by T. R. Burns
Abe’s chin drops. So does mine. And Gabby’s.
“Dude,” Abe finally says. “Is that a tie?”
“And gel in your hair?” Gabby asks, reaching out to pat it.
“And real shoes?” I ask.
Lemon ducks away from Gabby’s hand, then nudges her for room in front of the mirror.
“Sorry to keep everyone waiting.”
Gabby’s chin drops again. So does Abe’s. And Lemon’s. And mine, furthest of all. We all stare at Elinor, who stands in the living room doorway.
Gabby’s the first to recover. She squeals, claps, and beelines toward her friend. “You look amazing!”
“Are you sure?” Elinor looks down at her outfit. “It was so nice of you loan me one of your dresses . . . but I don’t usually wear them, so I feel a little weird.”
“Trust me,” Gabby says. “It. Looks. Gorgeous!”
“It’s a very nice dress,” Lemon says.
“Not bad,” Abe says. Coming from him, this is the ultimate compliment.
I’d give her one too if I could talk. But I can’t, so all I can do is try not to stare.
Because somehow, wearing the sleeveless turquoise dress she borrowed from Gabby, her long red hair hanging loose past her shoulders, Elinor looks even prettier than I’ve ever seen her.
If Dad’s looking for an angel, here she is. No wings or halo required.
“We should go.” Abe jumps up from the couch. “The party’s starting soon.”
We head for the elevator and gather inside.
“I’m so happy Annika invited us,” Gabby says during the ride up. “The party was originally just for our families, right?”
“Right,” Abe says. “Until Hinkle convinced her it was a great chance for us to see our parents in action. Since we haven’t really seen them in days.”
It turns out my friends are having a hard time gathering information, because their parents have also been leaving the second their kids come to clean. I told Annika this and suggested that watching our families in a casual atmosphere when their guards were down—like at a beach party—might help us learn more. She agreed and sent an e-vite to the rest of the Troublemakers that night—but asked them not to tell their parents that they planned to attend. She thought the element of surprise could work in our favor.
“Well,” Gabby says as the elevator slows to a stop, “I hope this won’t be all work and no play. I’m dying to dance!”
The elevator door opens. Gabby skips out. Lemon follows her. Abe follows him.
Elinor and I stay put. She seems to be waiting for me to say or do something. After a few seconds of shy glances and awkward silence, we both speak at once.
“You look really nice.”
We laugh.
I smile and motion to the door. “After you.”
We hurry from the elevator, out of our fake tent, and to the lake. A boat’s waiting for us. It’s ten times the size of the canoe we usually take to our parents’ beach—and in much better shape. Dozens of Troublemakers are already on board, no one’s filling plastic cups and dumping water over the sides, and the ship’s staying afloat.
As I follow Elinor up the ramp leading to the boat, I think about how glad I am that Abe made her go with him to his families’ cabin the other day. According to the thorough report he gave me that night, he watched her like a hawk, and she did nothing suspicious. That didn’t mean he necessarily trusted her, or was ready to invite her to join Capital T, but it at least knocked down his paranoia a few notches.
I also think that I’m with Gabby. I hope tonight’s not all work and no play . . . because I wouldn’t mind just having fun with my friends. Without worrying about parents, Incriminators, or even making trouble.
The evening has a promising start. Once the last Troublemaker’s onboard, we set sail across the lake. The sun starts to set. The sky softens, turning from blue to gold. Waiters pass out glasses of lemonade and iced tea. Other waiters come by with trays of snacks—peanuts and pretzels, chips and dip. Music plays. My friends and I talk and laugh with our classmates.
It’s nice. Normal. I almost forget where we’re going and why.
But then the boat docks. The music stops. And it all comes back to me.
“Are we really late?” Gabby asks.
“Or really early?” Lemon asks.
“Do we have the right beach?” Abe asks.
“There’s the band,” Elinor says. “And our teachers.”
“But where are our parents?” I ask.
“More food for us!” Chris Fisher declares before bounding down the ramp.
