Troublemakers #1 (9781442440319)

by Burns, T. R.

  P.P.S. That was a really long P.S. Sorry!

  I reread the note, check for typos. I wait for the doubt, the internal tug of whether I should or shouldn’t hit send, but it doesn’t come. I have nothing to lose.

  So I send it. Then I watch the top of my K-Mail in-box. One minute passes. Five. Ten. Twenty.

  No new messages.

  I lower the K-Pak and close my eyes. I must drift off, because the next thing I know, I’m hanging off the couch and the Good Samaritans are banging on the door. I catch a glimpse of serious bed-head in the dresser mirror as I run to greet them but ignore it. Surely they’ve seen worse.

  I throw open the door, smile . . . and wish I’d stopped in front of the mirror. Because the Good Samaritans didn’t knock.

  Elinor did.

  “Wow,” she says. “When you’re sorry, you’re really sorry.”

  I swallow, smooth down my hair. “What are you doing here?”

  “Taking your mom’s advice.” She looks at me. When I don’t respond right away, she adds, “About not putting things off.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “Your note.” She shrugs. “And I have my ways.”

  Her ways? Like top secret familial connections?

  Not wanting to push my luck—or make her confess something she’d clearly rather keep to herself—I simply say, “Right.”

  I nod. She nods. We stand there, not speaking, for a few seconds.

  “So should we go?” she finally asks.

  “Where?”

  She offers a small smile. “Annika’s Apex.”

  Despite the long P.S. I’d added to the end of my note, part of me still wondered whether Elinor would want to contribute to a plan designed to really hurt her aunt. Apparently, she would.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not really supposed to leave, and the GS will be here soon and—” I stop myself. What am I talking about? The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen might’ve forgiven me and has risked who knows what to break me out of jail. I’ve already done things no Troublemaker has done before and found out that Kilter’s idea of serious punishment is some people’s idea of a dream vacation. What’s the worst that can happen?

  “Let me get my coat,” I say.

  Solitary confinement is located on the top floor of the dorms. And as it turns out, its door is the biggest obstacle to escaping. It’s locked by a series of cards and passwords, all of which Elinor has and knows. When I ask how, she repeats that she has her ways. I pull my jacket hood low over my eyes as we run down the hallway, which is surprisingly unprotected by GS, down three flights of stairs, and outside. A Kilter Series 7000 scooter with attached sidecar waits at the back of the building.

  “Bows and arrows and two Boomarees,” Elinor says, hopping on the scooter. “That’s all the Kommissary had left.”

  She’s referring to the weapons in the sidecar. They’re nestled in with tubes of paint, lighters, matches, kindling, protective vests, and face shields.

  “I don’t think I’ll fit,” I say.

  She scoots up. “Sure you will.”

  It takes me a second to realize she wants me to sit behind her. Like, on the same seat. Probably with my hands around her waist.

  “Would you rather drive?”

  “Nope.” I hop on and take the helmet she hands to me. I peer over her shoulder as she fiddles with the digital map. I’ve just buckled the helmet strap when she hits “Annika’s Apex.” I have just enough time to grab the sides of her coat before the scooter zooms away.

  Like our last trip up the mountain, the scenery flies by in blue, green, and brown squiggles. The air’s cold and the wind stings my eyes; I’d close them but I’m afraid of missing something important—like Capital T driving back to campus, their mission complete. Plus, I’m on a scooter with Elinor. This could very well be the best thing that ever happens to me, and I want to commit every single second to memory.

  When we reach the mountain and the scooter shoots up a snowy trail, I realize I still haven’t said what I need to out loud.

  “I’m sorry!” I call over the rush of wind. And, “Thank you!”

  “It’s okay!” Elinor calls back. “And you don’t have to thank me!”

  “Are you kidding? After you were so nice? And I was such a loser? To break me out of—”

  “I wasn’t that nice!”

  I’m about to protest when she yells again.

  “There’s no phone!”

  I lean forward. “Excuse me?”

  “A few weeks ago, when I said I knew where there was a real phone, and you followed me into the woods and across the river.” She pauses as the scooter shoots up and over a fallen tree. “There was no phone. I lied!”

