by T. R. Burns
I mentally review the checklist, then say, “Yes.”
Abe’s head shoots forward. His eyes bulge from their sockets. When no one says anything else, he sits back and shrugs. “Nope. No way. Not going to happen.”
“But—”
“I understand everything you just said,” Abe says, interrupting Lemon. “I agree we couldn’t have won the Ultimate Troublemaking Task without Elinor, and I appreciate her help. But if we’re caught doing what Hinkle’s suggesting, we’re done. Kicked out of Kilter. For good. I’m appreciative . . . but I’m not stupid.”
Now, this reaction I expected.
“Kilter’s a school for Troublemakers,” I remind him. “Where bad behavior is not only encouraged, but rewarded.”
His face relaxes slightly.
“I bet no other students have ever tried to pull off something like this. If we’re caught, we might get docked a few days of troublemaking. That would be unfortunate, but not the end of the world.” I hesitate. “But if we’re not? If we see it through to the end?” I think I’ll have to force a smile, but I don’t. It comes naturally. “Capital T will be forever known as the best bad kids in Kilter history.”
“And probably earn enough demerits to buy the entire Kommissary,” Gabby adds.
Maybe it’s the promise of eternal fame. Maybe it’s the idea of owning any troublemaking item he could ever want. It’s probably not the desire to return a favor or be a good friend, but that’s okay.
Something convinces Abe to sit back. Sigh heavily. And say:
“Whatever. I’m in.”
Chapter 17
DEMERITS: 385
GOLD STARS: 300
After a long, sleepless night, Phase Two of Operation Evacuate Elinor begins the next morning.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Tin Man
Hi, Ike!
So I know it’s short notice, but would you be up for a training session before classes start today? I’m feeling a little rusty.
Let me know! Thanks!
—Seamus
His response comes while I’m getting dressed.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: RE: Tin Man
Hey, Seamus,
You got it. See you at the gazebo at seven.
—Ike
I finish getting ready. Fling forks at the bread bin until a direct hit pops it open, then grab a muffin. Remind my alliance-mates, who are silently eating breakfast, to act like today’s no different from any other day. And leave the house.
I’m halfway to the gazebo when my K-Pak buzzes. Worried someone’s having doubts about participating—and wanting to catch their note saying so before Annika does—I yank the mini computer from my backpack and read as I walk.
Fortunately, the note’s not from Lemon, Abe, or Gabby. Unfortunately, it’s from Annika herself.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: How are you??
Dear Seamus,
I’m sorry you left so suddenly yesterday. I hope you’re feeling better today!
You probably haven’t been able to monitor Mr. Tempest too closely while under the weather, but I thought I’d check in anyway. Do you have any updates?
Get lots of rest! And be sure to have a big bowl of fish stick chowder for lunch today. When it comes to killing a cold, it kicks chicken soup’s you-know-what. And I’ve already asked the Kanteen chefs to make a special batch just for you.
xo,
Annika
I start to put my K-Pak away without answering, but then think better of it and take my own advice.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: RE: How are you??
Hi Annika,
Thanks for checking in! I’m sorry I had to leave so suddenly yesterday too. I rested all day and am feeling a little better this morning.
As for Mr. Tempest, everything seems to be business as usual. I’ll keep you posted.
Can’t wait to try the chowder! It sounds delicious!
Thanks again!
—Seamus
I press send. The digital envelope swishes around the K-Pak screen—and shoots past my right ear. Or at least, it sounds like it does. I’m about to look behind me, just in case, when something buzzes by my left ear.
“Morning!”
I follow the greeting. Through the early-morning fog, I see Ike standing in the gazebo entrance. I wave and jog toward him.
“Hi,” I say as I get closer. “Thanks for meeting on such short notice.”
“No problem.” He waits for me to reach the bottom step, then holds out one hand.
I stare at the device in his open palm. “What is that?”
