A World of Trouble

by T. R. Burns

  “Check-in lasts all morning.” His voice is shaky, like his legs. “We passed a diner a few miles back. Maybe we should grab a bite to eat before—”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “This is a great opportunity, remember?”

  He doesn’t look half as convinced as he sounded when he told me the same thing on New Year’s Eve, but he follows me anyway. As we start up the slippery front path, I think about the last time we made this trip. Mom had practically sprinted toward the building, leaving me in her dust and Dad straggling even farther behind. Minutes later, she couldn’t seem to leave fast enough. I’d assumed then it was because she wanted my reformation to begin ASAP.

  In a way, I guess I was right.

  “Waiting for spring?” a low voice explodes from hidden speakers.

  I quicken my pace, glance over my shoulder to make sure Dad’s not flat on his back.

  “If you think it’s treacherous out there, just wait till you see what’s in here.”

  We reach the front steps. The thick steel door inches open, howling like an injured animal. I take Dad’s arm again, and this time, I don’t let go.

  A figure appears. From previous experience—and only from previous experience—I know it’s female. She wears dark green pants and tall black boots. A shiny, dark green coat that puffs out not from feathers, but from bulbous biceps and ripped abs. A black wool scarf wound tightly around her neck and past her chin. A bomber hat with furry ear and forehead flaps. Aviator sunglasses, even though it’s overcast—and she’s indoors. In the glasses’ mirrored lenses I see my unblinking eyes, Dad’s open mouth.

  “Hello, Ms. Kilter.” My breath forms a dense white cloud.

  “Seamus.” Her head turns ever so slightly to the left. “Mr. Hinkle.”

  “Hi,” Dad says. Then, apparently remembering he’s the temporary parental leader, he stands up straighter and looks Annika square in the sunglasses. “Good morning. It’s so nice to see you again.”

  “Nice?” The corners of Annika’s lips twitch. “Good one. No Mrs. Hinkle today?”

  “No.” Dad pulls me closer. “Seamus’s mother wanted to come but was detained by an injury. Nothing too serious, mind you. She’ll make a full—”

  He’s cut off by crackling. As Annika adjusts the volume on the walkie-talkie attached to her belt, the hem of her coat lifts, revealing a loaded gun holster. Handcuffs. Pepper spray.

  “Know what I say about injuries?” she asks.

  In her mirrored lenses, I see Dad’s Adam’s apple rise and fall.

  “They’re the body’s way of saying we need to take it easy?” he guesses.

  The corners of her mouth lift higher. “We should book you for the entertainment portion of Parents’ Weekend.” The corners drop. “But no. Injuries are physical manifestations of mental weakness. And nothing irritates me more.”

  I picture Elinor lying on the snow-covered ground, her skin red and blistered.

  “Shall we?” Annika looks at me.

  I look at Dad. He hesitates, then grabs me in a hug. His belly trembles against my cheek, and I know he’s fighting tears.

  “I’ll be okay,” I whisper, doing the same. “Promise.”

  “Still haven’t shaken that word, huh?”

  Dad and I pull apart. Annika stands with her back to the open door, one arm extended toward the lobby.

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “If we do nothing else this semester, we’ll make sure your son learns to stop making guarantees he doesn’t know he can keep.”

  I feel Dad’s eyes on me. I avoid them as I adjust my duffel bag strap on my shoulder and step inside.

  “We’ll be back!” Dad cries after me. “For Parents’ Weekend! Never forget that your mother and I love—”

  The door slams shut. My heart shoots toward my throat.

  Annika’s boots clomp against the floor as she crosses the room. It takes several seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they do, I see that the room looks just as it did the first and only other time I was here. Besides a small wooden desk and an empty coat hanger, it’s empty. The walls are bare. Maybe nothing changes at Kilter—except for its fearless leader.

