind him, the Striped Shadow blinked once. Twice. “I have to say, Malcolm, I’m a bit appalled at your manners. Is this how you do things Inside? Make promises, then break them?” He slipped through the bushes next to the parking lot. “This isn’t over. Don’t think I won’t be back. It’s bad business if I don’t collect on a deal. So it never—ever—happens.” And with that, he plunged into the brush. It rattled as he made his way down the slope to the river.
Malcolm took a few steadying breaths, then crawled back up to the top of the Council Oak. Oh, gristle! What had he done? He traced the Mark with his paw. He didn’t feel right about breaking his promise, but no matter how many times he replayed the situation in his mind, he couldn’t figure out what else he could have done. Let Snip back into McKenna? There was no way. Maybe this was what Jesse and Billy meant when they said Outside and Inside critters didn’t mix.
And what should Malcolm do now? The information that the Striped Shadow had shared pointed the Midnight Academy in a real direction for the first time. And what had the Shadow said—that the last Elastic Order of Suspenders member had been a librarian? The Marked books must be in the library! Maybe. Hopefully. Or this all could be another dead end.
Malcolm slumped against the tree trunk. He knew he should go in and tell Honey Bunny what he had learned. The rabbit had probably eaten a pound of banana chips by now, worrying about him. And there really was no time to waste—the school board listening session was coming up fast. If they were going to get to the bottom of this Loaded Stash business, every minute counted.
But while Malcolm himself was eager to start scanning books for Marks, he couldn’t stand the thought of talking to Jesse or Billy or Honey Bunny or anyone in the Academy who had reassured him over the last few months that Snip could not possibly still be around. Would they even believe him now? Or would they think he was still imagining things?
Or maybe—worst of all—maybe they had known all along that Snip was alive, and they had lied about it to make Malcolm feel better.
Either way, Malcolm wasn’t ready to face them yet.
Chapter 16
Amelia’s Note
It was later than Malcolm thought when he got back inside—there was no time to visit the library to look for Marked books. Malcolm gave Honey Bunny a quick wave from the hall to show that, indeed, nothing had swooped down and eaten him, and then he had to dash to the Comf-E-Cube before the morning custodian started making his rounds. Malcolm was more than a little relieved to not have to explain what had happened in the oak.
And then, that next day, the unthinkable happened. Something so rare, so unbelievable, that even Malcolm’s quandary28 from the night before fell right out of his head.
The bell rang to start the school day, and Amelia was . . . late.
“Maybe she’s absent.” Jovahn stared at the door as he offered a piece of his Pop-Tart to Malcolm. Malcolm reached for it, but it was way over his head. He squeaked, and Jovahn adjusted the Pop-Tart range. “Sorry,” he said, frowning and jiggling his leg.
You came in then, Mr. Binney. “Okay, everyone. Settle in. Math warm-ups on the board.”
“See you, mousie,” Jovahn said with a pat, then headed back to his desk.
And then suddenly, Amelia was there, striding through the classroom door, her head high, color-coded notebooks clutched to her chest, eyes blinking bright.
And Malcolm’s mouth fell open.
Amelia marched to the table she shared with him. She sat down with a thump, then flipped open her math notebook so fast, she tore the page.
Malcolm stared.
Amelia had walked into the classroom in her socks. Not as in, she was carrying her shoes and was about to put them on. She was . . . without her shoes.
As you know, Mr. Binney, it’s a rule at McKenna that if you want to play in the snow—not just stay on the blacktop (where the puddles are)—you have to wear boots. So kids did, and they often left their shoes accidentally at home. It happened every day in Room 11.
But not to Amelia.
Amelia had never, not once, ever forgotten anything. Not a permission slip, or when it was Veterans Day, or her popcorn money, or even to completely clear her lunch tray before stacking it. She was the one who, year after year, teachers depended on to remind the class about fire drills and spelling quizzes.
And now, here she was: shoeless.
Even you paused at that, Mr. Binney. Meanwhile, the rest of the class turned and stared.
The phone rang. A waver of worry crinkled between your eyes, but you answered it.
It was more than a waver of worry for Malcolm. His stomach twisted, churning like the time he had eaten an apple-scented eraser, thinking it was an apple. As he watched Amelia’s dark head, so intent on her math warm-up, so intent on not making eye contact with him, Malcolm knew something was horribly, horribly wrong.
Have you ever had a friend who wouldn’t tell you everything, Mr. Binney? I remember that one time Jenna lied about having gum in her mouth, and then she played her recorder and it got stuck in there. So you know about lies and not saying all the truth. But that really isn’t the same thing. There’s nothing personal in it. When a friend won’t tell you everything, well, it feels a little like you are waiting for a punch in the gut.
Malcolm raised his eyes to Jovahn in the next row over. He was watching Amelia too. “Hey,” Jovahn whispered to her. He opened his mouth to say something, then bit his lip. “Did you see my jump on the playground?” he finally asked.
Amelia shook her head, without looking up.
Tianna, as usual, zeroed in on any whisper like she was a heat-seeking missile. She sniffed at Amelia. “Nice socks.”