“The Kilter Icickler. It turns water into frozen daggers with the push of one button and fires them with the push of another.”
Once again, I asked the wrong question. I try a better one.
“Where did you get it?”
“Where I—and you, and every other Troublemaker—gets anything. The Kommissary.”
A hot, fast heat blooms in my belly and spreads to my fingers and toes. Does he know about Mom and her addiction to the Hoodlum Home Shopping Network? Are they in cahoots, which is what Dad asks whenever a neighborhood dog digs in his flower beds the same night deer swing by for a snapdragon snack? Or is Ike’s introduction of a weapon I already own simply a coincidence?
I don’t have time to worry about another conspiracy theory. So I shrug off my coat, wipe my brow, and take the Icickler.
“Ten demerits for pants, twenty for coats, thirty for cold-weather accessories.” Ike lifts his chin toward a group of Troublemakers gathered on the other side of the lawn. They’re too far away for me to see their parka patches, but their faces are tilted skyward and hazy stars, hearts, and other shapes float above them. So I assume the older Biohazards are taking advantage of the cold to practice turning breath clouds into geometric shapes.
I raise my arm. Aim the Icickler. Register Ike’s instructions.
“Wait.” I lower my arm. “You don’t want me to actually hit them, do you?”
“Of course not.” Leaning against a gazebo post, he points to a cluster of trees just behind my targets. “Think thumbtacks and corkboard.”
Easier said than done. If you get hit with a thumbtack, you might lose a droplet of blood. If you get hit with a Kilter-made icicle, you might lose a limb.
You can rock this, Hinkle.
Houdini’s voice zips through my head. He still sounds more confident than I feel, but the clock’s ticking. So I raise my arm again. Aim. Fire.
I get a hit on the first try. And the second. And the third, fourth, and fifth. Soon the entire Biohazard group is stuck to three wide tree trunks, their clothes—and bodies—held in place by cold spikes. One girl cries out in surprise, but no one screams in pain. They twist and turn and crane their necks, trying to break free and figure out what just happened at the same time.
“Rusty, huh?” Ike asks.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so good so fast. I don’t want to make Ike even more suspicious than he might be by the time we’re done. Then again, this could be the perfect time to accomplish what I really wanted to in this morning’s training session.
“Ever feel that way?” I ask. “A little out of it? Not quite good enough?”
He turns toward me. Despite the rising sun, his face darkens. The corners of his mouth droop. He looks like he did at the track the other day . . . just as I hoped he would.
“Sometimes,” he says.
He retreats into the gazebo. I follow.
“It’s a lot of pressure,” I say. “Going to classes. Completing assignments. Learning new skills. Trying to get in as much trouble as possible without hurting anyone. Especially when not doing any of those things well enough can get you sent home.”
>
“It can be.” Ike leans against a gazebo post, gazes out toward the mountains.
“Want to know what my biggest fear is?” I lean against the post next to his.
“Going to sleep Seamus and waking up a pile of gray ash?”
“Surprisingly, no.” I smile at the Lemon reference. “It’s disappointing people. Teachers. Parents.” I pause. “Annika.”
I’m actually not sure where this falls on my lengthy list of fears, but giving it the top spot now has the desired effect. The invisible dark cloud hanging over Ike’s face expands. I continue.
“I have an idea. A way to get ahead.”
He looks up from his boots. “Aren’t you already ahead? You just earned a ton of demerits in two minutes.”
“I’m not sure.” Demerits-wise, this is the truth. “But if I pull off what I want to, I don’t think I’ll ever have to worry about disappointing anyone again.”
This is a stretch, but it makes Ike’s eyebrows lift.
“It’s complicated, though,” I say.
“What is it?”
Now I look at my boots. “I can’t say.”
“Oh.”
I look up again. “But I could still use your help.”
He shifts so his shoulder presses against the gazebo post and he faces me. “I’m listening.”