  Just like my last first day last semester, Annika ditches her military-esque uniform as soon as Dad leaves. She must wear real clothes under the fake ones, because in the time it took my eyes to get used to the room’s dim lighting, her pants, coat, scarf, and boots have been replaced with jeans, a long white sweater covered in silver flowers, and shiny gray shoes that look like a cross between ballet and bedroom slippers. She’s still wearing the bomber hat and sunglasses, although the hat’s flaps are now folded up and the sunglasses are perched on top of her head. The weapons are gone from her waist; a K-Pak is in their place.

  “Am I late?” I ask.

  “You’re right on time.” Even her voice is different. Lighter. Sweeter.

  “Am I the last one?”

  “Not even close.”

  “But you changed your clothes. Don’t you need to wear the uniform for the other families?”

  “I’m not very big on small talk. The faculty and staff handle most of the meet-and-greets.”

  I look around the empty room without moving my head.

  Annika explains.

  “All new students enter Kilter for the first time through his building. When they arrive, they have no idea what to expect. They’re scared. Confused. Some of them cling to their parents and bawl like babies.”

  My cheeks warm. This part is familiar.

  “I introduce myself to them and their parents, as I did with you and yours, so that everyone understands the severity of the situation. I make sure to leave an unforgettable impression so that I don’t have to remind them on drop-off days of subsequent semesters. It helps that parents like to believe that the director of the best reform school in the country is too busy devising ways to turn their bad kids into good ones to waste time with idle chitchat. Plus, the faculty members really dig the chance to don fake threads—and up the intimidation factor. They’re excellent Kilter representatives.”

  “But if I’m not late or the last one here . . . ?”

  “Where are these excellent representatives?” She shrugs. “In a barren field. A deep ditch. The middle of a frozen lake. New students are terrified to come to Kilter, but returning students are always thrilled. On the first day of each semester, in order to keep the school’s true purpose a secret from parents, who would at the very least remove their kids and at most blow our cover for good, returning students must feel the same kind of trepidation they felt on their first day ever.”

  “So you have them dropped off in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Sometimes. Wherever it is has to be completely different from wherever they were left the time before so as to keep them guessing—and nervous. This makes their parents nervous and reassures them that Kilter’s doing what it should.”

  Anywhere else, this would make absolutely no sense. Here, it seems perfectly logical. Still, “This is my second semester. How come I wasn’t dropped off in the middle of a frozen lake? How come you met me, and not Houdini or Wyatt or Fern?”

  She pauses. Her blue eyes narrow slightly. Her lips press together. “Because I couldn’t tell.”

  “Couldn’t tell . . . what?”

  “Whether you wanted to come back.”

  “Of course I wanted to come back. I went on the real-world combat mission. I e-mailed my friends. I even tried to get here—”

  “Early. I know.”

  I frown. “Ike and Houdini told you I tried to hitch a ride?”

  “No. The Kommissary Krew did when you earned forty gold stars before the semester had even started.” She clucks her tongue. “Regardless of intention, soliciting your tutor and instructor for advance arrival is akin to brownnosing. And no one gets a head start at Kilter—unless he steals it.”

  I open my mouth to explain that I wasn’t trying to get a head start, at least not on troublemaking, but before I can, Annika
spins around.

  “In any case, based on other observations and sources, I wanted to be the one to greet you today. You’ve had great success up until now, but the past is pointless without the present. I wanted to see for myself if you came here committed. Focused. Ready to do whatever it takes to continue down the right path.”

  I’ve been at Kilter five minutes, tops, so I don’t know how she could tell anything besides the fact that I’m still here. But something must’ve satisfied her because she opens the door, turns toward me, and beams.

  I peer past her, through the door. Even from ten feet away I can see green grass. Flowers. Blue sky.

  “Still think you’re in the wrong place?” Annika asks.

  My heart pounds as I force my eyes to hers. “No, ma’am.”

  She winks. “Good boy.”

  I start to follow through the doorway, then stop and spin around. I dart down the length of one wall, then another and another. I scan the base of each, looking for a large gray box.

  “See a mouse?”

  “I’m looking for the bin,” I say. “To put my stuff in for screening.”

