Watch Your Step

by T. R. Burns

  Well, I should get going! I hope you’re having fun wherever you are. Write again when you can!

  Sincerely,

  Seamus

  I’m about to press send without rereading my e-mail, but then think better of it and take another look. Because do I really want to say that about Bartholomew John? It’s not a total lie. I did hear (or read) something about him, and my source (Mom) did talk about him bullying a little boy (me). Yes, Miss Parsippany asked for recent Bartholomew John news, and this incident happened a long time ago. But it’s still news to her, since she hasn’t heard it before. And maybe it’ll make her say why she’s so curious about him. After all, she hasn’t asked about any of the other Cloudview kids she taught . . . so why’s he so special?

  I press send. Then I start a new message.

  TO: loliver@kilteracademy.org

  FROM: shinkle@kilteracademy.org

  SUBJECT: Emergency Alliance Meeting

  Hey, Lemon!

  How are you?? Haven’t seen you much lately. I won’t ask again if everything’s okay, because you promised it was . . . but I hope it still is!

  Also, I wanted to make sure you knew about our alliance meeting tonight. In case you didn’t get the other e-mails I sent or the regular notes I left in your room.

  A lot’s happened the past few days. There’s much to talk about and plan. That’s why we’ll meet here, at our underground house, at six tonight. Which is in half an hour. I really, REALLY hope you can make it! Capital T is more like Lower-Case T when one of its members is missing. And speaking of missing, I miss my best friend!

  Hope to see you soon!

  —Seamus

  I hit send and start another note.

  TO: annika@kilteracademy.org

  CC: loliver@kilteracademy.org, ahansen@kilteracademy.org, gryan@kilteracademy.org, enorris@kilteracademy.org

  FROM: shinkle@kilteracademy.org

  SUBJECT: Update

  Hi, Annika!

  I just wanted to write and thank you for asking our teachers to look for our parents at the Beach Bash the other night. Their search turned up empty, unfortunately, and not one mom or dad made it to the party, but it was nice of them to try. Those adults sure can be sneaky, can’t they? And I’m an only child, but I guess brothers and sisters can be too. We stayed at the party until the bonfire finally went out around midnight, and we didn’t see one sibling the entire time.

  I also wanted to tell you that there have been some major developments on the Incriminator front. They relate to major developments on the parent front. It’s a lot for one e-mail, so maybe we can meet and review everything sometime this week?

  Sincerely,

  Seamus

  I send the message. My K-Pak buzzes. Hoping the new note’s from Lemon but figuring it’s from Annika, I open it. And I’m surprised to see it’s from Miss Parsippany. It usually takes her a few days to get back to me, and it’s taken even longer lately.

  I’m even more surprised when I see what she wrote.

  TO: shinkle@kilteracademy.org

  FROM: parsippany@wahoo.com

  SUBJECT: RE: Bartholomew John

  S—

  THANX 4 UPDATE. CAN’T BELIEVE ABOUT BJ. I GUESS LEOPARD + SPOTS = NO CHANGE. WHAT DAY DID THIS HAPPEN? HOW MANY KIDS DID HE MESS WITH? HOW MANY CRIED?

  I KNOW U SAID U DIDN’T HAVE ALL DETAILS BUT ANY WOULD BE GR8.

  SORRY SO SHORT. ABOUT TO JUMP OUT OF HELICOPTER. HARD TO TYPE. BUT WANTED TO GET BACK TO U RIGHT AWAY.

  —MP

  Wow. Miss Parsippany really wanted to know about Bartholomew John.

  My K-Pak buzzes again. I open the new message.

  TO: shinkle@kilteracademy.org

  FROM: annika@kilteracademy.org

  SUBJECT: Role Reverse

  Seamus,

  Thanks for the update. We’ll meet soon. On another note, I’ve been trying to schedule your Role Reverse session with your parents, but they’ve been hard to track down, and they’re not answering e-mails. Perhaps you can mention the session when next you see them and explain its importance as I have to other parents?

  Thanks!

  —Annika

  “Seamus? Can I come in?”