I glance behind me. Past him. Outside the gazebo. Besides the Biohazards, who are still wriggling against the trees, we’re the only ones out this early.
I lean toward Ike and lower my voice anyway. “To do what I need to, I have to leave campus. Tonight.”
“For how long?”
“That’s the thing. I’m not sure. It could be a few hours. It could be a few days.”
“You want me to cover for you.”
After asking about his post-Kilter plans seemed to stress him out, I’d assumed Ike was uncertain about his future. Based on my real-world mission with Houdini and my helicopter ride with Annika, I’d also assumed there were Kilter-related opportunities he hadn’t yet been chosen to participate in. And that he was feeling rusty, out of it, and not quite good enough as a result. But given how quickly he got where I was going, I, for one, am impressed.
“Yes,” I say. “Please. If it’s not too much trouble.”
He gazes toward the mountains again. “Maybe it’ll be just enough.”
In that case, “Can you cover for Lemon, Abe, and Gabby, too?” I’d assured them we wouldn’t be gone long, so we hadn’t discussed whether they should talk to their tutors. But it doesn’t hurt to overprepare.
Ike thinks about it, then says, “Okay.”
There’s a soft crunching sound behind us. I look over my shoulder and see a tall, thin figure hurrying across the frozen lawn. His hands are in the pockets of his black wool coat. He’s stooped forward against the cold and doesn’t seem to notice the pom-pom of his black knit hat bopping his forehead with every other step. He keeps his eyes to the ground as he makes his way toward the Kanteen.
I turn back. “One more thing.”
“Shoot,” Ike says.
“Could you keep an eye on the instructors? And let me know if any of them act any stranger than usual?”
“Sure. But why?”
Because one of them is an ax-wielding, stuffed-animal-stealing Kilter history buff who may be trying to go down in world history as the scariest teacher ever by hiding children in a secret cottage in the woods. Which is something I’ll have to deal with the second I get back.
I shrug. “Just ’cause.”
“You’re keeping a lot of secrets.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. That’s what real Troublemakers do.” He claps me on the back. “Good luck. Be in touch.”
With that, he crosses the gazebo, jumps over the steps to the ground, and jogs across the lawn.
“Morning.”
I spin around. GS George is standing on the other side of the gazebo railing, walkie-talkie in one hand, MY CORNISH REX THINKS I’M THE CAT’S PAJAMAS travel mug in the other.
“Hi,” I say. “What’s a Cornish rex?”
His eyes light up. He rests his walkie-talkie and coffee on the railing, takes his K-Pak from his fanny pack, and holds it up so I can see the screen.
“The picture on the mug doesn’t do it justice. This one’s much better.”
According to the picture that’s GS George’s K-Pak’s backdrop, a Cornish rex is a long, skinny, ratlike kitty. Some might even call it the feline equivalent of a hairless Chihuahua.
If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.
“What’s the word?” GS George swaps his K-Pak for the travel mug. Nods to the Biohazards still stuck to trees like magnets to a refrigerator.
“Not sure,” I say casually. “Some human glue experiment, I think. They were like that when I got here.”
He looks at me. Arches one eyebrow. I want to minimize the lies as much as possible, so rather than offering up another that may or may not convince him I had nothing to do with the spectacle across the yard, I try to distract him with a more important one.
“The hairless Chihuahua wants a snuggle buddy.”
GS George’s other eyebrow shoots skyward.
“I talked to Ms. Marla this morning. She asked me to tell you that.”
Both eyebrows drop. He scratches his head with one mittened hand.
“That one’s not code. There’s another hairless Chihuahua. A girl, named Rosita. Ms. Marla found her on a website for needy pets. She said it’s high time Rodolfo had a friend.”
“Everyone should have a friend,” GS George agrees.
“Right.” I take a deep breath. Continue. “Anyway, I was thinking . . . Valentine’s Day’s coming up.”
He sips. Grins. Wiggles his hips, which wiggles his shoulders. “Don’t I know it.”
