A World of Trouble

by T. R. Burns

  One thought and one image come to mind. The thought is that Annika’s cool tone doesn’t match her supposedly warm heart. The image is of Elinor alone on Parents’ Day last semester.

  “Then why are you so mean to her?” I ask.

  Annika blinks. “Mean?”

  “You hardly talked to her last semester. When you did, you yelled. And then when she was hurt during the Ultimate Troublemaking Task, you didn’t even seem to care.”

  “If someone doesn’t appreciate my generosity enough to do the minimum that’s expected in return, I’m not about to bend over backwards until she does.” Annika shrugs. “As for her injury, I’d seen worse. And no one—not you, me, Elinor, or anyone else—can learn how to deal with pain until they’ve experienced it firsthand. In that respect, I did her a favor.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. So I shift gears instead.

  “What does IncrimiNation do?” I know what I saw, but I want to hear what she says.

  “According to my sister, it creates Troublemakers. According to me, it creates juvenile delinquents with atrocious personal hygiene.”

  “Why don’t you and Nadia work together?”

  “Clearly, we have very different educational philosophies. Plus, we don’t get along. We never have.”

  The questions dip and swirl through my head like lightning bugs in a jar. With so many to choose from, it’s hard to ask them in an orderly fashion. What matters, though, is that they’re asked at all. So I try not to think too hard, and just keep going.

  “Did you ask me to follow Mr. Tempest to keep me busy? And distract me from other distractions?”

  “No. I really wanted help monitoring him. Though distraction from distraction was a nice bonus.”

  “How come my real-world combat mission was so different from Lemon’s, Abe’s, and Gabby’s?”

  “Because your alliance-mates are good on their own, but they’re only great when working with you. I though you could handle more faster. And I was right.”

  “What I did then, helping that little girl who was locked up by her mom—is that what we’re training for? To be able to make trouble that will help other kids with mean parents?”

  Annika reaches for a champagne flute, takes a long sip, and smacks her lips. “Yes.”

  “Is that why you want to expand the program? To train more Troublemakers who can help more kids?”

  She takes another sip. “Yes.”

  “And you think because I’m so talented, or whatever, that I can eventually be extra helpful?”

  “I don’t think. I know. With one thousand percent certainty.”

  I consider this. It doesn’t sound too bad. In fact, after what happened with my mom, it’s almost admirable.

  Which reminds me.

  “How does someone outside of Kilter get Kilter weapons?”

  “They don’t.”

  “Yes, they do. My mom did.”

  Her head tilts. The glass starts to slip from her grasp. She catches it and puts it on the table. “Pardon?”

  “When I was home. Over Christmas. My mom gave me tons of weapons—like the Icickler, Knight-Vision Goggles, and Kringle Stars—and had tons more hidden in the attic.”

  I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it, but the blood actually leaves Annika’s face. Her skin turns as white as snow.

  “Seamus, I assure you I have no idea how your mother acquired those weapons. And I will get to the bottom of it.”

  Huh. This sounds like potential bad news for Mom. And for some reason, that makes me wish I’d picked a different lightning bug.

  “Now may I ask you a few questions?”

  If it means changing the subject. “Sure.”

  Annika sits up. Rests her elbows on the table. Leans toward me. “Do you want to be here?”

  “At Kilter?”

  She nods.

  “Yes.” Autopilot.

  “What kind of insurance do you need?” I must look confused because she adds, “More fish sticks? Your own house? Kommissary loan privileges?”

  Ah. She wants to know what she can bribe me with that will keep me from changing my mind and jumping ship. I’ve never given it thought, but several things come to mind immediately.

  “I want GS George to keep his job.”

  “Done.”

  “And Elinor to be allowed to stay and be treated fairly.”

  “Fine.”

  “And Ike to have any troublemaking position he wants when he graduates.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Ms. Marla to have an unlimited supply of free pet food for Rodolfo.”

  “Strange, but doable.”

  “And you to give up access to every K-Mail account but your own.”

  She hesitates, then takes her K-Pak from the table and starts typing. “As long as we keep one another in the loop, I shouldn’t need access to anyone else’s K-Mail. So, sure. And done.” She puts down her K-Pak. “Anything else?”

  Yes. I need her not to change her mind and throw me out once she learns I’m not who she thinks I am.

  The autopilot keeps this last one quiet. Before I can decide whether to force it, Annika says, “Well, I need insurance too. Not much, but some.”

  “Like what?”

  “The faculty and staff don’t know about IncrimiNation. Just like I want you to stay focused, I want the same for them. They’re excellent teachers, and we can’t afford to lose them should curiosity encourage the pursuit of other opportunities. Can you keep what you just witnessed to yourself ? And make sure your friends do the same?”

  I can’t imagine Houdini, Fern, Samara, or any of my other teachers willingly signing up for a career in such chaos, but I agree anyway. Besides, right now I don’t really want to talk about what I just witnessed.

  “Fantastic.” Annika smiles. Holds out one hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  I look at her hand. Think about it. I’m still twiddling my thumbs when there’s a knock on the door.

  “Ah, Annika?” GS George calls out. “We have a bit of a . . . situation? Outside? With one of the Kilter Karts? It’s kind of stuck at a hundred miles per hour—with Abe inside.”

  Annika jumps up. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “I won’t. Promise.”