Amelia didn’t answer. She did, however, blink very rapidly.
“Skylar?” you called from the front of the room, the phone still in your hand. “Are you supposed to be down in the resource room? And, Jovahn, get to work, please.”
“Oh!” Skylar lurched up, knocking a stack of comic books and his box of sixty-four crayons (which weren’t even supposed to be out) all over the floor.
You sighed and answered, “Yes, hold on. I’ll send him.”
Jovahn took advantage of this distraction. “What is it?” he whispered to Amelia. Malcolm echoed him, stretching his front paws up high on the cage wall and squeaking as loudly as he dared.
Amelia ignored them both. Her pencil hovered over her notebook, not moving.
“Amelia!” Jovahn said, kicking her desk a little. Malcolm squeaked again.
But Amelia didn’t answer.
You finally hung up the phone, Mr. Binney. Skylar headed down the hall, and you started walking around
the room, checking assignment notebooks. When you got to Amelia’s (which was the only one in the room without a single creased or wrinkled page), Amelia finally moved. She flipped to the front of it and pulled out a pink square sheet of paper. Without looking at you—do you remember, Mr. Binney?—she handed you a note.
Malcolm’s nose twitched. What was this? He had seen notes before. Usually they were about how a student had to go to the dentist at 12:30, so please have them waiting in the lobby, or that it was a student’s birthday on Friday—would it be okay to send cupcakes? But none of those caused apple-scented-eraser-like digestive problems.
You unfolded and scanned it. “Oh, Amelia. Really?” Your voice dropped, like you had been punched in the stomach. It scared Malcolm even further. Jovahn wasn’t even pretending to write. He craned his neck to see the note. You folded it up. “Let’s talk in the hall.”
Amelia reached up and pulled the elastic out of her hair so it swung down like a curtain—or a shield. She padded out of the room after you in her socks.
The class was pin-drop quiet. (Jovahn actually has a pin for these situations, but he was so distracted right then that he forgot to get it out.) Anyway, you must have known that the class would be listening, Mr. Binney, because you closed the door.
After a few minutes, which seemed like hours, you both returned. You looked tired, Mr. Binney. And Amelia now had on a pair of spare sneakers that were way more scuffed than anything she would normally associate with. As she slipped back into her seat, you asked, “Do you want to say something, Amelia? Or I could.”
Amelia finally glanced at Jovahn and Malcolm. Her eyes did that super-fast blinking again. She looked down at her notebook and cleared her throat.
“I’m moving. Next week.”
Amelia moving.
Amelia leaving.
Amelia moving.
Amelia leaving.
For the rest of the morning, it was like Malcolm’s brain was stuck on his tail-safe plastic exercise wheel, going around and around and never going anywhere. Nothing—not slightly pulverized cheese puffs offered by Skylar, or the power going out again and everyone having to push their desks over to the windows to see to do their math, or even Amelia reaching the ending of Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH—could get Malcolm’s thoughts to stop circling. His midmorning naptime was spent chewing up a toilet paper tube.
After Amelia had made her announcement, Mr. Binney had talked for a while to the class about how they’d miss her, but how her new school would be a lot of fun too. Malcolm had actually gone a little weak and had to lie down in his shredded paper. At the time, he didn’t exactly know what “moving” entailed, but he certainly understood what “last day” meant.
A few weeks earlier, the class had made valentines out of construction paper. Malcolm felt exactly like the construction paper that ended up in the recycling bin. A discarded piece of paper, with the heart cut out.
Malcolm was so distraught that he almost unlatched his own cage and climbed out to sit on Amelia’s shoulder—right in front of everyone. Because if Amelia was leaving, well, then, what did it matter? Malcolm would leave too. He could live in her hood, right?
The rest of the morning was a blur. The apple-scented-eraser lump in Malcolm’s stomach grew. Malcolm noticed that Jovahn didn’t eat his snack either.
At lunch recess, you let Amelia stay in to play with Malcolm, Mr. Binney. You brought her a sandwich, apple, and a milk. She let Malcolm out of his cage, but she still wouldn’t meet his eyes. He nudged their notebook. When she opened it, Malcolm jumped from letter to letter. Only three. “WHY?”
Amelia took a deep breath and finally talked to him. “Oh, Malcolm. My dad lost his job in December. We can’t afford to stay where we are anymore. We’re moving in with my cousins.”
There was a noise at the door. Both Malcolm and Amelia looked up. Jovahn stood in the doorway, scuffing his sneakers. “How come you didn’t say?” he asked finally.
Amelia sighed and stroked Malcolm’s back. “I guess I was hoping it wouldn’t happen.”
Jovahn walked closer. “Where are you going?”
“An apartment on the north side. I’ll finish the year at Fairfax.”
Jovahn kicked at the table leg. “It’s not fair.” He slumped in a chair. “There’s got to be something we can do. What if we take up a class collection—would that be enough money?”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Have you ever paid rent? It’s, like, a lot.”
“Well, what if we buy lottery tickets? It’s worth a try.”
