Watch Your Step

by T. R. Burns

  “What happened?” My voice is scratchy, but it works.

  She nods behind me. “George? Do you mind?”

  A clear bucket appears out of nowhere. According to the markings on its side, it’s filled with three gallons of water. Plus one soggy Band-Aid.

  I sit up. “George? Is that really you?” The man holding the bucket certainly looks like the Good Samaritan I got to know well when Capital T (nicely) hijacked his helicopter with him behind the wheel.

  George winks.

  I grin. “How’s Ms. Marla? And Rodolfo? And your vegetable garden? Did your prize-winning tomatoes earn another blue ribbon at the country fair?”

  Ms. Marla is Kilter’s Hoodlum Hotline operator—and GS George’s new girlfriend, thanks to a little matchmaking on my part. Rodolfo’s her three-legged Chihuahua. Gardening is GS George’s favorite summer hobby.

  His face lights up. “Thank you for asking! Everyone’s great, and the garden’s really coming along. We planted some new zucchini seeds that—”

  “Ahem.”

  GS George and I look at Annika. She raises her eyebrows.

  “My apologies, ma’am.” GS George places the bucket on the floor by my feet and retreats to the opposite wall, where he stands still and stares straight ahead.

  “What’s that?” I point to the bucket.

  “That,” Annika says, slowly strolling toward me, “is what was extracted from your stomach the instant you popped out of the Inner Tube—a fast-moving underground chute. It transported you here from the pool, clearing all ingested fluid along the way.”

  Now that she mentions it—and that my head’s clearer—I vaguely recall feeling topsy-turvy motion after I was sucked into the darkness. Like I was riding down a super-fast enclosed waterslide.

  “Where’s here?” I ask. “What is this place?”

  “My subterranean viewing station.”

  “What do you view?” I ask.

  “Anyone and anything I need to.”

  My eyes return to the bucket. “What’s with the Band-Aid?”

  “Accidental intake. One of your classmates had a boo-boo. The Band-Aid covering it came off during the game. You swallowed it along with all that water.”

  I wince, bring one hand to my stomach. “Gross.”

  “There’s something worse.” Reaching one end of the wall of water, Annika presses a button on the adjacent wall. The water stills. As it does, I see my classmates—including Elinor, thank goodness. They’re still swimming and dunking and bobbing.

  “This is the pool right now,” Annika says.

  “Everyone’s moving slower. They must be getting tired.”

  “Of course they’re getting tired. They’ve been chasing an uncatchable Kilter silverfish for twenty minutes.”

  “Uncatchable? Fern said it’d be hard, but that it was still possible to—”

  Annika holds up one hand. “I’ll ask again. What . . . was that . . . about?”

  I open my mouth to answer. It’s hard to tell her what she wants to hear, though, since I don’t know what she’s asking.

  “The silverfish was right in front of you,” she says with a huff. “I gave you an eternity to catch it. A thousand credits—they could buy the troublemaking supplies of your choice—were there for the taking. And you let them swim away. You lost out on all those credits—and earned five hundred gold stars.”

  I think fast. “It was too easy.”

  Annika smirks.

  “You want us to challenge ourselves, right?” I ask. “So we’re always becoming better Troublemakers? The silverfish was right there—but I wanted to work for it. I wanted to catch it using the skills I’ve learned at Kilter. I wanted to earn the win.”

  “And risk losing to your classmates in the process?”

  Now I smirk. This is to say: Right. Like that would happen. Not because I think my victory was a sure thing, but because I know she’d want me to think it was.

  This must be a good move because Annika lifts her chin, turns on one heel, and strolls alongside the wall of water. Once her back is to me I check out the pool again. Abe and Gabby have teamed up—or else Gabby has latched onto him. That’s likelier. Either way, she’s right behind him, doing everything he does a second after he does it.

  I spot Lemon, too. Or his feet. I know they’re his because they’re scarred from the time he walked across a bed of burning coals just for fun. Now they’re dangling in the deep end. The rest of him must be outside of the pool, sitting on a low diving board.

