Later, on the way to Athletics, I found out I was wrong even about that.
As I began the long walk down that hall, I lifted my head and saw Les coming toward me, out of the shadows. He was limping, and he wasn’t holding his head perfectly straight, but with the blood cleaned off his face he didn’t look that awful, and he was smiling.
“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he said. “I knew you’d want to do it during Athletics. It’s too perfect.”
I stopped. I looked him up and down.
“Yes, I still hurt,” he said. “But I wouldn’t miss your destroying them for the world. For a couple of worlds.”
His ice-blue eyes sparkled. “Hey, I have an idea. Maybe you can do some big dramatic presentation about what they did to you, and then say, ‘And if you want proof, just look at this!’ And I can come staggering in, and—”
I opened my mouth to speak. The words caught in my throat. I could only shake my head.
His smile collapsed. “No,” he said. “No, no, no. They didn’t. You wouldn’t.”
I tried to tell him.
“It—I . . . they trapped me, Les. They threatened to kick me out of school.”
“But you . . . you were the answer,” he spluttered. “You were supposed to be smart. Not like the others. You were . . .”
He was sobbing now, and he flung a paper bag at my feet.
“You weren’t supposed to be a STUPID COWARD!” he said. And limped off.
I couldn’t watch him go. I just stared down at the bag he tossed. When he was out of sight, I picked it up, reached in and pulled out a hand-lettered note from Les—To victory!— and a small, clear plastic case.
I opened it. Inside was a set of trading cards. Hard-to-find trading cards. The complete set of trading cards from the rarely seen Star Survivors and Friends cartoon. Captain Maxim, looking wise and strong. Commander Steele, ready for action. The crew, standing together. Even in cartoon form, they looked determined, resolute, ready for the next challenge. They were survivors.
I was not.
I walked toward the gym, where I should have been suiting up. But I kept on going. Out the school’s back doors, into the bright spring sunshine, away from everything. I had nothing to lose.
11.01.04
I had never gone AWOL before, but it was surprisingly easy. I just drifted away. Like a real spaceman.
I meandered into Sand Creek Park, walked the rim for a ways, then picked up one of the neighborhood trails. I did not look up from the rutted dirt and cracked asphalt.
The trail eventually led me to the rocketship park. I climbed into the capsule, lay on my back and stared up into the rusty nose cone.
In the distance I heard the bell signal the end of the school day. I thought back to my first moments at Festus—my smashed face, the mockery, the insults from the administration and students. Through all that, one thought kept me going: The idea that I could figure it out. And make it get better. Because, well, it had to, right?
I kept hoping that I would find evidence that I was indeed special. That at the crucial moment, Obi-Wan would speak into my headset, I would fire the torpedoes, personally destroy the Death Star and be revealed to have the secret, untapped power to redeem my universe.
I did not seem to be in that kind of movie.
I did not seem to be in any kind of movie.
Far off in the distance, the happy kids, the normal kids, the ones with lives and futures, were laughing and playing with each other as they spilled out of school.
I stayed on my back and studied the rust patterns. They looked like laughing monsters.
Ricki would be here soon, but I could not bear to face her again.
I left the plastic case with the trading cards Les had given me at the top of the ladder. I wrote my own note.
I’m sorry. For everything.
And I left.
I walked random streets until I was sure there was no chance of seeing Ricki. When I felt the wind pick up and saw thick, dark clouds churning in from over the mountains, I turned toward home. When I was about halfway there, a heavy rain started. I thought of the stormwater that would eventually make its way past Les’s barrier and down the drain, flushing the remains of our sanctuary into the muddy creek. There would be no trace of us. It would be as if we had not existed.
11.01.05
At home there was a fresh box of snack cakes on the counter. And Star Survivors was on.
I walked to my room.
The command unit was complaining about the mess as she followed my wet footprints. She found me, still in my soaked clothes, lying on my bed.
She didn’t say anything as she went to the linen closet, grabbed a towel, and brought it to me. She smiled as she patted around my face. It was a look she often gave the spawn but hadn’t had time to give me lately.
“Long day, I’m guessing?” she said.
That was all it took. The terrestrial metaphor would be, “The dam burst.” I am thinking that it would be more appropriate to describe the outpouring as, “The spacesuit ripped.” Everything that had been under pressure all this time came gushing out. The isolation. The bullying. Denton. Beacon. In a messy torrent of tears and sniffles.
“Oh, Clark. Oh, Clark,” was all she could say. She rubbed my back while sobs shook my body. When they finally slowed, she kissed the back of my head.
She sent me to the shower to get cleaned up.
I went.
11.01.06
The male commander was home even before dinner was ready, but I didn’t speak during our meal. I felt emptied out, wordless. Even the baby seemed oddly quiet, unsure of what to do amid the tension. I retreated to my quarters afterward.
It was the male command unit who knocked on my door a few minutes later.
“Clark, can I come in?”
I didn’t say no.
He entered and sat on the foot of the bed.
“Mom told me about . . . everything,” he said. “And I want you to know, we’ll be there for you. She and I are going to talk to the principal. Now that we know what’s been going on, I’m sure we can fix—”
“NO!” I shouted. I bolted upright in the bed.
