The Seventh Level

by Jody Feldman

  “Matti!” Kip pulls her arm.

  She drops the macaroni. “I’m not breaking any rules. I’m not saying I know what The Legend is. I’m only saying what it isn’t.” She puts the macaroni away and pulls out a box of chocolate-covered grahams. “Maybe it’s best if Kip and I pretend we didn’t see anything.”

  “Okay,” I say. “We can pretend. But I have a problem. I follow directions, I get into trouble. Why is that?”

  Kip’s sitting at the kitchen table staring at his fingers.

  Matti opens the cookies then sits, too. “Did you ever consider,” she says, “that maybe someone’s setting you up? Not The Legend. Maybe some person who has something against you. And he’s waiting until you’re all alone then doing stuff to get you into trouble? It’s not like you don’t have your enemies.”

  “Yeah, but watching me seems like a lot of work.” I join them both at the table. “So, if people already know where I’m supposed to be and when, it’d be easier for them to frame me, wouldn’t it?”

  Kip slumps. “You can’t be accusing us.”

  “No, Kip. No way. But I’m getting weird instructions and doing what they say and—”

  Matti’s grabs my fingertips. “It was you. Your fingernails.”

  Kip even smiles for a second. “Look,” he says. “I know it’s hard, but believe me. Blue-type instructions will not get you into trouble if you keep following them.”

  “And from here on out,” Matti says, “we will always have your back.”

  I want to understand this completely. “So, you know about Saturday and where I’m supposed to be and when I’m supposed to be there and what I’m supposed to do and why I’m supposed to do it?”

  Kip nods. “And like Matti said, we’ve got your back. Now, can we just leave it alone and eat cookies?”

  CHAPTER 29

  After they leave, I can’t stop jumping up and down. They’re in The Legend! They’ve been all secretive because they’re in The Legend. They’re not boyfriend/girlfriend. And they have my back.

  What they don’t have is a way to clear my name. I have to do that myself.

  I pull my sixth coin and a blank piece of paper from the blue envelope. Maybe like the puzzle from Randall’s house? Paper clipped to it, a normal blue envelope contains a paintbrush and a picture of a grape juice bottle.

  So, I’m supposed to paint with grape juice on this piece of paper and what? Deliver it to the art room? And what am I supposed to paint? A crayon? An eggplant? More grape juice?

  I go to the computer, and because I can, I type into the search engine: grape juice paintbrush paper

  Oh yeah! I run downstairs. “Do we have any grape juice, Mom?”

  “You don’t like grape juice.”

  “Maybe I do now.”

  She gives me that look.

  “Okay. It’s for school. Like a science experiment.”

  “Invisible ink?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “I was a kid once. Call Dad and ask him to get some on his way home.”

  I rush him when he gets here, and he hands me the grape juice and also the five bottles of syrup. “This is getting expensive,” he says. “I hope you’re almost done.”

  “I do, too,” I say, but knowing about Matti and Kip has given me a second wind.

  I set up my grape juice art studio in the bathroom, dip the brush into the bottle, and—Wait. What if this isn’t invisible ink? What if I ruin the puzzle?

  I smile and brush the grape juice. If I mess up, Matti and Kip have my back. Hoo-hah! I won’t need them. I keep painting the paper and make the disappearing ink reappear.

  Put a handle on the desk

  in Room 207 tomorrow.

  Is a doorknob a handle? I have an old, broken one stashed under my bed. I learned you can’t swing like a monkey holding both knobs of a bedroom door without breaking something no matter how small you are. Dictionary time. Doorknob. Bingo! Knob-shaped handle!

  Problem. How do I deliver it after seven thirty without eyes? I need a shield. I call Matti. “You really have my back?” I ask.

  “You know I do.”

  “Will you stand guard while I make a delivery tomorrow?”

  “You know I will.”

  I coordinate it so I meet her and Kip a few blocks from school, and we cruise to the bicycle rack together. I lead them into the building, up the stairs, and down the hall. They wait while I go into Room 207 and dump the broken doorknob onto the math teacher’s desk. Mission accomplished, with witnesses I didn’t need.

