“Well, where are we going to find—?”
“You can use mine,” Ricki said.
Les and I looked at her disbelievingly.
“It’s from a karaoke set. My aunt thought it would encourage me to spend more time practicing piano,” she said plainly.
I stared at her, and back at Les, and back at her. “I’m really going to miss you guys.”
Ricki looked at me as if I had just revived a painful memory.
“Then let’s drop it,” she said. “It’s a complicated and unnecessary action. I mean, there’s only seven weeks of school left. And . . .” She coughed a little cough. “I like having you here. It’s, uh . . .” She looked to either side and back at me. “It’s nice to have someone to have lunch with.”
I agreed. With all my heart. But more than lunch was at stake. I quoted Spartacan, from the climax of that Star Survivors episode with the Centaurian Megaworm. A Centaurian Megaworm consumes everything in its path and is impervious to attack from the outside. But Spartacan figures it can be blown up from within—and uses himself as both bait and bomb-delivery device.
“ ‘It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better space that I go to than I have ever known,’ ” I said. It was the last transmission he gave before he was digested. Les and Ricki nodded in recognition. “Getting kicked out of middle school is probably not as noble as being eaten by a space worm, but . . . it’s something. You know? And I owe it to Beacon. I owe it to you.” And to myself, I thought.
The bell rang. Around us, trays clattered, chairs screeched. Far away, I could see Stephanie Spring surrounded by Kaitlins, who were hooting at a passing boy in a football jersey. At the band table, a cluster of percussionists did an impromptu show, using the tables as drumheads. Musicians laughed in approval.
Here at the alien table, my friends sat quietly and stared at me.
“Can we do it quickly, before I lose my nerve?” I asked.
They nodded.
12.01.02
Ricki handed Les the microphone at lunch the next day. He turned it over in his hands and smiled. “I’ll make the adjustments at home tonight. Meet me at the Sand Creek bridge in the morning,” he told me. As the bell rang, he moved with confidence and energy. This really was his element.
Ricki and I headed toward the now-dreadful ARC.
“You really think this is the right thing? And that you can do it?” she asked.
“If I can stay motivated, yeah.”
“What’s motivating you?”
“Telling myself that if Luke can leave Yoda and confront Vader for the sake of his friends, I can face Denton for mine.”
“That didn’t work out so well for Luke,” Ricki said, opening and closing her fist in my face.
“That’s a great reminder, Ricki,” I said.
“You said you liked honesty.”
“Well, what I’d really like is a real-life example of a weak person overcoming pure evil. Maybe you could come up with something along those lines?”
It was supposed to be a rhetorical question, but that’s when Kaitlin, Kaitlyn and Katelyn came around the corner. Their cheer uniforms were identical, except for the names on their skirts. Their silver, black and blue hair ribbons swung in unison, and the bells on their shoes jingled as they walked.
“Hey, look! It’s Ricki!”
“I didn’t know they let you out during the daylight.”
“Who’s your friend? Did you hire a translator?”
Giggles.
I kept my head down as we walked past. But something made Ricki whip around toward Kaitlin, Kaitlyn and Katelyn. Man, I thought, those ballerinas know how to spin.
“I have had enough of you,” she said.
She wasn’t just spinning; she was snapping.
“Ricki,” I whispered. “I don’t think—”
“Hush,” she told me. Her voice was low and resolute. I stepped back.
The Kaitlins looked at her, and their shiny, lip-glossed mouths formed little O-shapes.
“Oh my God I am like, so shocked to hear you speak, and so ready for you to shut up already,” Kaitlin said.
“What’s going to happen? Are you going to have your little boyfriend protect you?” said Kaitlyn.
“I’m so scared,” said Katelyn. “Maybe he’ll throw up on us!”
More giggles.
“Leave him out of this,” Ricki said. “And if you choose combat with me, I will give it back, to the finish.”
Whoa! She was using the Omegan Death Challenge! Once given, nobody can leave the arena, except in victory—or in pieces!
She had assumed a position. Maybe it was first position, or maybe it was some type of combat stance she learned from studying Commander Steele. But she stood in perfect balance, her feet forming a T, her chin out, her long arms behind her back. She looked strong. I almost thought to warn them, “Never cross paths with a determined Omegan!”
But it was too late. A crowd was gathering. Combat commenced.
Kaitlin put one hand on her hip and looked down her nose. “Are you really choosing a fight with us?” She punctuated her remark with a particularly nasty one-word insult.
Ricki stayed calm. “I’m merely suggesting that you need to leave him alone. And me. Us. Today. And from now on. As I said, I’ve had enough of you. So you can stop now. Or else.” Her voice was slowly gaining volume, with that spook-ily bright, cheerful tone she used with me when she was about to reveal exactly how complicated she could be.
Kaitlyn scoffed. “As if.”
Katelyn rolled her eyes. “For real.”
Kaitlin sneered. “Or. Else. What.”
Ricki absorbed the death beams from their eyes. “Or else I talk.”
Kaitlin laughed. “Like, what could you say that would matter to us?”
“You’re insignificant,” Katelyn said.
“Up until today, you barely knew how to talk, unless you were sucking up to a teacher,” Kaitlin said. “So why should we worry about what you have to say now?”
