Troublemakers #1 (9781442440319)

by Burns, T. R.

  “They didn’t come.”

  I stop.

  “My parents.” Her voice is louder, brighter. “They didn’t think a seven-hour flight was worth a three-hour visit. So they didn’t come.”

  This is the most personal information she’s shared since we’ve been here. I’m tempted to ride the wave of openness and ask about the picture from the gazebo, but quickly decide not to push it. There will be time for that later.

  I turn around. “Would you like to have lunch with us?”

  She nods, her cheeks turning pink.

  Together, we find the kitchen and the ketchup and head back to the makeshift dining room. The talking and laughter has escalated, and with my parents here and Elinor by my side, I’m thinking this day can’t get any better.

  Until we near our table. And I hear what everyone’s talking about.

  “An apple?” Mrs. Ryan says.

  “An apple,” Mom says.

  “One hit?” Mr. Hansen says.

  “One hit,” Mom says.

  “Judith,” Dad says quietly, “maybe now’s not the best time to—”

  “It’s the perfect time! Our kid’s doing well. All of our kids are doing well. Why hide the enormous obstacles they had to overcome?”

  I sneak a peek at Elinor. She looks at Mom, then at me, then Mom again.

  “So as I was saying, the substitute teacher was in the middle of the brawl. Seamus, confused and angry and scared all at once, picked up the only weapon he could find and hurled it straight across the cafeteria. The apple got her in the head, and that was it.” Mom takes a big bite of her burger. “She was a goner, and my Seamus was a criminal.”

  The noise from the other tables grows louder as ours falls silent.

  “Let me get this straight,” Lemon says a moment later. “Seamus threw an apple at his substitute teacher . . . and she died?”

  Mom swallows. “Yup.”

  “So he killed her?”

  She licks her fingers. “Indeed.”

  “And that’s the reason he’s here?”

  She picks her teeth. “The one and only.”

  Lemon looks at me. Gabby and Abe look at me. Their parents try not to but look at me anyway. Elinor takes one more look at me before walking, then running, away.

  No one says anything. They don’t have to.

  I force my feet to move toward the table. I place the ketchup gently by Mom’s plate.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  And then I leave.

  Chapter 22

  DEMERITS: 2201

  GOLD STARS: 180

  TO: parsippany@cloudviewschools.net

  FROM: shinkle@kilteracademy.org

  SUBJECT: Alone in a Crowded Cafeteria

  Dear Miss Parsippany,

  I’ve thought a lot about how you must’ve felt in the cafeteria that day. Nervous. Excited. Scared. But it occurred to me recently that you might’ve felt something else, too.

  Lonely.

  When you walked into a room filled with two hundred people you didn’t know but wanted to like you, you must’ve felt this more than anything else. And the fight only made it worse. Because if kids and teachers saw you there and you didn’t try to help, you would’ve become the wimpy substitute who didn’t care. If you tried to help and failed, you would’ve become the wacky substitute with delusions of strength and grandeur. If you tried to help and succeeded, you might’ve become the school’s first cool substitute . . . but Bartholomew John alone had fifty pounds on you, so what were the chances of that? No matter what, you were going to be judged by people who didn’t know you, and that had to make you feel like you were totally on your own.

  Which is exactly how I’ve been feeling lately. On Parents’ Day, after Mom spilled the beans about what I did, I was kicked out of Capital T. No one told me so, but I figured as much when Lemon, Abe, and Gabby stopped talking to me. I haven’t been to a single meeting since and they haven’t come looking for me, so I’m pretty sure I’m right. Lemon ignores me in our room, and even worse, he’s stopped playing with matches there. Which means he’s either kicked the habit (doubtful), or he no longer trusts me around fire (likely). I never thought I’d want to wake up to raging flames, but guess what? Now I do.

  And then there’s Elinor. She doesn’t talk to me either, though I catch her looking at me every now and then. I can only imagine what she’s thinking—and whatever it is, I don’t blame her. I lied. I didn’t lie when I said I was there for her, but who wants a cold-blooded killer for a friend?