The commander sighed. “Clark, I know that nobody likes to have their parents meddle in their lives, but this is—”
“It was my war. I lost it, and I don’t want to be reminded.”
“Clark, it’s not war, it’s middle school, and I don’t think you lost, I just think you—”
“Think I let down the only friends I had? Think I got my favorite teacher fired? Think there is nothing, NOTHING that talking to the principal is going to fix?”
The commander stared off into space. “Well, I’m sure you feel cornered. But Mom and I can talk to him, as adults, and—”
“He’s not an adult, Dad. He’s a principal. And he’s too tough. He was a Marine. A decorated combat veteran. They gave him a Soldier’s Medal for Valor and everything.”
He looked confused. “How do you know?”
“I saw it, Dad. It’s in his office. ‘Soldier’s Medal for Valor.’ ”
“For what?” Dad asked.
“Does it matter?”
He seemed confused, then shook his head and went on. “Clark, if you just let me help—maybe there’s a teacher you know who can . . .”
“He fired the one teacher who could have done anything to stop him, Dad.”
“The librarian Mom mentioned? Ms. Bacon?”
“Beacon, Dad.”
He puzzled everything over for a moment, then said, “Well, maybe I could get someone else to talk to him. I know a guy, a Marine, maybe I could—”
“Haven’t you done enough, Dad? This move is all your fault. You didn’t—you didn’t ask for my help when you were deciding whether to come to this stupid place. And I don’t want your help now. Because . . . because if you and Mom get involved . . .”
I flopped back down on the bed, exhausted. “It would be just another sign of how stupid and weak I am.”
Dad stared at me for a long time.
“You’re right, Clark,” he finally said. “You should have a say in how this is handled. I won’t take that away from you.”
I hadn’t expected him to come around so quickly.
“You deserve better than you’ve gotten, Clark. From your school”—he paused to inhale—“and from me. I’m sorry I didn’t do more. It’s not that I didn’t want to, but I had a lot of . . .” His voice sounded all tight as it trailed off.
“Anyhow, I’ll let you call the shots here, for now. But in the meantime, I’m going to start looking into—well, just know I’ll do whatever I can for you. You do know that, right?”
I nodded. And turned toward the wall so he couldn’t see the return of my tears. I hated crying. It was confirmation of everything my enemies had said about my weakness.
Dad stood up and walked out.
I sobbed until I fell asleep.
EXPEDITION LOG
ENTRY 12.01.01
The next morning Mom signed a note to excuse my wandering away from campus. She made up a story about a sudden doctor’s appointment. I’d never seen her lie before. I appreciated it.
“Are you going to be OK?” she asked.
“Yes, Mom.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a ride?
“No, Mom.”
“Maybe you should stay home and rest today. I can tell them—”
“I’ll be fine, Mom. Honest. I just want to get on with my life.”
“And you don’t want us to . . . ?”
“Please, no. I know you want to help, but—can we let it go?”
She looked me over and said, “For now.” Then she hugged me, ordered me to call if I needed her and kissed me goodbye.
I walked toward Festus under a bright sky. The air felt crisp after yesterday’s rain. In Sand Creek Park, an actual creek flowed. I supposed the remnants of the Sanctuary were halfway to the ocean by now.
My heart felt similarly cleaned out. Unburdened. I didn’t like where I stood in the world—but at least I knew my place.
I focused on my mission of the day: reconnoitering for the crew I had abandoned. I found them, believe it or not, at lunchtime in the cafeteria. Together. At a table by themselves in the back.
I took a seat next to them.
“I thought you’d be in deep hiding,” I said.
“I thought you’d be enrolling at a new school,” Les said.
I shrugged. “I’ve had enough of new schools for this year. Why are you out in the open?”
He shrugged. “I’m just tired of eating in closets.”
“Or stairwells,” Ricki added.
“Or air ducts,” Les said.
“Bathrooms are the worst,” she said, nodding.
“Except for—”
“It was time,” Ricki said, cutting him off. “Time for all that to end.”
Les nodded, and our table was silent as I pulled out my sandwich, fiddled with the seal on the plastic bag and tried to think of what to say.
“Look, both of you, I’m—”
“Don’t,” said Les.
“No, really, I’m sorry for—”
“Clark,” said Ricki. “We understand.”
“Ricki and I compared details and examined your alternatives,” said Les.
“You have the details?”
“Between what I heard from my stepdad telling Ty about being off the hook again, and what Ricki learned in the office about Beacon getting fired, pretty much.”
I stared down at the table. “I’m sorry I blew it. After all you did.”
Les was peeling the crust off his sandwich in long strips, then ripping those into tiny squares. “You made the only logical choice.”
“And nobody thinks your destiny should be a school full of criminals,” Ricki said.
“No,” Les said. “She’s right.”
Then he sighed glumly and propped his face against his palm. “Even though revenge would have been very, very sweet.”
I bit into my sandwich. Feelings of failure kept gnawing at me, like one of those alien things that grows in your intestines and then explodes out, spectacularly.
