Mattie looked at his brother. “It will have to be our secret.”
Carter sighed and scuffed his shoe against the concrete floor. “I can’t believe no one is ever going to know how we saved them from being cloned and saved Munchem from being closed.”
“But we know,” Mattie said, and he turned the pod’s dial as far as it could go. The friends stood back and watched Headmaster Rooney snore. “You think you could speed this thing up?” he asked Eliot.
Eliot’s eyes went bright. “Give me twenty minutes.”
Mattie shook his head. “We have ten maybe before we have to get back.”
Because Eliot was even more amazing than Eliot thought, they only needed six. Eliot upped the pod’s power and adjusted several connections. He typed out something long and involved on the keypad that made the motor under the pod whirr and whine.
And when the Rooster opened his eyes again, he grinned at Mattie as if Mattie were his favorite thing in the whole wide world. They pushed back the pod’s cover and the headmaster sat up.
“What’s going on?” the headmaster asked.
“You tell us,” Eliot said. “You always answer your own questions. That’s kind of your thing.”
“Thing?”
Eliot frowned and looked down at some of the wires he had reconfigured. The blue was now connected to the black and the red wires were dangling uselessly. “I might have overdone this a bit.”
“What do you remember?” Mattie asked the headmaster.
“That you’re very short.”
“Wow,” Carter said, nodding. “Good job, Eliot. You turned him stupid…stupider.”
Mattie wasn’t so sure. He studied the headmaster. He studied his watery blue eyes and the spittle at the corners of his mouth, and finally asked, “What if he’s faking?”
Eliot shrugged. “What if he is?”
“Yeah,” Caroline agreed. “It’ll be way worse for the Rooster if he does remember. Think of all the trouble he’ll get into if he confesses.”
Caroline’s right, Mattie thought. She’s usually right, he also thought, but he put that second thought away because something else just occurred to him. “Carter? All this stuff is Larimore equipment. Do you think Dad would get in trouble?”
Carter hesitated. “I don’t know—if we stick to the plan though, who’ll find out?”
Exactly. They just needed to stick to the plan. Mattie turned back to Rooney. “Hey, Headmaster?”
“Yes?”
“We need to get back to school, okay?” Mattie helped Rooney down from the pod. The Rooster swayed a little when he stood up. “You’re going to need to get some new teachers—”
“And someone else to clean,” Carter said.
“And a better heater,” Eliot added.
“And no more frogs in biology!” Caroline huffed.
The real students cheered, but Mattie didn’t think they knew what they were cheering about, and the Rooster nodded, but Mattie didn’t think he understood what they were saying to him. Maybe he really wasn’t faking it?
Rooney grinned at him. “Frogs for everyone but biology!”
Mattie patted the headmaster’s sleeve. “Not quite, but nice try. Let’s get you back to school.”
And together they locked up the mausoleum and led the real students through the cemetery (which was still too dark) and up to Munchem (which still had people running around and around).
Mattie thought, This didn’t turn out too bad.
Ahead of him, Carter took the headmaster’s arm and grinned. His teeth were extra white in the moonlight. “Don’t worry about a thing, Headmaster. I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
AND THAT WAS HOW MATTIE LARIMORE met the Spencers and freed his brother and saved the other students and kept Munchem safe and yet nobody knew.
It wasn’t the most glorious of beginnings for a master thief.
Truth be told, it might not have been the most glorious of endings either because when Eliot and Mattie led a dazed and confused Headmaster Rooney back to the school, they realized what a mess they’d left behind. The students were still milling around, the parents were still with them, and the few teachers that were left looked as confused as Headmaster Rooney.
“We are in so much trouble,” Caroline muttered.
Mattie thought he might very well agree with her and then Doyle’s fat-headed parents stepped away from the crooked pillars that held up the crooked arched doorway, and Mattie could see who was still there, still waiting.
“Mom! Dad!” Mattie raced to his mother’s side and flung his arms around her waist. He pressed his face into the soft silk of her blouse. Miss Maple had lied. His parents hadn’t left. “They told us you left!”
“Leave?” Mr. Larimore demanded. “How in blazes could we leave? Someone’s blocked our car.”
And, indeed, someone had. The big black SUV couldn’t move forward or backward because other big blue SUVs were parked on either side. Mattie scuffed his feet against the gravel and wondered who would do that, but he didn’t have time to wonder for very long because Mr. Larimore was stomping toward them, shaking his cell phone to emphasize every word.
“I went outside to make a call and your mother came with me,” Mr. Larimore said.
“He might’ve needed something,” Mrs. Larimore explained.
“Then people started running around.” Mr. Larimore pinned both hands to his hips and glared at everyone. “And no one knew what was going on and a bunch of people ran right past us and took off in a van—like hippies!”
“Oh, no, dearest,” Mrs. Larimore said, patting her husband’s arm. “Hippies smell much worse.”
Mr. Larimore ignored her. He pointed his cell phone at the headmaster. “What kind of school are you running anyway, Rooney?”
Headmaster Rooney blinked. “A brick one?”
Everyone fell silent and stared at him. Rooney turned around and around, trying to figure out what they were looking at. Mattie forced himself to laugh. “Oh. Ha ha, Headmaster Rooney. You’re so funny.”
“Am I?” The headmaster blinked again. He patted the top of his head, trying to smooth down his spiky red hair. It seemed like the pod was as bad for Rooney’s hair as it was for his memories.
“Ridiculous,” Mr. Larimore grunted. “Why, if I ran this school, it would be in tip-top shape! Tip-top, do you hear me?”
“Yes,” Headmaster Rooney said.