Now my eyebrows drop. Do all adults possess this capacity for corny?
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Images of Elinor fill my head before I’ve even finished the sentence. “But if I did, I bet she’d love a new puppy more than flowers or chocolates.”
“Really? What about those coconut-filled ones?”
I look at him. He looks at me.
“Oh! You think I should get a friend for Rodolfo. For Ms. Marla. For Valentine’s Day.” He raises his K-Pak, starts typing. “That’s a great idea. I bet there’s a shelter around here that—”
“I think you should get her the friend she already picked out. Online.”
“Oh.” He lowers the K-Pak slightly, then raises it again. “Okeydoke. You can get anything online these days, can’t you? My good buddy, GS Carl? He bought a jar of mayonnaise once owned by the guy who played Batman on TV nearly fifty years ago. It was on some auction site. Can you imagine?”
Finding a fifty-year-old jar of mayo online? Yes. Actually buying it? Not so much.
“There’s just one problem,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“Someone else wants the same dog. If you don’t get her as soon as possible, you might not get her at all.” My pulse grows louder in my ears. I hurry up with the rest before I lose my nerve. “And you have to go there in person. To meet Rosita. And the company owners. They need to make sure you’re a good fit. If I were you, I’d leave after work today.”
GS George stands up straight. Puffs out his chest. “I’ll do it. I’ll go tonight.”
I exhale. Smile. “Awesome. She’s going to be so excited, you have no idea.”
“And if Ms. Marla’s excited, I’m—” He stops. “Wait a minute. Where am I going?”
My lips, still reaching toward my ears, freeze. When I answer, GS George shakes his head.
“What’s that?” he asks.
I bite my bottom lip. Try again.
“Arizona.”
“Arizona? As in next stop, California?”
I nod.
His face falls. “Well, thanks for the tip, but Rosita will have to be some other pup’s pal. There’s simply no way
I can get all the way there and all the way back in time for my six o’clock shift tomorrow morning.”
Frowning, he puts his K-Pak in his fanny pack. When he reaches for his travel mug, I put one hand on his arm.
“Of course there is.”
Chapter 18
DEMERITS: 465
GOLD STARS: 300
WELCOME, SEAMUS HINKLE! YOU HAVE 0 credits!
I stare at the flashing print pad. I emptied my credit account when I bought supplies earlier, but the zero’s still weird to see. Telling myself I’ll easily earn more, I remove my hand and push through the turnstile. Lemon, Abe, and Gabby do the same. We split up inside the Kommissary. I head for the marksman aisle and pretend to browse. Two minutes later, there’s a loud pop at the front of the store. Over the shrieks and groans that follow, I can barely make out Gabby’s voice.
“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry! I’ll get some paper towels!”
Footsteps dash down the aisle to my right. Two more pairs clomp down the one to my left. I replace the darts I’d picked up and run. I meet up with Capital T at the back of the store and lead them to the unmarked door.
“Spitball?” Abe asks as we enter the stairwell.
“Booger Bomb,” Gabby says. It’s too dark to see the twinkle in her eyes, but I can hear it in her voice. “Right in the face. Poor Martin might want to be more careful when putting certain items on display. After that faulty firing, he’ll be blinded by slime for at least ten minutes.”
Ten minutes. It’s not much time, but it’ll have to be enough.
We start down the stairs. I can’t find a light switch, so we use our K-Paks to illuminate the way. No one speaks. The only sound is the tapping of our shoes climbing concrete steps—and the thumping of my heart, which is so loud I’m sure they hear it too. I’m relieved when they don’t ask where we’re going or if I know how to get there. I didn’t tell them anything about our transportation in the likely event it didn’t pan out, and answering those questions now will only make them worry. And I want them to think happy thoughts until other thoughts make that impossible.
After three wrong turns that lead to dead ends, we find the elevator and file inside. I press the UP button. We watch the silver lightning bolt move above the door.