  I’m still looking for Elinor when Annika stops and spins around on her other heel.

  “I’m sorry for the sudden suction,” she says, “but I wanted to meet with you. And I know you don’t enjoy being singled out, no matter how much you often deserve to be, so I thought it best to do so while your classmates were consumed by the silverfish hunt.”

  “But if you wanted to keep them distracted, why’d you give me the chance to catch the silverfish? Since that would’ve ended the game?”

  “They would’ve been spinning in circles long after you grabbed it and left. Had we needed more time, Fern would’ve tossed in a backup silverfish. One that would’ve disappeared once you were in the pool again.” She pauses. “I want you to have as many resources as possible, but I can’t simply send you on a Kommissary shopping spree. That would attract attention and suspicion.”

  “Right,” I say. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Now,” she says, her voice firmer, “we have much to do and no time to waste. I need your help with another top secret project.”

  I sit up straighter. “Is it Mr. Tempest?”

  “That old bag of bones?” She waves one hand. “He’s the least of my problems.”

  This is really saying something. Last semester Annika asked me to help keep an eye on Kilter’s history teacher because she was very busy and he was very mysterious. She said he’d often run off, disappear, and ignore her e-mails and phone calls. She asked me to help keep an eye on him. I did, and found out a lot more about Mystery than I ever wanted to. Like his love of sharp axes, which I saw him steal from the Kommissary. And his secret cottage deep in the Kilter woods, which was decorated in pink and filled with stuffed animals and dolls that I saw him sneak out of Annika’s childhood bedroom.

  “It’s your parents,” Annika says.

  “They’re worse than Mystery?” I know Mom and Dad have been acting weird, and that that’s why we’re here—but I’m still surprised.

  Annika presses a button on her K-Pak. A screen lowers in front of the wall of water. She presses another button and ten squares fill the large screen. A different live scene fills each square.

  “Is that Kamp Kilter?” I recognize the luxury cabins, trampoline, and white sandy beach covered in sunbathers.

  “Indeed.” She faces me. “You were right to contact me. Your parents were exhibiting very abnormal behavior.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “When Troublemakers return home for the summer after their first year at Kilter, there’s always an adjustment period. Students must balance behaving and misbehaving. They want to behave to keep their parents happy, but they want to misbehave in order to keep sharp their newly learned skills. Parents walk a tricky tightrope too. They’re usually thrilled to have their kids home, but they don’t want to go overboard with love and affection and risk undoing all the work we did on their formerly uncontrollable offspring. On the flip side, they trust that we were tough enough during the school year that continuing a bad-cop charade over the summer would either be overkill or pointless, since they could never duplicate our immensely effective approach.”

  I think of my parents, trying to decide which side of the tightrope they walked.

  Annika continues. “Initially the balancing act makes for a lot of formal yet polite exchanges between parents and children. Eventually home life returns to a more pleasant version of what it was pre-Kilter. For example, just like before, parents give kids chores. Unlike before, k
ids do them with just enough protest to suggest that progress has been made but more is needed.”

  “Because they don’t want their parents to think they’re cured and not send them back for a second year.”

  “Correct.” Annika studies the screen for a long moment. “I’ve been doing this almost nineteen years . . . and not once have I heard of parents making trouble for their returning children. Doing so only asks for it in return. Their kids would inevitably resort to former bad behavior.” She looks at me. “Why would any parent want that?”

  I think of Mom. “No idea.”

  “That’s why I brought you all here as soon as you wrote. Their behavior was unprecedented. I couldn’t let it continue.” She pauses. “Seamus, do you remember your first real-world combat mission?”

  “When Houdini and I taught eleven-year-old Molly Lubbard’s mother a lesson?”

  “Yes. Do you remember why you taught her a lesson?”

  “Because she wasn’t very nice. She made Molly clean the entire house while she hung out at the spa every day. And if she didn’t like something Molly did or didn’t do, she’d lock her in the basement—knowing Molly was scared of the dark.”

