A World of Trouble
Page 19
Again, I have multiple responses to choose from. Like if she doesn’t think she can be a professional Troublemaker, why does she think she can be a professional criminal—or whatever else IncrimiNation trains its students to become? Doesn’t the latter require worse behavior? Also, she revealed at the end of last semester that her troublemaking talent was lying. How do I know that’s not what she’s doing right now?
Before I can pick one, Lemon speaks up.
“We have our own rooms now. Seamus has been sleeping on the floor of mine since the beginning of the semester.”
Elinor frowns. Like me, she must be wondering what this has to do with our current conversation.
“Why?” she asks.
“Because I’m too good at starting fires. I can’t control myself. So Seamus stays with me to make sure I don’t burn Kilter to the ground in my sleep. More than anything, that’s what I want—what I need—to learn at Kilter. How to keep the flames in check so I don’t hurt someone again.”
Again?
No one else seems to have caught this, because Elinor nods. Abe and Gabby exchange looks.
“I’m a nerd,” Gabby says quickly, loudly, like this is a confession she’s been dying to share.
“Really?” Abe asks. “I had no idea.”
“I know. I hide it really well. But at my school back home, I get straight A-plusses. Not As. A-plusses. I never need extra credit, but I do it whenever it’s offered. I finish my chores before they’re given to me. I read instead of watching TV. I go to bed early and get up early to make my parents breakfast. I eat all my vegetables, all the time. I’ve never had a cavity. I volunteer at the local library, nursing home, and animal shelter. For my birthday every year, I ask people to donate to their favorite charities rather than buy me gifts. On Halloween, I don’t go trick-or-treating. I stay home and hand out rice cakes.”
“Rice cakes?” Elinor asks.
“Rice cakes.” Gabby sighs. “Being good is like this terrible, awful, incurable disease I was born with and can’t get rid of.”
“And you’re sharing this fascinating info because . . . ?” Abe asks.
“Because the way you steer clear of someone who’s coughing up a lung? Or sneezing nonstop? That’s what kids do with me. What they did with me.” She shakes her head. “Last year, I started watching the popular kids. They were usually the ones doing ridiculous things like tooting with their armpits in the middle of class. So I taught myself some of their tricks. Which got me sent to Kilter. Where, for the first time ever, I have real friends.”
I still don’t understand the impromptu sharing session, but it’s kind of nice. Even Abe stays quiet at this last part. For a few seconds, anyway.
“My dad plays football. Professionally. If you ever meet him, he’ll tell you he always wanted a son with a wicked throwing arm who could follow in his footsteps. That’s what he tells everyone—our neighbors, my teachers, store cashiers.” Abe quietly taps one finger on the drawing pad in his lap. “Unfortunately, he got a son with a drawing arm instead. I tried making him happy, but if I even look at a football my bicep shrinks. Give me pastels or watercolors, though, and I’m like Popeye after a can of spinach.”
Sitting next to him, Gabby raises one hand to pat him on the back. Then she seems to think better of it and lowers her hand. “You’re an amazing artist. I’m sure he’s superproud of you.”
“Thanks, but no. He’s not. That’s why I’m at Kilter. My mom signed me up because of the public graffiti and endless wall murals at home, but when I was there over break, she said I’d learned my lesson and that I didn’t have to go back if I didn’t want to. But I did want to. I thought it was the only place that could teach me things—tough, nonfootball things—that Dad might approve of.”
This is all news to me. Funny how you can spend so much time with people and still not know who they really are. Maybe I’ll bring this up with Miss Parsippany in my next note. If there is a next note.
Which reminds me.
Heart racing, I unzip my coat and take out my K-Pak. There’s no reception in here, but the clock still works.
11:19.
My heart sinks. But before it can reach my toes, I have a genuine happy thought.
GS George left—but only nineteen minutes ago. He couldn’t have gotten far. He has his K-Pak, so if we can just get out of here and go somewhere with reception, I can e-mail and beg him to turn back around. If Annika’s checking her messages in the middle of the night (which wouldn’t surprise me), this could risk alerting her to what’s going on, but at this point, that risk is worth taking.