They stood in their triangle of doom, and I waited for them to pounce and rend my friend into Ricki McNuggets.
She held her ground. And smiled. And spoke.
“Because I could say which one of you mocks people who can’t afford designer perfumes—but who sprays herself with bottles of Walmart knockoffs when she thinks nobody is watching. And I could let the cheer sponsor know which one of you snuck away with a sophomore during your church ski trip—and what you boasted about doing with him in the hot tub during personal prayer time. Possibly while wearing her purity ring.
“Or I could even say which one of you is on that trendy raw-food detox diet that’s giving you such digestive issues that you’re probably wearing an adult diaper right now out of fear that your tumbling runs might lead to . . . actual runs. Your outfits provide barely enough cover for your problem. I am under no obligation to do so.”
There were gasps. There were Whoas!
And here I’d thought there was no such thing as a real-life smart bomb.
The Kaitlins’ crumbled facades crashed to the floor. Cheeks flamed. Skirts were nervously adjusted. Panicked glances were exchanged.
They hurried away, jingling, without saying another word.
Ricki did a graceful bow to the crowd, which started murmuring, then laughing out loud. She then glanced at me and, with a nod, indicated it was time to get to class.
I looked at her with the kind of awe I usually reserved for photos taken by NASA probes.
“Uh, Ricki . . . how did you even . . .”
“. . . know? It’s not that complicated. It’s amazing what you see and hear when you hide in a stall in the girls rest room with your feet pulled up for several hours a day.”
She was smiling at me, but her lower lip was trembling. She lowered her voice, which sounded shaky.
“You said you needed a role model in how to face pure evil. How’d I do?”
I opened and close
d my hand, then gave her a thumbs-up. “Better than Luke, that’s for sure.”
She looked pleased. And I felt ready.
12.01.03
But that night, in the cold solitude of my bunk, I was not so sure.
I kept picking up and putting down my most militaristic books for guidance on how to comport myself in a combat situation, although I wasn’t sure how lessons in, say, lobbing nuclear bombs from the moon or blasting alien insect hives really applied here.
I even found myself going over Always Faithful, Always Ready, the Marine history book Denton had told me to do a report on the day he fired Beacon. Which got me to thinking—books had done little to help me in the real world of late. Except when I’d set them on fire. And this book was one of the worst ever, full of jargony writing about tradition and protocol and not a lot of actual cool Marine stories. By the time I got to the charts of medals and decorations at the end, I wasn’t sure whether to be extra fearful of Denton or just extra angry at him.
As I stared at the charts, mind kept drifting back to Ricki. How brave she had been. It was odd to learn that reality can be almost as inspiring as science fiction, sometimes.
EXPEDITION LOG
ENTRY 13.01.01
This was it.
I went over the battle plan in my head. Energized deflector screens. Locked S-foils in attack position.
Ran into Dad in the kitchen as he was scrambling to get out the door.
“You’re up early,” he said, surprised.
“You too,” I said. I pushed aside my guilty feelings about not telling him what I had planned and for the shame I would be bringing him when I was expelled.
“I, um, need to compare some notes with a friend before work. You want a ride? You might find this story interesting.”
Hearing Dad talk was the last thing I needed this morning. I declined.
He started to say something, then headed to his car. I headed to the park, where Les was waiting at the bridge.
“Is it set?” I asked, as he handed over the microphone, which was now wrapped in duct tape and had a few extra wires hanging out of the end.
“Yes,” he said. “It was easy. The polarity was clearly marked. All I had to do was—”
“Les,” I said, “I don’t really care about that right now. I just need to know—”
“Right. How it works. It’s pretty basic technology. The microphone has a miniature FM transmitter that broadcasts to a fixed frequency. I wired the receiver into the intercom system. Just stand within about fifty feet of that receiver, turn the microphone on, and you should be good.”
“Great. Where do I need to stand?”
“Anywhere in that fifty-foot range. I hardwired the receiver into the junction box. Once you start transmitting, the whole school will hear everything.”
“So, I should be in the basement?”
“No. Too risky this time of day. But if you’re on the floor right above, anywhere in that 50-foot range, you should be fine. I adapted the mic so that it draws power from a nine-volt battery instead of a double-A cell. And I replaced the antenna coil so that—”
“Les!” I asked impatiently, “Where do I need to stand?”
“Oh,” he said. “Well, I drew a map.” He reached into his windbreaker pocket.
Once again he had a graph-paper rendition of the school, this time with a series of concentric circles, like a target, centered on the ARC.
“I’m supposed to stand here?” I pointed.
He nodded.
“Les, this is the quietest spot in the whole school!”
“I can’t guarantee it will work anywhere else. Just stay inconspicuous.”
“I’m going to be pretty conspicuous standing in the middle of the ARC holding a microphone!”
He shook his head. “Use my reading room.”
My blank look told him he needed to explain.
“Go to the farthest corner of the ARC, where the nonfiction books start. There’s a double-doored gray cabinet labeled MATH CLUB WORKSHEETS. Nobody ever looks inside. Besides me. If you have a flashlight, you can sit and read for hours without anybody seeing you. Or hearing you. You’ll be inconspicuous enough.”