  I frown at the memory. For three days Houdini and I spied on Mrs. Lubbard and studied live video feed of the happenings inside the family’s home. When we finally acted, I used my marksman skills to knock the knob off the basement door and free Molly, and then left Mrs. Lubbard a note instructing her to change her ways or else.

  “Do you know what happened after you left the Lubbards?” Annika asks.

  I shake my head. She reaches inside the pocket of her dress, takes out a long, skinny silver wand, and aims it at a flat-screen TV. The TV turns on. Molly Lubbard and her parents appear. They’re riding bicycles through a meadow filled with flowers.

  I watch for a second. “They look different.”

  “That’s because they’re happy. And they’re happy because of what you did.” Annika pauses. “Seamus, do you know why I created a school for professional Troublemakers?”

  “Because you don’t like adults very much?”

  “I like some adults just fine.” She walks toward me. “Let’s try this: Why do your classmates think they’re here?”

  “To have fun.” That’s what Lemon told me my first semester, when I couldn’t stop wondering why we were being taught how to make more trouble.

  “Right. And they do. But Kilter’s true purpose is much bigger than that. I won’t go into all the details, but suffice it to say for now that what you did for the Lubbards is what I want all Kilter graduates to do. Your mission was in Kentucky, but my hope is that eventually, we can help children all over the world.”

  “Why don’t you tell students that? Why the big secret?”

  “Those who need to know, do—when the time is right. Telling students too soon can distract them from their studies. Not to mention there are those whose loyalty—or lack thereof—can’t be trusted with such valuable information in the real world.”

  This makes sense . . . I think.

  “Allow me to cut to the chase,” Annika says.

  “Shoot.”

  “Nadia’s up to no good.”

  “Your sister?” And Elinor’s mom?

  “You saw her school. Her students, if you can call them that, are animals. That’s how she likes them. The dirtier and stranger, the better. And I know she’s behind your parents’ odd behavior.”

  This sounds like a huge stretch to me—mostly because Nadia, and IncrimiNation, are in Arizona. That’s thousands of miles away from our house in New York. She doesn’t have their phone numbers or e-mail addresses, so how would she contact my parents? Even more puzzling, why would she contact them?

  “Like I said before,” Annika says. “When parents act worse, kids act worse. I think my sister’s trying to get my students to act more like hers in hopes of poaching them from Kilter and bringing them to her poor excuse for a school.”

  “So you brought our parents here so she couldn’t get to them?”

  She leans forward. “And to ask you to help me find out exactly what she has up her dirty sleeve. So we can keep Kilter’s true purpose on track. And help hundreds . . . thousands . . . millions of kids around the globe.”

  My limbs tingle. She wasn’t kidding. Monitoring Mr. Tempest seems like small potatoes compared to this mission. And although she’s also right that I don’t enjoy being singled out . . . I have to admit, right now, I kind of do.

  “Okay,” I say, since she seems to be waiting for an answer. “I’ll do it.”

  She beams. “Wonderful!”

  “On one condition.”

  She freezes.

  “Or more like . . . four conditions.”

  She sighs, stands up, and strides to the opposite wall. Halfway there, she aims her K-Pak at the large screen. The screen rises, revealing the outdoor pool. When she reaches the wall, she smacks the button with her palm. There’s a loud whoosh. I watch Abe, Gabby, and Lemon get sucked away from the other Troublemakers and across the pool.

  There’s another whoosh. I look behind me and see a small door slide up the wall.

  Abe plops out first. Then Gabby. Then Lemon. They’re soaking wet and clearly confused. GS George gives them towels and aims an enormous hair dryer at their heads.

  I turn back to Annika. “Forgot one.”

  She swallows a groan. Smacks the button again.

  There’s a third whoosh.

  And out comes Elinor.

  “What’s going on?” Gabby asks, patting her face with the towel.

  “Whatever it is better be worth more than a thousand credits,” Abe says, squeezing out his trunks.

  “Don’t worry.” I grin at my friends. “It is.”