“Guys,” I say, raising my eyes from the screen, “we really have to—” I stop. They’re all watching me. “What?”
“You’re up,” Abe says.
“Up? What do you mean?”
“We all shared our stories,” Gabby says. “About being mostly good kids who don’t really belong at Kilter. Now it’s your turn.”
My heart resumes its descent. The blood in my head follows.
“Um . . . well—”
I’m saved by a bell. Literally. The shrill ringing starts overhead but fills the sauna instantly. It’s so loud my hands shoot to my ears. My eyes squeeze shut. It finally ends five excruciating seconds later, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
When I inhale again, something seems off. The air’s different. Warmer. Moister.
When I open my eyes, I can barely see Elinor through the thick white haze.
“Steam,” she says. “Mother’s coming.”
She jumps to her feet. Lunges across the sauna. Steps onto a bench and hops until her fingertips hit the ceiling. A small piece of wood pops up; she shoves it aside and faces us.
“Go.”
“Go?” I stand too. “Where?”
She points to the square hole above her. “That’s an attic. It runs the length of the building. The main entrance is above the nail salon. It should be unlocked, and the salon should be empty. You can get out that way.”
“How do you know?” Gabby asks.
“I’ve spent a lot of time in here,” Elinor says.
“Why would Nadia—your mother—put you in here with us if you knew how to get out?” Abe asks.
“She doesn’t know I know. I always explore and come back before she finds me missing.”
Gabby raises her eyebrows. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.” She motions for Abe to stand. “Knee, please.”
This request would normally invite a string of sarcastic responses before Abe eventually, reluctantly, possibly obliged. But steam is swirling. The temperature’s rising. Outside the sauna door, footsteps are nearing. So he doesn’t bat an eye before putting one foot on the bench. When his thigh is perpendicular to the seat, Gabby steps onto his knee, grabs the sides of the ceiling hole, and pulls herself up. Then she reaches one arm down to help Abe. Then Lemon.
This is all happening too fast. I turn to Elinor.
“Why don’t we just stay here? And explain who we are and where we go to school? I mean, Nadia is Annika’s sister. Once we apologize for trespassing and maybe even blame the whole thing on a troublemaking assignment, I’m sure she’ll let us go.”
Elinor slowly shakes her head. Her copper eyes fill with tears. “Oh, Seamus,” she says softly. “You don’t—”
She’s cut off by a loud bang. My head snaps toward the sauna door, which I expect to be off its hinges. It’s not, but it is shaking.
“Go.” Elinor puts one hand on my coat sleeve. “Now. Please.”
“Eli-Snore!” a deep female voice sings on the other side of the door. “I’m simply dying to meet your friends. Shepherd’s already told me so many wonderful things about them!”
There’s a click, like the sound a key makes turning a lock.
Elinor’s fingers tighten around my arm. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”
No wonder Annika doesn’t like that word. In a situation like this, it doesn’t carry much weight.
“But—”
“Listen to me,” she whispers. “If you don’t leave now, you never will. Mother will throw you in a deep ditch where bugs bigger than your head will be your only company and food source. That’s where you’ll stay. Forever. Or at least until you become their food source.” She bites her lip. Puts her arms around my shoulders. Hugs me tightly and demands near my ear, “And then what will I do when I really need you?”
Gabby’s right. Elinor definitely doesn’t give herself enough credit. Because up until these words leave her mouth, I’m confident nothing she says will convince me to go anywhere without her. But this does.
There’s another click. The doorknob begins to turn.
Elinor pulls away. There are a million things I want to say, but we only have time for one.
“Be careful.”
She nods. I hold my eyes to hers a second more, then bolt to the bench, jump on, and grab Lemon’s hand. I’ve just pulled my feet into the attic and slid the ceiling tile back in place when the door below is thrown open.
“Greetings, my little desert dev—” Nadia’s booming voice falls silent. “What is this? Where are they?” Heavy footsteps pound the floor. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” Elinor’s voice trembles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t. Why should today be different from any other day?” It sounds like Nadia starts back across the sauna. Then the footsteps stop. The floorboards creak. The footsteps turn and stomp back toward Elinor. “Four blindfolds, no captives. Care to guess again, daughter dearest?”