  I’m almost sorry nothing bad happens all day. But I do get my parents’ permission for Saturday morning as long as I take a cell phone and call them every minute. Rule #5 rules!

  I can’t get to sleep Friday night, and I wake up at 4:48 A.M. Saturday morning. I squirm in bed until I can’t stand it anymore. I get dressed, eat breakfast, and finally, at 6:47, wake my parents to tell them good-bye.

  It’s eerie riding your bike soon after sunrise. The light outlines the tops of everything—houses, trees, utility poles—but below, it’s all murky, like my brain feels now.

  It works enough to understand I can’t park my bike in an empty rack if I need to stay invisible. Besides, it’s so spooky quiet, I want it with me. I’m glad I have the phone. I’m glad I have the syrup in my backpack, too. I could wonk someone with it if I had to.

  I cruise up the school driveway then stop to speed-dial home and say I’m here. I wheel my bike onto the grass, veering toward the back of the school where there’s not much looming except creepy trees and spooky silence.

  I’d be more scared, but Matti and Kip said they knew where I’m supposed to be and when and why. And don’t secret societies like The Legend always make things extra mysterious before they let you in? So I try to get excited. This is it! The end! No more puzzles, no more envelopes, no more creeping around!

  It’s not working. The more I try to get excited, the more my knees feel like rusted metal. I force them to keep moving toward the outside stairwell that leads to the basement. The more I do that, the louder my bicycle wheels and feet shush over the grass. Like each step’s saying, “Go back, Travis. Go back.”

  I spin around. Look behind me. I’m not going back. This is all good. Matti and Kip and the other Legend people’ll jump out at any minute and celebrate with me.

  Closer. Closer. I stop. I look over the locked square of railing and see two white bundles at the bottom of the stairwell.

  I climb over and plant my feet on the small landing, hustle down the stairs to the space in front of the door, and pick up the bundle marked R for Raines. The other bundle is marked D. Denvie? If that’s Randall’s, we’re in this together.

  But where is everyone else?

  I try the knob on the door next to me. It opens. There’s no one in the little room that’s about the size of a large walk-in closet. It’s empty except for a door that leads into the school and some stuff in the corner. Mops and brooms and buckets!

  Did The Legend swipe them and blame me to see how I’d get out of it? Couldn’t be. The Legend would not make me look like a thief. No. But…

  I need to get out of here. Move away before someone sees me anywhere near this stuff. I slam the door, unload my syrup, shove my bundle into my backpack, and race up the stairs.

  No one’s here to catch me, but I jump onto my bike and race it to the other side of school before I deal with the bundle. I unroll what turns out to be a sheet with one rope attached to the top and another to the bottom. There are also two cans of spray paint—one black, one blue—and a blue envelope marked with an R. I open it.

  1. String the sheet up on the hooks that are already on the parking lot side of the school. Yours are marked with your initial.

  2. Shake the can of paint before you use it.

  3. Spray these words in black: The Legend Lives!

  4. Spray over those letters in blue.

  5. Take this note and the spray cans and throw them in the garbage somewher
e away from school.

  6. You have 10 minutes to do this and get out of here.

  7. Come back downstairs at 2 P.M. Do not be late.

  It sounds wrong, but so did the flowers and the gum. I made those right. Besides, Matti and Kip know about this. They have my back.

  And I have only ten minutes. I check my cell phone. It’s one minute to seven.

  I ride to the parking lot side of school. There’s already one Legend Lives banner attached to the wall. Whose?

  Doesn’t matter. I find my R hooks and tie up one end of the sheet. Now for the other. My gut tells me to stop and look behind the other banner.

  I was right. There’s a smarter way.

  I don’t care what the instructions say. I take the sheet down and spread it on the grass. I’m not having my banner bleed through to the brick wall.