  My teachers act like nothing has happened, and to them, nothing has. They already knew the truth. Unlike my classmates, the rest of whom quickly heard about what I did and immediately kept their distance, my teachers thought it was one of my better qualities.

  Now I have only one option: to lie low until it’s time to leave. I’d try getting kicked out, except I’m in no hurry to go home. Instead I complete my assignments, read, and watch TV. It’s not exciting, but it’s all I have.

  Anyway, I just wanted to say I understand. About the loneliness. And that I’m sorry, again, for everything. Wherever you are, I hope you’re happier than you were that day in the cafeteria.

  Sincerely,

  Seamus Hinkle

  Then, before I can change my mind, I write another note.

  TO: loliver@kilteracademy.org

  FROM: shinkle@kilteracademy.org

  SUBJECT: Dinner

  Hi Lemon,

  You probably already have plans, but if not, do you want to have dinner together tonight? It’d be nice to catch up. Maybe explain some things.

  Let me know.

  —Seam

  I don’t finish my name. The glass door I’m leaning against opens. I fall back and drop my K-Pak.

  “That must be some worm,” Martin, the Kommissary cashier, says.

  “Sorry?” I jump up. Pick up the K-Pak. Shake it when the screen’s scrambled.

  “It’s barely nine a.m. That makes you the early bird. Whatever you’re hoping to buy is the worm.”

  The K-Pak screen blinks, then clears, returning to the main menu instead of K-Mail. Relieved that I didn’t break anything, I put the computer in my backpack and follow Martin inside.

  “It is,” I say. “Some worm, that is.”

  He moves through the store, turning on lights and unlocking display cases. I put my hand on the print pad and wait for the greeting.

  WELCOME, SEAMUS HINKLE! YOU HAVE . . . 2,001 CREDITS!

  The turnstile beeps. I push through.

  “So, what’ll it be?” Martin asks. “Paintball pellets? New bows and arrows? A titanium Boomaree?”

  A titanium Boomaree? I didn’t know they made those. For a split second I’m tempted to ask to see one, but then I remind myself why I’m there.

  “The Kilter Smoke Detector with Automatic Flame Eliminator,” I say. “Please.”

  He’s straightening a stack of camouflage T-shirts. At my request, he stops and looks up.

  “That’s two thousand credits,” he says.

  “I know.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Two thousand and one.”

  “How are you going to buy more supplies?”

  I shrug. “I guess I won’t.”

  He considers this, then takes a large key ring from the belt loop of his pants and starts for the back of the store. “Whatever you say, hotshot. I just work here.”

  I wait by the counter. A minute later he appears carrying a clear plastic box. The thin disc, no bigger than a silver dollar, is inside. The transaction’s over in seconds, and then I’m outside again. I slide the box in my backpack for safekeeping and start down the sidewalk.

  “Good morning!”

  I stop and look to the left, where Annika’s sitting in a golf cart. She wears a silver parka like the one (most) Troublemakers wear, only hers is longer and trimmed in sparkly white fur. A fluffy white bomber hat protects her head. Her eyes are hidden by shiny silver sunglasses.

&nb
sp; “It’s a cold one.” Her breath forms a white cloud, proving her point. “How about a ride?”

  The question sparks a quick mental debate. Before Parents’ Day I would’ve climbed right in. But now that I’m Kilter’s biggest social outcast? I don’t know if I should. Being escorted to math class by the school’s director probably won’t earn me any popularity points.

  “Let’s try that again. I’d like to give you a ride.”

  She still smiles, but her tone’s serious. Guessing this is more of a demand than a request, I round the cart and get in.

  “So, how are things?” she asks, her voice lighter, once we’re driving. We travel at a normal, nonwarp speed, making it easier to talk.

  “Fine,” I say. Then, “Great. Never been better.”

  She shoots me a look. “Really. Is that why you’ve been sitting by yourself at meals? Spending your free time in the TV lounge? Staying out of trouble?”