The tube socks! I swallow a groan. We must’ve left them wherever we took them off. I look at Lemon, who’s crouched next to me and in front of Abe and Gabby, listening. In the light of my K-Pak, I see him frown.
“No? Have it your way. You always do!” There’s more stomping. The door opens. “Wait here. I just have to instruct your pool attendants to add two additional feet of beetles and spiders. Maybe I’ll even ask them to toss in a cobra for kicks.”
The door slams.
“Um, guys?” Abe asks. “We gotta go.”
“He’s right,” Gabby says. “I’m really sorry, Seamus.”
The attic is more like a crawl space with a dim light at one end. They start shuffling toward the light on their hands and knees.
“You all right?” Lemon asks.
I lift my chin, then let it drop. It’s all I can manage.
He starts shuffling too. My brain orders my body to follow, but once again, my body has a mind of its own.
I move closer to the loose ceiling tile. Lift it up and move it aside. Lower my head into the sauna and finally share the huge secret I’ve been guarding even more carefully than my last huge secret.
“She’s alive.”
Elinor’s sitting on a bench. Her head lifts. Her eyes, now overflowing with tears, find mine.
“What?”
“My substitute teacher. Miss Parsippany. She isn’t dead. I didn’t kill her.” I try out the next words in my head before saying them out loud. “I’m not a murderer. So if anyone doesn’t belong at Kilter . . . it’s me.”
Click. The lock turns. The door inches open.
Elinor looks at it, then at me.
I hold out my hand.
“Five cobras?” Nadia asks, apparently talking to someone just outside the sauna. “Fabulous! Maybe daughter dearest will finally learn something!”
Elinor jumps up. Dashes across the sauna. Takes my hand. Between the two us, we lift her up and replace the ceiling tile with exactly one second to spare.
In which time she brushes her eyes, smiles, and calls me the nicest thing anyone ever has.
“Liar.”
Chapter 24
DEMERITS: 465
GOLD STARS: 300
As we crawl I tell Elinor about GS George. The helicopter her classmates helped destroy. The time deadline. My plan to write our pilot and beg for his return. The chances of this happening growing smaller with each passing second.
She listens carefully. Then, once we reach the end of the attic, drop into the lobby, and leave the salon as easily as Houdini left Shell’s Belles weeks earlier, she takes the lead.
“Are we sure this is such a good idea?” Abe whispers to Lemon and me as we run. “Following the director’s daughter? What if she’s taking us to the lion’s den to make her mom happy?”
“If she wanted to make her mom happy,” I whisper back, “she wouldn’t have just helped us escape from the sauna.”
Abe doesn’t look convinced. But he keeps running.
We sprint through town, passing an abandoned Laundromat. Gas station. Bakery. Post office. We stay low to the ground and away from flickering streetlights. Several IncrimiNators are out and about, and my heart feels like it’ll burst through my chest every time we near one. But then Elinor clucks her tongue or whistles, they mimic her greeting, and we cross the street before they can get a good look at us.
Until we round a corner. And stop ten feet short of Shepherd Bull and his gang of grunge. They’re holding shovels, rakes, and other assorted weapons, which makes me think they were scouring the town for sauna escape artists—before they got distracted. By the window display in what used to be the Blackhole Toy Shop. Now they face the three adults popping in and out of wooden crates covered in ripped tinfoil like sad, tired jack-in-the-boxes. As the adults force smiles and sway back and forth, the kids heckle and howl.
I lean toward Elinor to ask if there’s a detour to wherever we’re going. The gang of grunge is taking up all of the sidewalk and most of the street, so it’d be hard to get by unnoticed. I’ve just opened my mouth when she takes my arm. Squeezes. And rips my coat sleeve.
“Okay,” I whisper. “We are in the desert. I guess I didn’t need—”
I’m stopped by the handful of dirt she flings at my chest. I step back and look down like I’ve been shot, then raise my eyes to hers.