As we disembark, I note that the beach definitely looks ready for a party. There are balloons and streamers. Lit tiki torches. Picnic tables. A dozen Kilter chefs behind grills. Snack and beverage stations. Big speakers playing loud music. But besides camp staff members, our teachers, and the arriving Troublemakers, there are no guests.
“Hey, hey!” DJ Houdini stands behind a large turntable, holding a microphone in one hand and headphones to his ear in the other. “Welcome to Kamp Kilter’s first annual Beach Bash! Help yourself to some grub, and feel free to cut a rug!” He puts down the microphone, then picks it up again. When he speaks this time, his voice is stern. “But whatever you do, do not get into trouble!”
“Was that warning for our parents’ benefit?” Abe asks me.
“Probably,” I say. “Only they’re not around to hear it.”
He checks his watch. “The party started at eight. We’re fifteen minutes late. Should we split up and check their cabins?”
“Let’s ask Annika first,” I say. “Maybe she knows something we don’t.”
“Can you say . . . conga?”
Abe winces. “Don’t tell me.”
I look past him to the sandy dance floor, where Gabby’s already skipping and sashaying barefoot. She either doesn’t realize or care that no one’s joined her.
“She’s not bad,” I say. “If the singing thing doesn’t work out, maybe she has a backup career.”
“That’d be so much quieter,” Abe says, heading her way. “I’ll go suggest it. You find Annika.”
“Looks like fun.”
I turn around and see Elinor standing a few feet behind me.
“Want to join them?” she asks.
“Abe and Gabby?” I ask. “On the dance floor?”
She nods.
“With you?”
She nods again.
“Maybe in a few minutes?” I ask, regretting the words as I say them. “I just have to do one thing first.”
“I’ll be here.”
We exchange smiles. Then I reluctantly leave her and hurry around the beach. Besides Houdini, I see Samara. Wyatt. Devin. Lizzie. They’re eating and drinking, talking and laughing. They don’t seem concerned that no one from the party’s original guest list has made it here. Deciding not to attract attention by asking them if they know where Annika is, I duck behind a tree and take out my K-Pak.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Beach Bash No-Shows
Hi Annika,
Capital T and the rest of the Troublemakers have made it to tonight’s party. Our teachers and the Kamp Kilter staff have really outdone themselves this time—everything looks great!
Just one question. Where are our parents? The party flyer said attendance was mandatory, so I’m just wondering where they are. Did they have another event before this one? That’s maybe running late?
If you could let me know as soon as you can, that’d be great. Abe, Lemon, Gabby, Elinor, and I just want to make sure we’re doing our jobs!
Thanks!
—Seamus
I hit send. Annika writes back immediately.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: RE: Beach Bash No-Shows
Dear Seamus,
You were right to write. Your parents should be there—and nowh
ere else.
Stay put. I’ll have your teachers find them ASAP.
—Annika
I put away my K-Pak and step out from behind the tree. As I start back toward the dance floor, I see Houdini, Lizzie, Samara, Wyatt, Fern, and Devin all jump and check their K-Paks. Then they casually put down their plates and cups, stroll to the back of the beach—and bolt into the woods.
Fortunately, Houdini hands over DJ duties to a Good Samaritan before leaving. The music keeps going. Which means I’ll still get to dance with Elinor.
I wonder if DJ GS takes requests. If so, should I make one? Maybe something a little softer? A little slower? So that Elinor and I can—
“Gotcha!”
Whoever says this is right. One second I’m walking on the beach, looking at Elinor. And the next second, I’m hanging in midair as I look at a giant silver K.
“Didn’t know that was coming, did you?”
I’m in some kind of net and scrunched up like Play-Doh in a can, but when I hear the familiar voice, my muscles relax.
“I definitely didn’t,” I say.
Something beeps. The net lowers. When my bottom hits a hard surface, the mesh material loosens and falls away. I look around and see that I’m sitting on the ground in the middle of the woods.
I grin. “Hi, Ike.”