  I don’t know what to say. So I don’t say anything.

  “Is it your parents? Do you miss them? There are only a few days left in the semester, you know. After that you’ll get to go home for three whole weeks.”

  My heart stops. “Three weeks?”

  “Yup.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then you report back for the spring semester.”

  She says this pleasantly, matter-of-factly. Like it’s a done deal, something to look forward to. But all I can think is that once I leave, no matter how awkward things might be at home, I’m going to do everything I can to forget I was ever here.

  “Great power comes with great responsibility,” Annika says a moment later. “Have you heard that before?”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s one of my favorite expressions. It means the more you have to give, the more people expect from you. You have the ability to both please and disappoint in ways others can’t, so you must be extremely careful in the choices you make. At the same time, you have to always be thinking about the greater good. It’s an exhilarating but difficult position to be in.”

  I think I understand . . . but I don’t know why we’re talking about it.

  The golf cart stops. Annika faces me.

  “It also means there are no friends at the top. And, Seamus, that’s where you are.”

  Technically, we’re outside the classroom building . . . but she’s not speaking geographically. If she’s referring to class rankings, which is my next guess, this still doesn’t make sense. I haven’t checked them lately, but she’s right: I’ve barely made any trouble since Parents’ Day. Lemon should be at the top—and he has friends. One less than he used to, but still.

  Before I can say any of this, Annika steps out of the cart and nods to the building.

  “Shall we? I have some administrative business to take care of.”

  I shuffle after her. In the classroom, I take my new seat in the otherwise unoccupied front row, and Annika heads for Houdini. He’s sleeping with his head on the desk, the hood of his orange sweatshirt pulled past his nose. Annika lifts the hood with one finger. Houdini reels back from the light like it comes from lasers shooting directly into his eyes.

  “I see we’ve reached the productivity pilfering section of your lesson plan,” she says.

  Houdini grumbles, then tries to look more awake. Annika faces the class and smiles.

  “Congratulations, Troublemakers. After training hard for eleven weeks, you’re nearing the end of your first Kilter Academy session.”

  The room explodes into cheers and applause. Annika holds up one hand and waits for the noise to die down.

  “The finish line’s in sight, but you’re not over it yet. Before you continue, you must complete your first Ultimate Troublemaking Task.”

  “I thought we were done,” Abe says, sounding confused. “Once we got all the teachers.”

  “Not quite,” Annika says.

  “There’s always a final exam,” Houdini adds with a yawn.

  “And this will be the hardest you’ve ever had,” Annika says. “Only a handful of Troublemakers successfully completes the task each semester.”

  “What happens to the others?” Gabby asks.

  “They enroll in an additional, mandatory one-month training session that makes what you’ve done so far seem like a joke. If they earn enough demerits during this session, they may rejoin their classmates at the start of the spring semester. If they don’t, their Kilter careers will come to an early conclusion.”

  “You mean they’ll get kicked out?” Abe asks.

  “Precisely,” Annika says.

  “And the Troublemakers who do complete the task?” Lemon says. “What happens to them?”

  “They automatically advance and earn the opportunity to join the faculty member of their choice in a top secret, real-world combat mission.” Her eyes travel from one student to the next. “If they do exceptionally well, they may even choose me.”

  Excited whispers fill the room. I sneak a peek over my shoulder at Elinor—then spin back when she’s looking at me.

  “Now I must warn you,” Annika says. “This year’s task is, by far, the most challenging in the history of first-year Ultimate Troublemaking Tasks. It’s so difficult, I wouldn’t be surprised if no one completes it.”

  She aims her K-Pak at the wall behind the desk. A moving image of her as a teenager appears. We’re silent as young Annika sits in a window seat piled with pillows and watches the snow fall outside. She’s wearing a red velvet dress. Her hair’s in a French braid and tied with a red ribbon. The brightly colored lights of a Christmas tree, which must be across the room from her, twinkle in the windowpane.