  I toss aside the K-Pak. Jump up from the bed. Wish I’d put on a clean shirt after today’s dusting duty as I open the door and smile at Elinor.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi.” She smiles too.

  “How was your day?”

  “Nice. I mean, as nice as scrubbing bathroom tiles with a toothbrush can be, anyway. How was dusting?”

  “Not bad. And informative. I thought dust only collected on flat surfaces. Turns out it gets on every surface. Including on your nose. And in your nose. I’ve never sneezed so much in my life.”

  “Did your dad split the second he opened the door?”

  “Actually, no. He was there as long as I was. And he followed me around the house. Whenever I changed rooms, so did he. He gave me a few-second head start and then commented on the shifting sun each time he sat down with the book he was pretending to read, like he would’ve kept moving even if I wasn’t there . . . but I knew what he was doing.”

  “Watching you?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Did he try anything?”

  “Not that I noticed.”

  “That’s odd,” she says. “How about your mom? Was she home too?”

  I shake my head. “Were Abe’s parents at his house?”

  “At first. But then he asked them so many questions—where they’ve been, what they’ve been doing—that they seemed to get uncomfortable. He tried to sound natural, but it was obvious he was digging for information. So they left.”

  “Smooth,” I say. “If one of us had done that—”

  “He’d never let us forget it.”

  We exchange small smiles. When she doesn’t say anything else, I try to come up with a new topic. This is hard. Because in the conversation break my brain fixates on the fact that the prettiest girl ever is standing in my room, and I can’t think of anything else.

  Fortunately, Elinor ends the silence before it gets too awkward.

  “So you know today’s troublemaking assignment?” she asks. “From Houdini?”

  “To swipe something from our parents without leaving their field of vision? Yes. That was tricky.”

  “I bet. I couldn’t find out myself because my parents aren’t here. But I still wanted to participate, so at the end of the day I stopped by the arts and crafts cabin.” Elinor reaches into her shorts pocket and pulls out two long skinny ropes. “There’s a ton of thread in there. Spools and spools of every color in the rainbow, plus about a hundred others. But I only wanted two. Green, which is my favorite color. And blue, which is . . .”

  “My favorite color.”

  She holds one of the ropes toward me. “It’s a friendship bracelet. One half’s blue, the other half’s green. They’re braided together. Kind of the way good friends are.”

  “You made this?” I ask, taking the bracelet. “For me?”

  “And for me,” she says. “So we each have one.”

  “That we can wear, like, all the time?”

  “If we want . . . ?” She says this like there’s a chance I wouldn’t want to.

  “Elinor, that’s . . . so nice. Really. Thank you. I can’t wait to put it on.”

  “No need to wait,” she says, then helps tie the bracelet around my wrist.

  When she’s done, I tie her bracelet around her wrist. Then she holds her arm between us, and I hold mine next to hers. We stand like that for a second, comparing bracelets. Then she gives me a shy smile, lowers her arm, and steps back.

  “So did you get a chance to swipe something from your dad?” she asks. “Or was he too close to make a move?”

  I pause. Then I look at my wrist once more and take my K-Pak from the bed.

  “It wasn’t easy,” I say, “but I did. I was cleaning my parents’ dresser while Dad sat in an armchair on the other side of
the room. I shook the feather duster really hard, like I was cleaning it off, and then I pretended to sneeze—in Dad’s direction—so that the flying dust flew all the way over to him. When he really sneezed, I used my K-Pak camera to take a quick picture. Of this.”

  I hold the K-Pak toward her. She leans forward for a closer look at the screen.

  “It looks like a diary entry,” she says.

  “It is a diary entry. My mom wrote it a year and a half ago. She’s been keeping a journal forever, but I just found out about it last week. I didn’t want to take the whole book today—and I already felt a little guilty for reading other entries—so I just snuck one shot.”

  “Impressive. What does it say?”

  “You can read it if you want.”

  Elinor does. Out loud.

  “ ‘Well, it happened again. For the umpteenth time in twelve years, my beloved Seamus has proven his weakness.’ ” Elinor glances up at me. “Ouch.”

  “It gets better,” I say.