  “There is a phone!” I shout. “I used it!”

  The scooter slows slightly, briefly. “Well, if there is, I had no idea. Really!”

  The scooter speeds up again. “Then why’d you lie?”

  Her shoulder taps my chin as she shrugs. “That’s what I do!”

  We weave sharply through hanging branches. My arms tighten around her waist. “I thought you ran!” I yell. “You’re always disappearing!”

  “That’s part of it! The longer I talk to someone, the more I get to know him. The more I get to know him, the harder it is to lie. So I leave to avoid telling the truth!”

  I picture the Performance Pavilion, the tutor assignment ceremony. Elinor’s tutor, the guy who tried to convince us he was a blind psychic. It’s totally weird . . . but it also makes sense.

  “What about the pictures?” I shout. “What were you doing with them that day in the gazebo?”

  “History extra-credit assignment!”

  Before I can ask anything else, the scooter jolts forward. We fly through the air for what feels like minutes and finally hit the ground with a thud. The scooter stops, and Elinor climbs off.

  Still seated, I look past her. The iron arch is ten feet away. Snowflakes swirl through the cold air. An image of little Annika and her father walking under the arch flashes through my mind . . . and I wonder if this is such a good idea.

  “Seamus.”

  I look down. Elinor’s mittened hand is on my arm.

  “She asked for this,” she reminds me. “If Annika didn’t want something like this to happen, she shouldn’t have asked us to make her cry.”

  “I know.” I still don’t move.

  A second later her fingers gently squeeze my arm. “Seamus?”

  I look up. Her copper eyes are warm, reassuring.

  “Your friends need you.”

  I let this sink in. Then I nod, slide off the scooter, and help gather weapons.

  “I won’t let them down. Not this time.”

  Chapter 25

  DEMERITS: 3750

  GOLD STARS: 830

  As Elinor and I enter the Apex, it looks like Capital T’s just getting started. Nothing’s burned down or completely vandalized. Lemon’s on his knees by the carousel, blowing on a small pile of lit twigs and paper. Abe stands before the rotting funnel cake stand, shaking a can of spray paint. Gabby appears to be searching for something as she weaves through rides and structures.

  But as we walk closer, I see Lemon’s furry eyebrows lowered so far down they practically meet his cheeks. Abe’s arm trembles as he aims the can, like he’s unsure of where and how to spray. Gabby’s eyes are wide as she dashes forward, then backward, then forward again, like she’s afraid she’ll miss whatever it is she’s looking for.

  This isn’t the same alliance that strode confidently into the darkness to bring down Mr. Tempest.

  “Abort!” Gabby shrieks suddenly. “Abort, abort, abort!”

  “What are you talking about?” Abe demands. “How can we abort when there’s nothing to—”

  He stops. Elinor and I stop. Lemon glances up from his flameless fire, follows Gabby’s pointer finger, and stops. For several seconds, no one speaks. Then, feeling Elinor’s elbow gently nudge my arm, I find my voice.
/>   “We want to help.”

  “Thanks,” Abe shoots back, “but we don’t want you to.”

  My eyes flicker to him briefly, then shift to Lemon. “We have supplies. Paint and lighters and other stuff.”

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Abe says. “We don’t—”

  Lemon holds up one hand. Stands. Walks toward us. Elinor and I hold out the bags of weapons so he can see what we have.

  “Dude,” Abe hisses, like Elinor and I aren’t right there.

  Lemon ignores him and peers into the bags. “The lighters are new?”

  “Yes,” Elinor says. “Fresh off Kommissary shelves.”

  He nods, peers some more. “Face shields might be useful.” His eyes lift to mine. “The flames aren’t holding in the snow and wind.”

  My chest warms. I nod too.

  “Um, Lemon?” Abe calls out. “Can we talk for a second? Please?”

  “Whatever you have to say, you can say here,” Lemon calls back.

  Abe’s fists clench at his sides, his feet stand firm. I think he’ll refuse, but then he takes a breath, so deep and loud we can hear it from fifteen feet away, and jogs toward us. Gabby jogs after him. When they reach us, Abe gives Elinor, then me, a big, fake smile and faces Lemon.