  I shake the can. Stand on the side where the breeze is blowing away from me. And I spray. First with black, then with blue. I pull the sheet away and see remnants of my artwork on the grass. No harm. It’ll grow, get cut, disappear.

  I check the cell phone. I have only four minutes to string this up. I tie the upper left-hand corner. I tie the upper right. Lower right. Lower left. I go back to the grass, grab my paint cans and my backpack. And—

  That’s a car pulling up. A door slams. Now footsteps.

  I duck behind the shed next to the loading dock, wait for the person to come around.

  Someone to congratulate me?

  No. It’s Randall.

  CHAPTER 30

  He looks around then punches a number into his cell phone. “I’m here, Mom,” he says. “No. I’m the first.” He pauses. “No. You can go.” Pause. “Yeah, I will. Bye.”

  I hear a car move around the front of school. He actually had his mom drop him off? He actually had to call her? Those aren’t the actions of a true oaf. A true oaf would climb out of his bedroom window, stay in the shadows, and take pictures of me near mops and brooms and buckets. A true oaf would swipe my camera. A true oaf would bolt the moment after he threw Kip’s cap out the window. Still, Randall almost killed Jackie Muggs in fourth grade.

  I need to find out if he’s really as he appears right now, looking as creeped out as I felt.

  When Randall’s down the stairs, I speed around the school to follow him from behind. I turn the corner in time to see him disappear to the parking lot side, then I move forward.

  Even though he should be so wrapped up in what he needs to do and how fast he needs to do it, he’s not deaf either. Halfway there I dump my bike so I can sneak up better.

  I peek around the corner, and Randall’s almost finished tying up his banner. His paint’s gonna seep through the sheets.

  I shouldn’t care if he gets into trouble. He’s done enough to make my life miserable. But if he messes up the school, things could get worse. For me. What if his paint is the straw that breaks The Legend’s back, and they disband the thing just as I’m about to get in?

  Besides, I owe him.

  I hear Randall shaking the can. It’s now or never. Now or never. Now or—

  “Wait!” I come around the side of the building.

  He puts on that face that comes before a fist. “What?”

  I want to get the heck out of there, but I point to my banner. “I just did that one.”

  “Should I hold a parade in your honor?” He takes the lid off the can.

  “I’m trying to stop you from making a mistake,” I say. “Look behind both banners. Unless you want to mess up the bricks, you need to take the sheet down before you paint it.”

  He stares at me, stares at the banners. If he’s Randall the oaf, he’ll start painting. If he’s Randall with the nice mom, he’ll take it down.

  He looks behind both sheets then stares at his. “The instructions say–”

  “I know what the instructions say, and the banner police did not arrest me.” I don’t give him a chance to protest. I unloop the left side of the sheet. If he wants to slug me, let him.

  He unloops his side, and together we take it to the back of the school to the same area of grass where I sprayed.

  He stands, facing the wind. I should let him spray, but…

  “Stand on this side.”

  He’s still looking at me, all suspicious like.

  Fine. “Unless you want the wind to blow the paint back at you.”

  He moves over, shakes the can again, and lets the black paint loose, writing the same words I did. He drops the black and shakes the blue. Looks up. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know why you’re making me spray sheets and steal soap and throw marbles in the gym which, thank goodness, got discovered before people got killed.”

  He thinks I’m the bad guy? “I’m not doing any of that,” I say.

  He sprays the blue paint. “Even if I believed you, which I don’t, it’s payback time.”

  “Payback for what?”

  He keeps spraying. “For explaining the number sequence.”

  “That’s what I am doing.”

  “Then move it. Grab a rope and hook it to the wall. You owe me.”

  He really thinks I’m the bad guy? He’s delusional.

  “Why should I help you anymore? How do I know you won’t drag me into school and throw my head out the window like you threw Kip’s cap? Or send me to the hospital like Jackie Muggs and hope no one ever hears from me again?” I brace myself for a pummeling.

  But Randall’s whole body slumps. “Are people always going to hate me for that?”