“When did you two find time to talk?” I asked while I chewed.
They exchanged a glance.
“Um, it turns out we have a couple of classes together,” Ricki said. “We just haven’t been showing up at the same time.”
“Or by the same door,” Les added.
“But things have changed,” Ricki said. “It feels slightly abnormal, being out here, but I’m sure we’ll be OK. I mean, there’s barely two months of classes left. And then high school. It’ll be different there. Right?”
I might have agreed with her, but my thoughts were interrupted by an explosion of cornbread crumbs.
Someone had lobbed a corn muffin, expertly, from across the cafeteria. It landed smack in the middle of our table and blew up, showering the three of us in tiny bits of yellow shrapnel.
I turned in time to see Jerry slap Ty on the back. Ty was grinning smugly.
I asked myself, What would Maxim and Steele do?
And the answer was: Damn the corn muffins. Lock weapons on target. And move ahead. Full power.
I turned to my friends.
“We can still end this,” I said quietly.
“It’s hopeless,” Les said.
“He’s right,” Ricki said. “You can’t win.”
“No, I can’t win.” Then I leaned in. “But what if I found a way to lose my way, instead of theirs?”
“Clark,” Ricki said, her teeth clenched. “What are you talking about?”
“What I’m talking about is . . .” I took a deep breath. “Denton is basically blackmailing me. About the fire. If I try to tell any school officials about Ty, I’m toast. Denton expects me to keep quiet.
“But what if I’m not? What if I stick to the original plan—tell Blethins everything that Ty has done to me, and to Les? I’m pretty sure she’d have to do something. Put something on his record, get someone above Denton involved? And Ty would still end up ejected from the school, right?”
“Wrong,” Ricki said. “Because the moment Denton sees you coming, he’ll call his security friend and have you expelled—in handcuffs. To a school where the uniform is an orange jumpsuit.”
“Yeah, but this way, Ty will end up right behind me. It’s what I mean by losing my way.”
“You say it like it’s a game,” Ricki said. “But you’ll end up a prisoner.”
“We’re kind of Denton’s prisoners already,” Les said. “And will be, for another four years, if Ty is around.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Could getting hauled off to alternative school be so much worse than staying here, having to deal with this?” I said, flicking away a cornbread chunk.
“It’s a pawn sacrifice,” Les said, stroking his chin. “And you’re the pawn.”
“A pointless sacrifice,” said Ricki. “And anyway, what makes you think Blethins will suddenly stand up to Denton? Or anyone else?”
I thought about how helpful and efficient Blethins had been all year. And how she sometimes trembled at the mere thought of Denton’s presence.
“You have a point,” I said dejectedly. As secret weapons went, Blethins would be as helpful as a paper towel tube in a lightsaber fight. She couldn’t help me; nobody at this school could help me. I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration.
Then I thought, It was true. Nobody could help me.
But maybe everybody could.
“I have another idea,” I said.
Ricki and Les leaned in.
“Les,” I said urgently, “could you make a diversion? Something loud enough to draw people out of the office, toward the flagpole? Here,” I said, fishing in my backpack for the blank hall pass that Ricki had stolen for me. “This might help.”
“Loud noises and forged papers? I’m comfortable in this element.”
“Ricki, could you teach me how to work the in
tercom?”
“Not complicated,” she said. “But what are you thinking, Clark?”
I lowered my voice to be barely audible. “You’re going to help me turn the office into a broadcast studio. While the staff flees because of the diversion Les creates, I’m going to rush in, lock the door, grab the microphone and tell everyone everything. It’s one thing if only Blethins hears it, but once I tell the whole school . . .”
Ricki frowned.
So did Les.
“What?” I said. “You think it’s too daring?”
“No, it’s not that,” Ricki said. “It’s just that I . . . well, it won’t work.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s a screwy plan. A diversion? That’s going to make everyone in the office get up and leave? These people work at a middle school, Clark; they do not scare easily. And if they were diverted, how would they hear your little broadcast?”
“I don’t know,” I said testily. “Do you have something better, Admiral Ackbar?”
“I didn’t say I did,” Ricki snapped. “I just thought you would want to know that your plan had some flaws.”
“Actually, it could work,” Les said.
“Really?” Ricki asked, disbelieving.
“Really?” I echoed. “You can create a diversion while I storm the office and—”
“No, that plan’s screwy,” he said. “But I could help you do a schoolwide broadcast. If you got me a microphone. The wireless kind. And an old FM radio. And gave me a day to find the right patch cord. And to get back down into the basement. Maybe two days.”
“What for?” I asked.
“To tap into the intercom wiring again.”
“Again?” Ricki asked.
Les shrugged. “I was taking a shortcut between classes last year, one that passes through the basement, and I found all these wires. I started fiddling around to see whether I could, you know, tap them. If the need ever arose.”
I let this sink in. “I would say it has, Les.”
“OK, then it’ll be a piece of cake.”
“Where are we going to find all that stuff?” I asked.
“I actually have most of it lying around,” he said. “Except the microphone.”
Revenge of the Star Survivors Page 19