  “ ‘The unfortunate incident occurred in the school cafeteria, where Seamus sprinted from his social studies class in order to be first in line for fish sticks. Apparently today was the very first day the cafeteria was offering this lunch special. And apparently my son has been looking forward to this day for months.’ ”

  “It’s true,” I say.

  “ ‘Sadly for him, he wasn’t first in line. Bartholomew John, that strapping, confident young man—his mother must be so proud!—beat him to the fried fish. As this was the very first day for fish sticks, the cafeteria staff didn’t know how much to make. And they underestimated, because Bartholomew John cleared out their entire prepared supply. I don’t know why the lunch ladies didn’t limit his serving so others could have some, but I’m guessing Bartholomew John made a very convincing argument.’ ” Elinor looks up. “Your mom really likes this kid.”

  “You’re telling me,” I say.

  Elinor continues. “ ‘Anyway, what did my son do? When he found out he wouldn’t be having fish sticks after all? I can tell you what he didn’t do. He didn’t tell Bartholomew John to stop hogging them, or snatch some from his tray. He did what he always does. He walked away. He didn’t stand up for himself.’ ” Elinor looks up. “How’d your mom find out what you did?”

  I nod to the K-Pak. She keeps reading.

  “ ‘When Seamus shared this story at dinner tonight, and his voice actually cracked at the idea of missing out on frozen fish, I wanted to tell him to toughen up, to be the kind of boy other kids respected. But I didn’t. There was no point.’ ” Elinor gives me a sympathetic frown. Continues. “ ‘Which means the time has come. If he can’t fix his flaws, then I will.’ ” Elinor pouts, hands me the K-Pak. “She sounds like my mom.”

  She does. Of course, she’s never tossed me into a pit of snakes and left me there to fend for myself, but maybe that’s just because Scales, Slithers, and Sliders, Cloudview’s one-stop-shop for all things reptilian, doesn’t have enough snakes to fill a sink let alone a swimming pool.

  I’d like to talk more about my mom with Elinor. But the mention of her mom reminds of something else I’ve been meaning to bring up.

  “Not to totally change the subject,” I say, “but you must be wondering why Abe’s been insisting that you help him in his parents’ cabin.”

  She shrugs. “He’s Abe. Most of what he does doesn’t make sense.”

  “Right. Only he did have a reason. And I think it’s only fair that you know what it is.”

  “Okay?”

  I take a second to think about how to say this. But beating around the bush will probably only raise more questions—and make her even more uncomfortable—than simply stating the truth would.

  “He thinks you’re working for the Incriminators.” The words tumble from my mouth like ice cubes from a glass.

  Her face stills. “What do you mean, working for them?”

  “Helping them. Feeding them information. By pretending to be one of us.” I wait for her to respond. When she doesn’t, I add, “He didn’t trust me to keep an eye on you. Because of how I—I mean, because he doubts pretty much everything I do. That’s why he wanted you with him. So he could watch you himself.”

  “I don’t understand,” Elinor says. “After all this time and everything we’ve been through . . . why would he think I’d do something like that?”

  “I’m not sure . . . maybe to make your mom happy?”

  She looks at me, her copper eyes worried. “Do you think that?”

  “Seamus!” Down the hall, the elevator door whooshes open. Fast footsteps pound toward us. “Where are you? We have a lot to discuss! Let’s do it!”

  “Speak of the devil,” I say. “Sorry. We have that emergency alliance meeting.”

  She looks down. Nods.

  “Which you’re coming to, right?”

  “I’m not in the alliance.” She says this so softly, I’m not sure she says it at all.

  “Hustle, Hinkle!” Abe shouts.

  I take a step toward Elinor. She takes a step away from me. Then she lowers her right hand to her left wrist, covering her bracelet, and hurries from the room.

  I should go after her. Apologize. Insist that Abe’s completely out of his mind. Reassure her that I’d never think she was capable of doing anything like what he’s suggested she is.

  But before I can do any of those things, Abe dashes into my room, grabs my arm, and pulls me down the hall.

  “Good news!” he says. “Look who decided to show up.”

  I stop short in the kitchen doorway. “Lemon?”

  My elusive best friend is poking around the refrigerator. Now he looks over his shoulder and grins. “Seamus! Hey!”