“Hey.” My tutor grins too. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”
“Nope.” Ducking my head so he can’t see my cheeks turn pink, I climb to my feet. “So what’s this? I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”
There’s another beep. The net lifts and lengthens. Strings shoot out from either end and wind around two tree trunks. When it’s done, it looks like something that I’d like to hang out in with a book and a glass of lemonade.
“The Kilter Hammock Hauler,” Ike says. “Designed to snatch up any unsuspecting snoozer.”
“I wasn’t snoozing,” I say. “I was walking.”
“And paying so little attention to your surroundings, you might as well have been sleeping.” Before I can disagree he asks, “Ready for a quick lesson?”
“Always.”
He holds up a pineapple. A tiny purple umbrella sticks out of the top of the fruit. Ike moves the umbrella right, and the hammock pulls taut. He moves the umbrella left, and the hammock loosens. When he bangs the top of the umbrella, the hammock strings release the tree trunks, the fabric comes together like a sack, and the strings knot at the top. All of this happens in about two seconds. Then Ike hits the top of the umbrella again, and the sack drops to the ground.
“It’s pretty straightforward,” he says. “And as you just learned, your target doesn’t need to actually be in the hammock in order for it to work. That’s easiest, of course. And it’s always nice when your prey wanders right into your trap. But when that doesn’t happen, you just use the pineapple’s built-in radar system to aim and fire. The Hammock Hauler does the rest.” He looks at me. “Want to try?”
“Definitely.”
He hands me the pineapple. I fiddle with the umbrella for a few minutes to get the hang of it.
Ike nods to a nearby rock. “I’ll give you twenty demerits for that.”
Zeroing in on my target, I press a button on the bottom of the pineapple. A thin, silver beam of light shoots out. When the light hits the middle of the rock, the pineapple beeps. I press the top of the umbrella. The Hammock Hauler swoops toward the rock, lifts it up, and folds around it. The strings tie together. Now in the makeshift sack, the rock drops back to the ground.
“Nice work,” Ike says. “How about thirty demerits for that bush over there?”
“That’s, like, rooted in the dirt?”
“Yup.”
“No problem,” I say more confidently than I feel.
But the Hammock Hauler doesn’t disappoint. It takes a few joystick adjustments, but soon the bush is pulled from the dirt and dropped back to the ground.
“I’m going to replant that right away,” I say.
Ike gives me a few more targets. I catch them all, each faster than the one before. By the time we’re done, I’ve racked up two hundred demerits.
“Impressive as always,” Ike says. “And now you should get back to the party.”
The party. Elinor. My parents. I don’t think I’ve been gone that long, but I’ve been so focused on my lesson it’s hard to be sure. Hopefully, I haven’t missed anything important.
“That’s probably a good idea,” I say. “But before I go, can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
I take a big breath. “A few days ago? During our last lesson in the treetops? You said something I’ve been wondering about ever since.”
“How donuts are a better breakfast than fish sticks and maple syrup?”
“No, although I don’t get that either.” I give him a quick smile. “But I’m talking about the other thing. When you said I should be—”
“Seamus!”
My mouth snaps shut. I look at Ike. He looks at my K-Pak, which is sticking out of my pants pocket.
“Earth to Seamus! Hello? Are you there? Pick up! Right now!”
I yank out the K-Pak. The screen’s flashing with a v-chat request from Abe, whose loud, anxious voice is the one barking at me.
I accept the request. The video feed turns on. And I instantly forget whatever it was I wanted to ask Ike. All I can do is stare, unblinking, at the screen.
Where Shepherd Bull is staring back at me.
Chapter 22
DEMERITS: 2300
GOLD STARS: 1350
Um, guys? I don’t know how much longer I’ll last.”
“Just a few more minutes, Gabby,” I say. “Please. If you can.”
“But I haven’t blinked in eleven minutes and it’s kind of dusty in here and my eyes are starting to wig out.”
“Then blink,” Abe says. “Give your eyes a half-second break. And keep going.”