  There’s that word again.

  Annika leaves. My K-Pak buzzes. I take the mini computer from my backpack and open the new message.

  TO: parsippany@cloudviewschools.net

  FROM: shinkle@kilteracademy.org

  SUBJECT: You, the Person

  Dear Seamus,

  What do you do when the person your parents want you to be isn’t who YOU want to be? That’s an excellent question. When you find out the answer, let me know.

  In the meantime, it might help to remember that our parents were once kids themselves. Whenever I’m unhappy with my mom or dad, I always picture them half as tall with freckles, braces, and only their stuffed animals for company. And that makes it much easier to get past any anger, hurt, or frustration I might be feeling. At least for a little while.

  That said, DO you know the person you want to be? If so, do you have any tips for figuring it out? Because I’m thirty years old . . . and I’m still not sure.

  I look forward to hearing from you soon.

  With kind regards,

  Miss Parsippany

  I close the note. Put my K-Pak in my backpack. Take it out when it buzzes again.

  No new messages. I exit K-Mail, then open it again. Still nothing.

  That’s strange. I definitely heard buzzing.

  Autopilot raises my eyes to the far end of the table . . . where Annika’s K-Pak sits unattended.

  I shouldn’t look. I know I shouldn’t look. But she just said she took away her access to other accounts. Was she lying? In the midst of clearing the air?

  If this is going to work, I have to know. So I stand up. Tiptoe down the side of the table. And press the flashing digital envelope on Annika’s K-Pak screen.

  As it
turns out, Miss Parsippany’s note didn’t reach Annika’s computer.

  But another one did.

  TO: annika@kilteracademy.org

  FROM: taxmannumerouno@taxmannumerouno.com

  SUBJECT: My Son, Seamus Hinkle

  Dear Ms. Kilter,

  Hello. How are you? I hope the spring semester is off to a lovely start.

  I hope you don’t mind my writing. To be honest, I’ve been going back and forth about whether I should ever since my son, Seamus Hinkle, returned to Kilter last month. In the end, I decided I must. It’s in everyone’s best interests, but especially Seamus’s.

  You see, you kindly accepted my son late last semester upon learning he accidentally (supposedly) killed his substitute teacher with an apple in the school cafeteria. I was so elated by this acceptance, I sent him off without waiting for official confirmation of his teacher’s passing. Since then, I’ve learned that, unfortunately, the teacher survived. Which means, unfortunately, that Seamus is not a murderer.

  If I know my son, and I think I do, he’s already shared this information with you. It didn’t sit well with him when he learned the truth himself while home for the holidays, and I’m sure he wouldn’t feel right continuing at Kilter under false pretenses. That’d be like cheating on a final exam, which, also unfortunately, isn’t something Seamus would do.

  I expect this news will likely affect your estimation of my son’s Troublemaking qualifications. I understand, but I ask—no, I beg—you to keep in mind all of his recent accomplishments. Seamus might not be a natural-born Troublemaker, but he’s a fast learner. And I know he has what it takes to succeed at Kilter.

  Also, he can’t come home. For lots of reasons, but mostly because we’ve given away his room. To another talented young man named Bartholomew John Baker. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?

  Thank you in advance for your time and consideration.

  With great respect and admiration,

  Judith Hinkle

  I look up. White spots swirl across my vision. I close my eyes. Open them. Close them. The spots multiply. I try to replace them with images of Mom, Dad, and Annika as kids, but instead I see Lemon. Abe. Gabby. Elinor. Even little Molly Lubbard of Hoyt, Kentucky.

  Who do I want to be? The jury’s still out on that one. But I have a pretty good idea of who I don’t want to be.

  The kind of person who lets any bully, young or old, walk all over him, pick him up, and throw him back down for someone else to do the same.

  Which is why I close Mom’s e-mail. Delete it from Annika’s K-Mail account.

  And join my friends outside.

  T. R. BURNS sometimes writes as Tricia Rayburn. Or does Tricia Rayburn sometimes write as T. R. Burns? You may never know the answer to that, but you can know that the tattler of this tale has tattled others for tweens and teens. In the small New York town she calls home, it’s the best way to keep idle hands busy—and out of trouble.

  JACKET DESIGNED BY JESSICA HANDELMAN

  JACKET ILLUSTRATION BY ANDY SMITH

  ALADDIN

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  THE BAD APPLE

  A WORLD OF TROUBLE

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALADDIN

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

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  First Aladdin hardcover edition May 2013

  Copyright © 2013 by Tricia Rayburn

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

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  Designed by Karina Granda

  The text of this book was set in Bembo.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Burns, T. R., 1978–

  A world of trouble / by T.R. Burns. — First Aladdin hardcover edition.

  p. cm. — (Merits of mischief ; book 2)

  Summary: More mischief and trouble abound during Seamus Hinkle’s second semester at Kilter Academy, where the students earn credit for behaving badly and the adults are keeping huge secrets.

  ISBN 978-1-4424-4032-6 (hc)

  [1. Behavior—Fiction. 2. Boarding schools—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction. 4. Tricks—Fiction. 5. Humorous stories.] I. Title.

  PZ7.B937455Wo 2013

  [Fic]—dc23

  2012031542

  ISBN 978-1-4424-4034-0 (eBook)