  “Do I need to remind everyone what we learned about Teacher’s Pet here? And why he’s Teacher’s Pet? Am I the only one who realizes this could be a huge trick? In case you’ve forgotten, we’re on the top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere. If—when—he uses those weapons on us, it’s not like anyone will hear our screams for help.”

  Lemon looks at him. “Are you done?”

  Surprised by the question, Abe takes a second to nod.

  “Then in case you’ve forgotten,” Lemon says, “Seamus stuck by me when no one—and I mean no one—else did. I practically killed him a dozen times, and what did he do? He stayed. He tried to help. If he wanted to take me out, he could’ve—and for good reason. He didn’t.”

  “But—”

  Lemon cuts Abe off. Turns his gaze to me. “Then, when I didn’t return the favor, when I gave up on him immediately without giving him a chance to explain, he stuck by me again. He’s still . . . sticking by me.” He shifts his eyes to Abe, then Gabby. “By us.”

  Abe pouts. Gabby frowns. Neither disagrees.

  “People make mistakes. We all make mistakes. But what sets one person apart from the next is what he does afterward. In that way, Seamus has proven himself time and again.” Lemon pauses. “Plus, I know he’s sorry.”

  “So sorry,” I chime in. “Really.”

  “Really,” Elinor vouches. “I have the K-Mail to prove it.”

  This is followed by a long moment of silence. I’m getting ready to apologize again when Abe shrugs.

  “I guess a little help wouldn’t hurt,” he says.

  This, I learn when Lemon fills me in, is an understatement. With no credits to buy more supplies, the alliance members are relying on what they already had. After a semester of serious troublemaking, this amounts to dried-up colored contact lenses for Gabby, a single can of spray paint for Abe, a book of matches and some kindling for Lemon, and a canister of gasoline the group siphoned from Annika’s golf cart before leaving campus.

  “The original goal was to bring down the whole park,” Lemon says. “But we revised the plan when we realized just how little we had to work with. Now the goal is to mess with a few of the smaller structures, mostly with spray paint, and burn down the carousel.”

  I nod. The carousel’s the centerpiece of the park. If the destruction of any single attraction will make Annika cry, it’s that one.

  “Under normal circumstances I’d be able to light several small fires around the base that’d eventually run together and send the entire ride up in flames, but the weather’s not cooperating.” Lemon leads us to a small, blackened mound by the carousel’s steps. “The snow makes a dry start nearly impossible, and when I finally get a few flames going, the wind blows them out.”

  “The lighters and face shields should help, right?” I ask.

  He holds out one hand, palm side up. “That’s the hope.”

  We get to work. Gabby resumes looking for hidden cameras that, if she finds, she’ll either block or break to stall the GS and buy the group more time. Abe starts tagging game booths with capital Ts. And using our bodies and face shields, Elinor and I form a wall to the wind as Lemon works with lighters and twigs.

  But Mother Nature’s strong. And today she’s cranky, too. Lemon manages to start several fires, but each time we move on to start a new one, the old one blows out. We try lingering to give the flames a chance to grow, but we can do this only so long before the heat scalds our hands and faces. And that, unfortunately, isn’t enough time for the fires to build up their defenses. Mother Nature snuffs them out, one by one by one.

  After twenty minutes, Lemon sits back on his heels. Rests his hands on his thighs. Shakes his head.

  “It’s not going to happen,” he says.

  Unwilling to give up so soon, I search through the remaining supplies. They’re all useful, but not necessarily for our current purposes. I’m considering how a staple gun and a roll of duct tape can help us when Gabby jogs up.

  “No cameras,” she says, breathless. “Just some weird buzzing box I thought might be a camera—but was just a weird buzzing box.”

  “That’s okay,” Lemon says. “We’re not doing anything worth hiding from view anyway.”

  He stands. Calls Abe and motions for him to join us. Sensing we’re about to raise the white flag of defeat, I scan the park, rack my brain for alternative approaches. As I’m thinking, my eyes pass over a large gray box attached to a tall wooden pole. Then, remembering what Gabby just said, they shoot back, zero in.