  Annika laughs. “Did you think we really checked your bags last time?”

  I did. But then, why would they? Belongings that might be confiscated from a normal bad kid, like matches, scissors, and nail clippers, are as useful in the Kilter classroom as pencils, erasers, and rulers are in non-Kilter classrooms.

  Which means I taped the Kilter Knight-Vision Goggles to my torso for no good reason.

  “You’ve been given a new room this semester,” Annika says. “Why don’t we check it out?”

  As I hoist my duffel bag onto my shoulder and follow her outside, I feel a little foolish—and nervous. Between checking for the bin and earning forty gold stars, I’m not off to a good start. And since being here keeps me far away from home, where I can’t be while I try to figure out why Mom did what she did, I need to stay on Annika’s good side. I need her to believe I’m a real Troublemaker. Especially since, as far as I can tell, she doesn’t know the one thing that would get me immediate and permanent expulsion.

  Annika heads for a stone fountain shaped like a globe. At the top, a silver K and A rotate slowly, sending water streaming down the round sculpture. A turbo golf cart is parked next to the fountain. She hops in the cart and nods to the passenger seat. I climb in. Clear plastic straps slide around my waist and chest and tighten instantly, locking me in place a millisecond before the vehicle jolts forward.

  We drive to a section of campus I’ve never seen before. Several buildings are scattered among small hills and valleys. A narrow gravel path weaves between the trunks of towering evergreen trees. When we slow down, I see that the buildings are actually rustic log cabins with modern accents, like stainless steel porches and motion-sensor doors. I recognize a few of my classmates walking, talking, and laughing. In a large central clearing, four Troublemakers throw a football around.

  It’s just like summer camp. Only it’s winter. And one high-tech cabin could fit two of my family’s houses.

  “We like to give students as much freedom as possible as soon as possible.” Annika returns waves and smiles to a trio of passing Troublemakers. “So whoever successfully passes the first semester moves here the second semester.”

  “Did everyone in my class pass?” I ask.

  The golf cart jerks to a stop.

  “Almost,” Annika says.

  Before I can wonder who didn’t make the cut, she hops out. I hurry after her. We head for a two-story log cabin with a large front yard, a tree-lined walkway, and not one but two stainless steel balconies. It’s by far the biggest, fanciest house on the farm, so must belong to a teacher or some other adult in charge.

  But then Annika jogs up the front steps. Reaches for the door. Says, “Welcome home, Seamus.”

  And is swallowed whole by a burning black cloud.

  Chapter 5

  DEMERITS: 200

  GOLD STARS: 40

  Annika!”

  I drop my bags. Charge up the steps. Clamp one hand over my mouth and nose and thrust my free arm into the darkness. My throat burns. My skin itches and aches at the same time. Tears spill from my eyes, but I won’t close them. I can’t. I’ve done some pretty questionable stuff the past few months, but abandoning Annika now, letting her go up in flames . . . That would be no different from killing her myself.

  I open my mouth to yell her name again, but the heat’s too intense. I start choking. My lungs tighten. My chest pulsates. I drop to my knees, hoping for clearer air, but it’s just as dark by the floor. I crawl and squint, trying to see something, anything through the blackness.

  It’s no use. It’s too hot. Too dark. I can hear crackling, so the fire must be nearby, but I can’t see it. And now my throat’s closing, my eyelids are drooping . . .

  Annika!

  Her name shoots through my head as my body sinks to the floor. My arms and legs hold out the longest, letting my chest hit last. When it does, the pain’s so great, I picture my heart melting, oozing through my ribs, dripping to the floor, forming a purple molten puddle.

  That’s the last thing I see.

  Until I see Lemon.

  His face is softened by a gray haze, but I can still make out his fuzzy eyebrows and shaggy brown hair. The downward slope of his eyes. The cluster of pimples at the tip of his nose. A silver mask over his mouth.

  “Breathe,” he says.

  I shake my head.

  “Do it. Now.”

  “I can’t.”