Amelia smiled crookedly. “If you won the lottery, you’d give my parents the money?”
Jovahn considered. “Well, maybe. Yeah . . . after I bought a car or two—a Lamborghini, of course. And have you seen those new Nike basketball shoes?”
As the two friends talked, Malcolm wondered: Why was everything about money for humans? Money was the reason McKenna might close. There wasn’t enough money to fix the windows, to unflood the basement, to repair the wiring. And they talked about it all the time, too. “My mom forgot to give me lunch money today.” “I need fifty-six more dollars before I can buy the next War Hero robot fighter.” “You owe me two dollars or a packet of fruit gummy snacks.” Even you, Mr. Binney—the night before, you and Ms. Brumble had been wondering if you should honeymoon in Door County to save money. It seemed like humans never had enough of it. They spent their time saving, earning, arguing, or complaining about it.
How could something Malcolm had never seen have such importance?
Finally, Jovahn and Amelia grew quiet and Malcolm entered the conversation. He spelled out “STAY.”
Amelia scratched his ears. “Oh, Malcolm, believe me. I wish I could. But it turns out that nutters are a lot like critters, really. We have to go where the lankies tell us. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how much you don’t want to. Some things are insurmountable.”
Chapter 17
Kale
That night, Malcolm listened to the sounds of Ms. Brumble cleaning up the school. The swish of her broom, the bang-tap of the dustpan, the click of the door shutting, the squeak of the wheels as she moved to the next room and did it all over again. Far off, Malcolm heard the clock chime eleven. Now it was the buzz of the school’s security system and the vroom of your Honda in the parking lot, Mr. Binney, picking her up.
Finally, Malcolm rolled himself out of his Comf-E-Cube. He knew Honey Bunny was waiting, wondering how things had gone the night before with the Striped Shadow. He should probably go down to Honey Bunny’s room before the Academy meeting. But Malcolm wasn’t sure he could drag himself there. He didn’t know what to say to Honey Bunny. First, Snip was alive. Had Honey Bunny lied? Or did he not know? But mostly, it was Amelia’s news. It was too tender and fresh. Malcolm didn’t think he could talk about it, yet it hurt so much, he wasn’t sure he could speak about anything else.
So, in the end, instead of heading toward the second grade wing, Malcolm found himself heading to the library. Maybe a little browsing for Marked books would get the ache in his chest under control so that he could face Honey Bunny.
It had been a long time since Malcolm had been in the library alone. It was both darker and quieter than he remembered. He thought about getting the Academy flashlight, but he wasn’t sure he was big enough to turn it on or carry it. And that was the last thing Malcolm needed—something else to feel lousy about.
So Malcolm wandered the aisles on his own. He started with what he thought was an obvious place—the shelf that held the Marked dictionary. But no other book there had any sort of Academy Markings,29 not even the yearbooks. Huh. Malcolm had been so sure that was where to look that he didn’t know where to go next. The library was gigantic. There was no way one rat could check all these books, not even a rat with a hero brain who wanted to do it all by himself.
The computer light flickered up front. “Maybe he’s in here. Malcolm?”
He froze. “Aggy?”
“Yes—back here,” Aggy
called. And the next thing Malcolm knew, the iguana was coming around the corner and Honey Bunny hopped in front of her.
“Hey, I thought we were meeting, rat,” the rabbit whispered before Aggy got there.
But Aggy pressed in. “Oh, Malcolm. We were so worried about you.”
“We—you were?” Honey Bunny jerked his head toward Aggy.
“Yes.” Aggy nodded. “I heard about your nutter.”
And there it was. So much for hiding in the library! Malcolm felt like he had been hit in the face with a dodge ball. He sat down heavily on one of the library beanbags.
Honey Bunny glanced back and forth between the two critters. “What? I thought—” He turned to Malcolm. “Weren’t we going to tell Aggy . . .”
“Amelia’s moving,” Malcolm blurted.
Honey Bunny flinched, then blew out a breath of air. “Oh.” Then he shifted and stood. “Hey, you know, I just remembered something I’ve got to do back in the classroom. Malcolm, you want to meet me there when you’re done here?” And without waiting for an answer, he pushed the library door open and hopped through it.
Aggy turned back to Malcolm. “When?”
“Next week.” Malcolm couldn’t bring himself to answer with more than two words.
She jerked her head toward the door. “You know, it’s why he’s so gruff all the time.”
“What?” Malcolm thought they were talking about Amelia moving.
Aggy nodded toward the door. “Honey Bunny. HB. He had a special connection with a nutter like you and Amelia have. They doted on each other. I’ve never seen such a bond. And then one day, poof! The boy was gone. Just . . . moved, overnight. No goodbye, no warning, nothing. They never saw each other again. Now, ever since, Honey Bunny has put up a wall. Oh, he’s loyal to the nutters and the school, but he doesn’t let anyone grow close. It’s too hard on him.” She nudged Malcolm’s ear. “This news about Amelia is shocking and sad, but you’re lucky, you know. You’ve got a few more days to make more memories.”