  Abe’s just reached us when I start jogging.

  “Seamus?” Lemon says. “Where are you going?”

  “I knew it!” Abe exclaims. “I knew he was trouble. Didn’t I say he was—”

  He’s cut off, but I don’t turn around to see how. I continue to the pole, then stop and listen.

  Gabby’s right. The box is buzzing. Like it contains a thousand angry bumblebees.

  “What is it?” Lemon stands next to me.

  I nod to the box. He looks up and listens.

  “Electricity,” we say at the same time.

  Abe, Gabby, and Elinor come up behind us. When we tell them what the box contains, they all have questions.

  “Are you sure?” Gabby asks.

  “Didn’t the last ride run, like, twenty years ago?” Elinor asks.

  “What’s the big deal?” Abe asks.

  Lemon fields the first two. “Yes, we’re sure. Look at the power lines connecting it to other poles throughout the park. And yes, the last ride ran a long time ago . . . but I guess they left the power on. Or forgot to turn it off.”

  “The big deal,” I continue, “is that we can use the electricity to complete the Ultimate Troublemaking Task.”

  There’s a pause. “How?” Elinor finally asks.

  I think quickly. “The box stands higher than the carousel roof. If we can get it over there and blow it up, the shower of sparks it makes will be like lighting a million matches and lighters all at once.”

  “Okay,” Abe says, sounding skeptical and pleased at the same time, “first, the box is attached to a pole twenty feet in the air. How are we going to get it from there to the carousel roof ten feet away? Second, how are we going to blow it up? Third, does it also control the snow and wind? Because if not, the sparks will still go out as fast as the matches and lighters did.”

  “The gasoline.” Lemon nods as he puts it together. “That we took from Annika’s golf cart. If we douse the roof with it, the sparks will land and catch before they can go out. The fire that results should be big enough to hold its own—and even spread to the rest of the ride.”

  “As for how we get the box from the pole to the roof,” I say, “leave that part up to me.”


  Lemon quickly assigns other responsibilities, and we scatter. Using benches and fake horses for support, Abe, Gabby, and Elinor scale the carousel and climb onto the roof, where they start clearing off accumulated snow. Lemon arranges small mounds of twigs and kindling throughout the ride, then pours a few drops of gasoline on each. I retrieve the bag of weapons and search for a good firing spot, finally deciding on the top of a slide. It looks like the kind you’d find on a playground, but taller. And rustier, of course.

  Once the carousel roof’s cleared, Abe, Gabby, and Elinor climb down, and Lemon climbs up with the canister of gasoline. He pours it over the entire surface, then jumps to the ground and gives me a thumbs-up.

  I raise my loaded bow and arrow. Close one eye. Focus on the gray box ten feet away. Pull back my arm. Shoot.

  And miss. The arrow flies past the box and lands silently in the snow below.

  Abe groans. Lemon elbows him.

  It’s okay, I tell myself as I reload. You’re a little out of practice, but it’s like riding a bike. Just stay calm.

  The next arrow nicks the bottom right corner of the box. The third hits the left side. The fourth slams into the front. The fifth nails the center, making the box shriek and wobble.

  Perfect. Or it would be if I had any arrows left.

  Down below, Lemon watches me steadily. Abe paces back and forth. Gabby and Elinor huddle together for warmth. Seeing them should make me more nervous, but instead I feel a strengthening surge of determination.

  I take a Boomaree from the bag of supplies and remove the return sensor. With steady hands, I aim, bring back my wrist, and flick it forward. The Boomaree hits where the last arrow did, denting the metal and knocking the box so that it tilts forward.

  I bring back the silver disc and try again. Another direct hit pushes the box some more and sends a dozen sparks shooting into the air.

  I take the second Boomaree from the bag as the first returns. Then I pause, calculating distance and estimating force needed to propel the box from the pole to the carousel roof. It’s a long shot. Longer than I thought it’d be. For one thing, I don’t know how heavy the box is. There’s a chance it could drop to the ground right next to the pole. For another, I was relying on the impact of the box hitting the roof to set off the required explosion. What if that doesn’t happen?