“Can’t. Closing them breaks the bind.”
As Gabby keeps her eyes aimed straight ahead, Elinor stands right behind her.
“You’re not in a dusty shed,” she says near Gabby’s ear. “You’re in a beautiful, shiny, sparkly shopping mall.”
Gabby eyes widen ever so slightly.
“You’re strolling past all of your favorite stores,” Elinor continues. “When you reach your favorite one—”
“Sassy Threads?” Gabby asks.
“Yes,” Elinor confirms. “When you reach that one, you stop. There’s an outfit in the window. It’s so beautiful, you can’t take your eyes off of it.”
Still unblinking, Gabby nods slowly. “Yes. Yes, I see it. There’s a long blue skirt. And a belt made of sapphires. And . . .”
Gabby and Elinor keep talking. So do Abe and I.
“This wasn’t part of the plan,” I whisper.
“Capturing an Incriminator?” Abe asks. “I know. But he was lurking in the shadows. Carrying that enormous stick. So close to the party. I thought he and his dirty friends had to be up to something, and I didn’t want to find out what that was. Especially with so many Troublemakers right there. I mean, if we didn’t capture him, maybe they would’ve captured all of us.”
I glance at Shepherd Bull. He sits on a stack of three silver inner tubes, the kind we’ve seen some Troublemaker parents floating around in on the lake. His ankles and wrists are bound together with silver beach towels. A tennis ball’s lodged in his mouth.
They’re decent constraints. On anyone else they’d be perfect. But on the child-giant, the towels look like ribbon and the tennis ball looks like a piece of bubble gum.
They’re working, though, because in the ten minutes I’ve been here, he hasn’t moved an inch. Gabby’s icy stare, which no one’s immune to, is also helping keep him in place.
“How’d you even do it?” I ask Abe quietly. “He must weigh more than you, Gabby, and Elinor combined.”
Abe stands up straighter and squares his shoulders, clearly proud of his accomplishment. “Wh
en I first spotted him, I alerted the girls to the situation. Lemon, as usual, was nowhere to be found. I looked for you, too, but you’d totally ditched us.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Surprise troublemaking training session.”
“I figured. Anyway, I told the girls what was up. We scattered for a bigger spy scope. Shepherd Bull snuck around for a little while, staying far enough away from the party that you wouldn’t notice him unless you looked for him—but close enough that he could make a split-second attack if he wanted to. He carried that stick the whole time.”
I look at the long, skinny stick leaning against one wall of the inner-tube shed. In the hands of anyone else it’d seem like an ordinary tree branch. But in the hands of Shepherd Bull, it was definitely a potential weapon.
“I saw him sneak in here,” Abe says. “So I grabbed some towels from the stand by the lake and a stray tennis ball from the beach. Then Gabby, Elinor, and I burst in, locked the door, and tied him up.”
“He must’ve put up some fight,” I say.
“Not really—which was weird. He resisted at first, I guess because we caught him by surprise. But when he realized what we were doing, he pretty much let us do it. Except when we tried to take away the stick. He didn’t like that.”
Shepherd Bull grunts. I’m not sure if this is because he hears us talking about him and agrees that he wanted to hold on to his weapon, or if it’s because his eyes, locked on Gabby’s, are getting tired too.
“My guess is he’s going easy on us so we’ll lower our defenses,” Abe says. “And the instant he thinks we don’t suspect he’ll attack—he will. That’s why Gabby has him locked in her death stare.”
“Good idea,” I say. “But you didn’t think you should keep watching him instead of tying him up? Like Annika told us to?”
“The situation seemed too risky to just let him and his friends do whatever they came to do.”
I scan the shed. Besides us and about a thousand inner tubes arranged in tall stacks, it’s empty.
“Where are his friends?” I ask.
“Don’t know. No one’s come to claim him. And the party’s still raging out there.”
I follow his nod to a small window. It offers a clear view of the beach, where our classmates are still eating and dancing like they haven’t a care in the world. Our teachers are missing, as are our parents.