“Sorry,” she says softly, quickly. “But you look too good.”
I look too good? In front of her? Impossible.
“You, too.” She throws a handful of dirt at Lemon. “And you, and you.”
I try not to be disappointed as she shares the sentiment and soil with the rest of Capital T. Abe’s face turns neon-red the instant he’s hit. Before suspicion and anger cause a loud verbal explosion that could invite attention and kill us all, Elinor presses one finger to her lips, then points behind us.
To what was once the Blackhole School for Gifted Youth. And is now, according to the spray-painted correction, the Blackhole School for Doomed Adults.
“Shortcut,” she whispers.
“You want us to go in there?” Gabby asks.
“It’s crawling with people,” Lemon says, peering through the dusty window.
“Lion’s den.” Abe shakes his head. “I knew it.”
For a second, I actually wonder if he might be right. I understand wanting to make your parents happy, and Elinor helping us escape only so she could be the one to recapture us and save the day would certainly please Nadia. But then there’s a loud whoop behind us. I spin around and see another armed gang of grunge heading our way. They seem to be looking past us, at Mr. Bull and company, but they’ll spot us soon.
Which means the only way out of the lion’s den . . . is through it.
I grab my other coat sleeve and pull. The material rips and feathers fly out. I bend down, scoop up as much dirt as my hands can hold, and throw it at my legs, stomach, and back. I pat my dirty palms to my neck and face. Untie my shoelaces. Mess up my already messy hair some more. At first Lemon, Abe, and Gabby look at me like the desert dust has gone to my head, but when there’s another, louder whoop behind us, they all jump and do the same. Abe even drops to the ground and rolls around like a pig in mud.
By the time we enter the Blackhole School for Doomed Adults, we look like we
belong.
Almost.
“What’s wrong with them?” Gabby shouts.
I shake my head. Because I have no idea. The hallway’s packed with kids. They run, scream, laugh, and bounce off of the walls—and one another. As we elbow our way through the crowd, one teenage boy uses another as a springboard to launch himself over our heads. When he passes above us, I notice his eyes are dark, unfocused. Then he slams into a locker, denting it, and falls to the floor with an excited shriek.
“Too much sugar, freedom, and power!” Elinor yells. “Dangerous combination!”
The effects of which I’d like to get away from immediately. Unfortunately, that’s impossible. The hallway’s so crammed we have no choice but to go with the slow flow. To keep from panicking, I distract myself by peeking into classrooms—and at the IncrimiNation curriculum.
First up is language arts. At least that’s what the sign outside the door says. But the students inside aren’t learning pig Latin, pig French, or how to speak granny-style, the way we do at Kilter. They’re bending over adults, who are kneeling on the floor and scrubbing tiles with toothbrushes. When we’re right in front of the open door, I see that the adults aren’t just cleaning the floor. They’re scrubbing words into the gray grime. They make full sentences, like BECAUSE MY SON SAID SO, THAT’S WHY. And MY DAUGHTER’S THE BOSS. And AS LONG AS I LIVE UNDER MY CHILDREN’S ROOF, I’LL DO AS THEY SAY.
The kids dictate, the adults write. Some scrub the same sentence a dozen times. An older female teenager—I assume the teacher—walks around the room, surveying the progress and barking orders. She’s wearing ripped shorts, a stained T-shirt, and no shoes. From here I can see the dark lines of dirt under her toenails. Houdini doesn’t exactly dress to impress, but this girl’s outfit makes his pajamas look like a three-piece suit.
Speaking of Houdini, the next class we pass is math. At Kilter, math is all about stealing personal belongings. Here, it’s all about playing video games. A dozen old TVs are scattered throughout the room. Two players sit before each: one kid, one adult. Only they’re not working as teams. They’re playing against each other. The kids clearly have the edge, while the adults struggle to keep up. Every time a kid’s game character causes an adult’s to step on a land mine, fall out of a plane, or somehow end his or her turn, the kid cackles in delight, forces the adult to guzzle a gallon of root beer, and restarts the game.