I shook my head in wonder. “You amaze me, Les.”
He shrugged. “It’s amazing what you can accomplish when your brain doesn’t bother to make room for things like knowing how to catch a ball.”
Any other day I might have laughed. But as I looked up the hill and saw the school towering above, I felt no mirth. Once this was over, I might not see Les again.
I tucked the microphone deep into my Cosmos backpack and zipped it up.
“Well,” I said, hoisting the pack over my shoulder, “here goes nothing.”
“I’ll be behind you, all the way.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I really need that, Les.”
I took a few steps, then paused and waited for him to join me. I was looking forward to walking in together, just this once. But he didn’t budge.
I looked back expectantly.
“No, I meant it,” he said. “I’ll be behind you all the way. At least a hundred feet. I don’t think we should be seen together today.”
“Les, are you kidding me? I thought you were over—”
I stopped when I saw his face. His jaw was set. His eyes burned fiercely.
“I can’t be a suspect,” he said. “My stepdad will be going nuts as it is. I’m sorry. That I have to let you pull the trigger alone. I mean, ‘We live, or perish, as one.’ And . . .”
He blinked and swallowed. “And—thanks, Clark.”
I nodded. “I understand. I’ll try my best, Les.”
“Try not,” he said. “Just—good luck, OK?”
Minutes later, as I walked through the sadistic doors of the meanest school in the universe, I was thinking: I will not miss anything about this place. Not one single thing. Not one scuffed floor tile, not one flickering fluorescent tube, not a single cinderblock marked with tiny brown spots of adhesive from annoying, lying posters about pride and spirit. None of it.
I went to check my locker one more time. I opened the door, saw nothing I would miss, slammed it and saw Ricki standing next to me.
OK, there’s something I will miss.
“I wanted to say good luck,” she said. “And good bye. If you’re really going through with this, I mean.”
“What do you mean, ‘if’? It’s decided.” I paused. “No, I decided.”
“I know.” She had a funny look on her face. “You’re not doing this just to impress me, right? You shouldn’t try to impress me. I’m not impressible. I mean, not that you’re not being impressive. But, um . . .”
“Ricki,” I said, “of all your terrible pep talks, this is the worst yet.”
She looked at the floor. Then looked up. She was smiling. Sadly.
“You’re just not that bright,” she said. “And your plan is stupid. But I’d—I’d jump down a drain with you again.”
“Call me sometime,” I said, clearing my throat and forcing myself to think about the mission.
We started walking. “I’ll be in the office second hour,” she said. “I’ll do what I can. But I think you’re alone from here out.”
“Yeah,” I said, taking a deep breath and exhaling. “I know the feeling.”
We parted.
My plan had been to slip into the ARC before the bell and camp out in Les’s cabinet for first hour, then make my speech during second, when Ricki might be able to see Denton’s reaction. It would be fun to have her tell me about it in a letter someday. I would need reading material in my cell, I was sure.
Waiting until second hour would also give me time to think about what I wanted to say. I had tried writing it all out, but in the end I decided to speak from the heart. I had my key talking points, of course: I would curse the Ty Triplets, Chambers and, especially, Denton. I would expose their secret evils and make the point that the weaklings would indeed someday inherit the earth and that apparently,
today was that day.
I would laugh maniacally. Should it be more of a “HEH HEH HEH!” or a “BWAH HAH HAH?” I wondered. Such details matter.
It should have been easy to slip into the ARC amid the morning buzz of activity there—people rushing to get last-minute homework done, teachers trying to find a book they needed for that day’s lesson. But talking to Ricki put me a little behind schedule. And then, of all things, I ran into Stephanie Spring just as I was preparing to slip inside. She was nervously stuffing some thick books into her gym bag, and I was awkwardly looking for a way past her. It took an eternal moment to sort out.
By the time I got around her, I had just seconds to spare. But through the safety glass, I could see no crowd to get lost in. Just the substitute librarian. She was standing and nodding to someone I could not see. I waited and waited for her to turn away. She finally did, just as the bell rang. I dashed in—
—and smacked into none other than Principal Denton, whose coffee mug fell to the ground and shattered.
“Uh, s-sorry?” I stammered.
The principal looked at the shards of mug, then at me. Something told me that tactical puking was not going to get me out of this one.
He studied me for a long moment, then slowly turned to the substitute librarian. “Did you witness what Sherman just did, Miss Willow?” he asked.
She nodded nervously.
He looked back down at me. “Running indoors is against the rules, Sherman. That’s earned you one detention.”
I started to protest, and he held up his right hand to silence me. Then he looked at his watch. “Tardiness is also an infraction. That’s a second detention.”
“But I—”
“Shut it, Sherman,” he said. The look on his face told me he was just warming up. And sure enough, as he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed a possibly imaginary coffee stain off his shirt, he said, “Intentionally assaulting a teacher or administrator is not only a third infraction, it is an expellable offense. Given your other disciplinary issues, Sherman, I think it’s time we discuss your future at a different educational institution. Starting today. Follow me to the office. Now.”
Revenge of the Star Survivors Page 20