“Good!” Mr. Larimore paused and looked at his cell phone. It was blinking, but he shoved it in his jacket pocket. “Do you know what else I would do?”
“No?” Headmaster Rooney guessed.
Mr. Larimore nodded until his jowls quivered. “I’ll tell you what else I would do.” He directed the headmaster to the granite steps.
Eliot’s eyes bugged out. Mattie knew the look. Panic. Eliot didn’t think Headmaster Rooney was in any shape to have a conversation with Mr. Larimore. But Mattie knew that Headmaster Rooney was in the perfect shape to have a conversation with Mr. Larimore because he would just keep asking Mr. Larimore questions about what Mr. Larimore thought.
And Mr. Larimore loved that.
“Mattie,” Mrs. Larimore said, grabbing him in an enormous hug. “I want you to come home. We miss you terribly.”
Mattie hesitated. It was everything he had worked for, everything he was supposed to want and yet: “I can’t, Mom. I’m sorry.”
“But why?”
Mattie thought about it. “Because I might fall into my bad habits again?”
“But you were always so good!”
Except for when I stole a train, Mattie thought.
“Mom, do you know how brave Carter is?” Mattie blurted and then regretted it. He didn’t regret asking his mother if she knew her son was brave—he was worried about how he was going to explain it if she asked for an example.
Thankfully, Mrs. Larimore wasn’t big on explanations. “You two are so cute when you’re not trying to squish each other.” She beamed at her boys and plac
ed one hand against her heart. “You’re almost always exactly what I want you to be!”
Mattie didn’t know what to say. It was true. He had always tried to be exactly what they wanted him to be, but maybe that wasn’t what he wanted anymore. Not exactly, at least. At Munchem, he had learned that doing the right thing wasn’t always the same as following the rules. He’d also learned he could do almost anything if Eliot and Caroline were there to help. He might even have learned how to get his brother to stop calling him girls’ names, but, of course, he couldn’t tell his parents any of that.
“He can’t leave now,” Mr. Larimore announced. Mattie and Carter’s father had deserted the headmaster and the small group of teachers—and the much larger group of parents—and was rushing toward them with bright eyes. “This is going to be great, Mattie. Your headmaster has a good head on his shoulders. He took all my advice. In fact, he’s going to have me help him find more teachers—better teachers. It’ll be good for people to see me give back. There have been issues at the company again. Wait. Is that another reporter?”
There did indeed seem to be someone running across the meadow, toward the trees. There was the faintest flash of red too. Was it a camera? Or a clone?
The teachers and clones had gotten away. Mattie wasn’t sure where they’d run to, or why the teachers would’ve taken the clones, but a sickening feeling told him he was going to find out eventually.
And we’ll be ready, Mattie thought. In the meantime, though—
“Just smile, Dad. Even if it is a reporter, we’re a happy family. Let them take a picture.”
“You might have a point,” Mr. Larimore said, rubbing his palms together. “Let them see my warm, personal side. It’s going to be an amazing new term at Munchem Academy. You and Carter are going to do great.”
Carter looked at Mattie. “You ready, Lassie?”
“It’s Mattie.”
AND THIS IS WHERE ALL THOSE LESSER books stop. They claim the beginning is over and Mattie’s life of crime is set on its one true course—and, in a way, those books are right because all beginnings are made up of endings. You can’t begin anything without ending something else, which is why this superior—and highly accurate—book ends here before Mattie’s story begins to get worse.
Much worse.
Or much, much better. It rather depends on your perspective and how you feel about Mattie’s eventual destiny, a truckload of glitter, and a few unfortunate explosions—and also clowns.
Everyone hates clowns, though, so perhaps that will be something to bring us together.
But, of course, Mattie doesn’t know anything about glitter or explosions or clowns yet. At this moment, he’s on top of the world. He has friends and Munchem and nothing but possibilities ahead of him.
Only we know how those possibilities are going to turn out—and I know better than anyone—but that’s a new beginning and this is our latest ending.
For now.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Commander would like to send enormous thank-yous to the team at Disney Hyperion, especially his editor, Tracey Keevan. He feels so lucky Mattie and friends found a home with her. It’s been a total privilege.
Another big round of thank-yous to Jared Stamm, copy editor extraordinaire, who makes the Commander look far more polished than he might actually be.
In addition, the Commander wouldn’t be anywhere without Wonder Agent Sarah Davies, who wasn’t fazed at all when the Commander wanted to do comedy. And the idea to do comedy wouldn’t have even occurred without Phoebe Yeh’s encouragement. Sometimes book ideas come on their own. Other times they happen when people believe in the Commander more than the Commander believes in himself. Thank you, ladies. He’s a better writer because of you.
As always, there aren’t enough thank-yous in the world for Natalie Richards, who reads everything the Commander writes and helps him make it so much better than he could ever make it on his own. Equally enormous thank-yous to the Commander’s long-suffering sidekick, Boy Genius, and his parents.
Many medals for service above and beyond the call of duty for Megan Miranda and Stephanie Winkelhake, who also worked on The Boy Who Knew Too Much and made it so much stronger. The Commander truly wouldn’t be here without y’all. He’s so lucky to have you in his life.
Commander S. T. Bolivar III was born at a very young age and has been working on a personal motto ever since. He is currently torn between “The bigger the lie, the more they’ll believe it” and “Cheer up! The worst is yet to come.” Bolivar is best known for his scholarly codices on the origins of the world’s finest criminal minds; his works are often recommended by people who recommend things. Despite the commander’s astonishing success, he frequently considers giving it all up to become a billionaire. Or the hero of a prophecy.
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