  Chapter 10

  DEMERITS: 1430

  GOLD STARS: 650

  The rest of my first day at Kamp Kilter is a blur. Without telling Lemon, Abe, Gabby, and Elinor everything she told me, Annika explains that she needs our eyes and ears to help figure out what’s going on with our parents. Abe and Gabby are thrilled to be part of the mission. Lemon doesn’t say anything, so I’m not even sure he’s listening. And Elinor asks if she’s really supposed to be included. To which Annika replies, through gritted teeth, “But of course.”

  After that we’re sent back through the Inner Tube chute. When we fly out into the pool, the silverfish game is still going on. My feet haven’t even hit the floor when the target appears before me. Its light dims. Its empty black eyes find mine. This time, I reach out and grab it. When my head pops above water, a siren sounds. Lights flash. Our teachers cheer and congratulate me on winning one thousand credits. One by one, tired Troublemakers crawl out of the water and collapse onto the grass. Kanteen chefs hurry over with refreshments. Before long everyone’s revived and dancing along to the Funky Faculty, our teachers’ rock band.

  I don’t dance. I barely hear the music. Because I can’t stop thinking about everything Annika told me. I think about it during the rest of the party, our ride back to Kilter Kamp, and while getting ready for bed.

  I’m still thinking about it the next morning, when my K-Pak buzzes with a new e-mail.

  TO: shinkle@kilteracademy.org

  FROM: parsippany@cloudviewschools.net

  SUBJECT: RE: RE: Happy Summer!

  Dear Seamus,

  Thank you for writing! It sounds like you have a great summer ahead of you. And how wonderful that your school director is throwing a retreat for students and their families! She must care a lot about you.

  I stop reading. Does Annika care? She’s given me reason to doubt it in the past—like when she ignored Elinor’s burn on top of the mountain—but after telling me about Kilter’s true purpose, now I’m not so sure.

  I keep reading.

  As for all my traveling, I’d like to say it’s part of an extra-long vacation. But most of it’s for work. You must know it was extremely difficult for me to leave my position as a substitute teacher after what ha
ppened in the Cloudview Middle School cafeteria. I love kids and helping them learn. For a time, I planned to resume teaching once I was fully recovered. But then an amazing job opportunity presented itself. One that included the chance to visit all the places I talked about in my last note, and countless more.

  So I took the new job. Besides visiting amazing places, I get to meet amazing people. It’s not teaching, but in some ways, it’s better.

  Thank you for the Bartholomew John update. I was just wondering how he was, as I often do about students I’ve had the privilege to know. In the short time we spent together, he struck me as a . . . special . . . individual. One with lots of raw potential.

  Bartholomew John? A special individual with raw potential? I guess that’s one way to describe him.

  In any case, whenever you’re home again, I’d really appreciate another Bartholomew John update. I’d contact him myself, but after what happened in the cafeteria I’m afraid he’d try to be much nicer than he actually is in hopes of demonstrating how acting like a bad kid helped him become a good one.

  And I’m a firm believer that honesty is ALWAYS the best policy. Except when it’s not. You are too, right?

  Well, we’ve begun our initial descent into Dubai so I should wrap this up! Have a great time with your family. If you have a spare moment in between fun activities, please feel free to write. It’s always a delight to hear from one of my favorite recr—

  The message ends here. I scroll down to see if the rest of it is at the bottom of the message box. I’m still scrolling when my K-Pak buzzes with a new message.

  TO: shinkle@kilteracademy.org

  FROM: parsippany@cloudviewschools.net

  SUBJECT: Oops!

  Sorry—I hit send before I was finished. Darn turbulence!

  What I meant to say was that it’s always a delight to hear from one of my favorite students ever. Which you are!

  Have fun! Write soon!

  With Warm Regards,

  Miss Parsippany

  Puzzled, I reread both notes. When I’m done, I still have a few questions.

  #1: What’s Miss Parsippany’s new job? She told me a lot about it without saying what she actually does.