  “And there’s more,” Abe says. “Lemon, why don’t you tell Hinkle what you just told us?”

  Lemon grabs a pear from the fridge, stands up straight, and swings the door shut. “No biggie. Abraham just said your parents keep disappearing on you. And I just said I know where they’ve been going.”

  My heart skips. “You do? Where?”

  “Meetings.”

  “What kind of meetings?” I ask.

  “Secret ones, by the looks of it.”

  “For?” I prompt.

  He takes a bite of pear. Chomps. Swallows. Gives a partial answer. Takes another bite. Chomps. Swallows. Gives a partial answer. Repeats the routine a third time. Until, eventually, his answer’s complete.

  “The Secret . . . Society . . . of Masterful . . . Angel Makers.”

  Chapter 24

  DEMERITS: 2475

  GOLD STARS: 1550

  We’re going to die out here.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  “Yes, we are. It’s pitch black. And freezing. And we’re walking in circles through an endless forest. It’s just like that time we climbed that mountain for history class and Mystery abandoned us at the top and told us to find our way back by ourselves!”

  “Gabby,” Abe says. “This is nothing like that. Lemon knows exactly where he’s going . . . don’t you, Lemon?”

  Personally, I don’t think Gabby’s far off. We do seem to be walking in circles through an endless forest. According to my K-Pak clock we left our underground house an hour ago. Powered by adrenaline, we crossed the lake in our leaky boat in record time and sprinted across our parents’ beach like the sand was pavement. But we haven’t seen a single light or any other sign of life since ducking into the woods behind the Kamp Kilter beach.

  “Almost there!” Lemon calls back.

  We’re hiking in a line. I glance behind me. It’s so dark I can barely see Elinor.

  “Doing okay?” I ask.

  “Fine,” she says.

  “Warm enough?”

  “Yup.”

  “Bet you didn’t think you’d be doing this today when you woke up this morning, huh? I know I didn’t. Nope, when I opened my eyes, there was no way I thought I’d—”

  “Seamus?”

  “Yeah?�
��

  “I don’t really feel like talking. If that’s okay.”

  I frown. “Sure. No problem.”

  Why would she feel like talking? During our alliance meeting, when Lemon said he knew where our parents were, and that they were meeting tonight, we all agreed we needed to see what they were up to—and I said Elinor had to come with us. Abe looked like he was going to refuse, so I asked him a question. That was: Wouldn’t he rather know exactly where she is? So he doesn’t have to wonder what she’s up to when he’s not around?

  His answer: “Now you’re thinking like a Troublemaker, Hinkle.”

  Elinor didn’t hear this conversation. At least I hope she didn’t. She’s been pretty quiet ever since Gabby pulled her from her room and filled her in, but maybe she’s just tired. I know I’d be if I’d spent the day scrubbing floors with a toothbrush.

  Or maybe she doesn’t feel like talking because she’s still hurt from what I told her about Abe and his suspicions. This is probably the likelier reason. I don’t want to think about this, though, because it makes me feel terrible. Either way, I promise myself that I’ll do everything I can to make her feel better as soon as we’re back home.

  “Here we are!” Lemon exclaims.

  He stops short. Abe runs into him. Gabby runs into Abe. I run into Gabby. Elinor must have excellent reflexes, because she doesn’t run into anyone.

  “Where?” Abe asks.

  “At the Angel Makers’ secret meeting spot,” Lemon says.

  “Um, no offense,” Gabby says, “but we’re standing by a rock. A really big rock . . . but still. A rock.”

  “Lemon,” Abe says, “if you wasted our time by dragging us all to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the—”

  “Aha!” Lemon’s been stooped down and rummaging around. Now he straightens and raises one fist. “Found it.”

  “What?” Gabby asks.

  “The spare key.”

  “Right,” Abe scoffs. “Because a secret organization would really leave a key to its top secret meeting place for anyone to just come along and find.”

  “Of course not.” Lemon faces the tall granite wall. “That’d be silly. They bury it. In a different place near the door every night.”

  “Hon,” Gabby says, “I hate to break it to you, but there’s no door here. There’s only—”