  He reaches forward. His fist shoots toward my head and his fingers pop open, like he’s going to give my face a high five. I close my eyes and brace for impact. . . . But it doesn’t come. There’s only a slight pinch as Lemon grabs my mask, tugs it away from my mouth, and gently releases it.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’m breathing.”

  He jumps to his feet and disappears. Sitting up, I inhale, exhale, and take in my surroundings. A silver oxygen canister sits on the floor next to me; it’s connected to my face mask by a thin, clear tube. A coatrack stands next to the canister. A table holding a blackened fruit bouquet and a digital WELCOME, TROUBLEMAKERS! card stands next to that. Across the foyer, an open doorway leads to a living room. Through the lingering gray smoke I see overstuffed couches and chairs. A floor-to-ceiling flat-screen TV. A pinball machine and foosball table.

  “Where did you get those?”

  My head snaps to the left. The front door’s open. A figure stands there. It’s lighter outside than it is inside, so I can’t tell whose it is.

  “Seamus, you shouldn’t have!” A second, smaller figure appears. It scoots around the first.

  “Gabby?” I ask. “Is that you?”

  A pair of blue eyes near mine. They open until lash meets brow, and hold. I want to slide back, but the stare’s intensity locks me in place.

  “It’s you,” I say.

  “And that is an amazing belated Christmas present,” she says, still staring. “You’re so sweet to try it out for me! It’s always such a bummer when you’ve been dreaming about something for, like, ever, and then when you finally get it it’s broken or needs batteries or something. This one time—”

  “Ten thousand credits.”

  The blue eyes blink. Instantly freed, I scramble to my feet. Once upright I see that the first figure belongs to Abe.

  And that my reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall is wearing the Kilter Knight-Vision Goggles.

  “I got five hundred demerits for making Annika cry,” Abe continues. “That wouldn’t buy half a lens.”

  Annika. I’ve been so distracted about my own near-death experience I forgot about hers. Ignoring Abe, I dart down the hall. I’m slowed by the oxygen tank I’m still connected to, so I yank the mask from my mouth and over my head. The mask’s elastic strap catches on the goggles. They slide off—and drop into Lemon’s hands.

  “Sorry,” he says. “I know you were pretty attached.”

 
I look at him. The feeling leaves my face. “Did she . . . ? She didn’t . . . ?”

  Lemon’s two eyebrows become one as he tries to fill in the blanks. A second later his forehead relaxes and they part again. He shuffles past Abe and Gabby and stands in the front doorway. Knowing Lemon well enough to know this is his way of telling me something without actually telling me something, I follow. Together, we watch Annika sprint across the main field, spin, and catch a football thrown by one of our classmates. She spikes the ball and curtsies as the gathered crowd cheers.

  “I guess she’s okay,” I say.

  “Of course she is. I was talking about these.” He holds the goggles toward me. “I grabbed them because I thought the bump under your coat was your K-Pak, and I didn’t want you to sound the alarm before I had a chance to get the situation under control. I didn’t expect you to scream instead.”

  Remembering the searing pain I felt only moments earlier, which was apparently caused not by fire but by fire starter tearing duct tape from skin, I take the goggles.

  “Um, hello?” Abe asks. “Can we please get back to more important matters?”

  Lemon’s eyes slowly roll up and to the left, meeting mine. I smile. We both turn around, and seeing neither smoke nor flames, I close the door.

  “Such as, Abraham?”

  Abe’s neck juts forward. His head drops to one side. His gaze and both pointer fingers shoot toward the goggles still in my hands. “Ten. Thousand. Credits. Even if Gabby had a red braid and no friends, Hinkle still wouldn’t have blown that much bank on her. Because no one in our class has that kind of coin—or at least, they shouldn’t.”

  One of several responses would be appropriate right now. Like the fact that I didn’t buy the goggles. And that the red-braided girl he’s referring to does have friends, although his point is pointless since that’s all she and I are. And that he has no idea how many credits I’ve earned. And that even if I did buy the goggles, for Elinor, with my own Kilter currency, it’s really none of his business.