  A minute or so into the video, a woman wearing a black dress and white apron enters the frame; she offers Annika a cup of tea, which Annika declines. A few minutes after that she brings a blanket, and another minute after that, slippers. Annika shakes her head at both without turning from the window. After another long stretch, the woman enters the frame again. This time she offers Annika a silver cordless phone. Annika looks at it like she’s not sure she should take it. She finally does, and says five words over the next thirty seconds.

  “Okay.” “I understand.” “Merry Christmas.”

  She hands the phone back to the woman, who leaves the frame. Then she gets up and walks toward the camera. Before the image cuts out, we see two things.

  A WELCOME HOME! banner hanging above the door next to the window.

  And tears running down her face.

  Grown-up Annika replaces the K-Pak on her belt and faces us.

  “I was fifteen when that video was taken. I’m thirty-eight now.” She pauses, her expression blank. “And I haven’t cried in twenty-three years.”

  “That’s not—”

  Annika turns not one, but two evil eyes on Elinor. Elinor stops speaking instantly. Probably because the death stare burns the words right out of her head.

  If she’d been able to finish her sentence, I assume Elinor would’ve said that’s not true—that Annika has cried since she was fifteen years old. And I can’t help thinking a person would have to be very close to our friendly-yet-somewhat-detached director to know this.

  “Your Ultimate Troublemaking Task,” Annika continues, “should you choose to accept it, is to change that. Make me cry, sob, weep, what have you. The goal is to get real tears sliding down these cheeks.”

  This is met with silence. I wonder if she’s serious. Apparently, so do my classmates.

  “How?” Lemon finally asks.

  Annika laughs. “If I knew that, this wouldn’t be the most challenging task in the history of first-year tasks, would it?”

  “Can we . . . hurt you?” Abe asks, like the question alone might do it. “Physically, I mean?”

  “I draw the line at knives and guns, but our security’s such that I know I don’t have to worry about that. Everything else is fair game.” She places her hands on Houdini’s desk and leans toward us. “You should know I’m tougher than I
look.”

  “That’s no lie,” Houdini confirms.

  “You have five days,” she says, striding toward the door. “Good luck!”

  Personally, I think this is an Unfortunate Troublemaking Task. My classmates, however, don’t agree. They’re so excited, Houdini gives up trying to get us to focus on stealing and lets us plan our attacks. As he puts his head back on his desk, I take out my K-Pak. I’m about to start another note to Miss Parsippany when I catch two words that everyone else is too distracted to hear.

  “Annika’s Apex.”

  I turn slowly in my seat, dreading what I see before I see it.

  Lemon, Abe, and Gabby are huddled together in the back of the room. Abe makes a T with his pointer fingers, then slides one finger down and connects the tips of his thumbs to make a triangle. He lowers the triangle in front of the tall flame coming from the mouth of a lighter that Lemon holds.

  We might not have hung out lately, but I’ve spent enough time with Capital T to know immediately what this means.

  Annika’s childhood amusement park.

  They’re going to destroy it.

  Chapter 23

  DEMERITS: 2201

  GOLD STARS: 180

  Later that night, I can’t sit still. I move from my bed to my desk chair. From my desk chair to the floor. From the floor to the windowsill. From the windowsill back to my bed. As I move, my eyes travel from the wall clock to the door to Lemon’s pillow, where my last-chance peace offering rests. When the door finally opens, I’m so nervous—and excited—I practically leap across the room.

  And Lemon steps back into the hallway.

  “Sorry.” I step back too and hold up both hands so he can see they’re empty. “I’m sorry. Come in. Please.”

  He does. Warily. He gives the room a once-over as he passes through the doorway, like I might’ve rigged it with automatic weapons while he was gone, and then heads for his bed. When he reaches the pillow, he stops short.

  “What’s that?”

  I force my feet to stay put. “A present.”

  His back is to me. I wait for him to take the package from the pillow, but he doesn’t. He simply stares down at it without moving.