  “You almost killed the kid,” I practically yell.

  He drops the side of his banner and stands there looking at his work. “Just forget it. Forget everything. Leave.”

  I should. So why do I feel like I’d feel if Matti slapped me or if Kip yelled at me?

  I pick up one side of the banner near me. “C’mon. Let’s finish this.”

  Within a minute we’re done. No slugging. No dirty looks. No words.

  There have to be more words. “Let’s get out of here,” I say. I pick up his cans, toss them into my backpack, then head toward my bike. I feel him follow me.

  “Randall?” I say without turning around. “You didn’t almost kill Jackie Muggs, did you?”

  He’s comes up next to me. “Why do you care?” He motors past me and keeps going.

  “I get the feeling I don’t know the whole story,” I call.

  He peers over his shoulder. “If you did, would it really matter?”

  “It might.”

  He slows. Stops. Turns. “This better matter.”

  I nod and keep walking toward him. I’m starting to believe it might matter. Either that or I’m setting myself up for a punch to the gut.

  He doesn’t charge at me. Instead, he moves till he’s up against the school. “My mom’s all over what’s our business and what’s not, so you’ve gotta swear you won’t say anything.”

  “Swear.”

  He looks all around. “Jackie was at my house and wanted to collect spiders to see if they’d eat each other.” He stops, but I stay quiet and wait for him to start again.

  “We found a bunch of them in the woodpile and put them in a pan, but they just crawled around and wouldn’t fight. Jackie got so mad, he pulled out a cigarette lighter and torched them all, one by one.” Randall runs his finger between the bricks.

  I try not to picture the spiders going up in flames. My arm skin crawls. “Then what?”

  “It scared me, so I went to tell my mom, but when I realized he was in my room alone, I ran upstairs. He had my hamster out of his cage and was tugging at it. ‘Ever see a three-legged hamster?’ he said. I lunged for the hamster. Jackie tried to dodge me, but he fell back and smashed his head on my dresser. He got a concussion and ten stitches, then his parents shipped him off to some school where he could get psychological help, which is the part my mom said should stay private.”

  “You should’ve said something,” I
say. “We were all scared of you after that.”

  “You didn’t like me before that. You called me Tripper and Oaf and maybe I deserved it, but it’s not my fault. When you get these growth spurts, well, none of you knows what it’s like to wake up one morning all uncoordinated, with ape arms. Except Marco. Since he was bigger, he wasn’t afraid, so I had someone to hang out with. And as long as he thought I almost killed Jackie, he didn’t mess with me.” Randall shrugs and looks away. “Well, mostly he hasn’t.”

  “Mostly?”

  Randall starts walking again. I stay right alongside him and wait for him to answer.

  “For one,” he finally says, “the cap.”

  “Kip’s?”

  “I just wanted to look at it. I swear. You saw my room. The Rams. They’re It.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “I had the cap at the window, and Marco grabbed for it. He thought it’d be funny if he shredded it. I knew I could keep it away from him if I angled my arm out the window, arced it back over him, and tossed it to the other side of the room. Then I’d run to save it. Just when my arm was going up, he chopped at it and the cap flew up, and well…”

  “That doesn’t sound like Marco. He’s been—”

  Randall shuts me up with a look.

  “So you don’t like the guy. At least he stayed there after we ran out of markers. If you were so worried about the cap, why’d you abandon us? Why didn’t you do anything?”

  “I did,” he says. “I found Mrs. Pinchon. Ask her. She said Mr. McKenzie would get out the extension ladder when he got back.”

  “He doesn’t have a ladder that tall in his closet.”

  “I know,” Randall says. He points to the shed. “It’s in there.”

  “So, why didn’t you stick up for yourself?”

  “You wouldn’t have believed me anyway.”

  “Yes, I—” That’s not true. “No,” I say, “not when I was stewing in detention.”

  “Sorry about that.” He looks at me. “Hey, Trav,” he says.

  Only my friends call me Trav, but this doesn’t bother me.