THINGS YOU CAN LEARN BY GOING THROUGH THE TRASH
Several years ago, a mysterious British man began supplying London’s journalists with embarrassing stories about the private lives of famous people—and no one could figure out where he’d gotten the information. Many suggested he was hacking into celebrities’ computers or staking out their homes with fancy cameras and listening devices. The truth was far… dirtier. All of the scoops came from one low-tech source—the trash.
In the United States, your trash is public property. As soon as you set it out on the curb, anyone is welcome to have a look. It’s a treasure trove of information for detectives, journalists, parents, and criminals who have no qualms about picking through your banana peels and used tissues to find what they’re after. Just one bag of garbage may reveal the following:
Everything a Crook Needs to Go on a Shopping Spree
Be careful when throwing out any documents that list bank account or credit card numbers unless you’re willing to foot the bill for a stranger’s Las Vegas vacation or her calls to the psychic hotline.
Your Telephone Numbers (and Who’s Been Calling Them)
One cell phone bill will give a snoop a full list of the calls you’ve made or received for an entire month. So be careful who you talk to—or shred your bill before it hits the Dumpster.
A List of Your Friends, Loved Ones, and Mortal Enemies
Been swapping notes with your friend’s crush? Did your grandmother foolishly ignore the advice of the witness protection program and send you a birthday card? Have you been doodling unflattering pictures of your loathsome math teacher? Dump them properly, or be prepared to pay the price.
Your Academic Achievements (or Lack Thereof)
If you’re a star student, this may not be your biggest concern. But if your test scores reveal you’ve been spending way too much time exploring noneducational sites on the Internet, you might want to dispose of the evidence in a discreet manner.
A Menu of Your Favorite Foods
Any outspoken vegetarian who enjoys a secret hamburger from time to time—or health nut who harbors a forbidden love of Twinkies—should keep in mind that one look through her garbage can reveal all of her weaknesses.
Your Bad Habits
You know what they are. Would you care to share them with others?
All the Places You’ve Been
Countless items in your trash—receipts, shopping bags, airline tickets, surgical dressings—can help someone piece together your activities. Toss them only if you’ve been on your best behavior.
CHAPTER FOUR
Attack of the Squirrels
For the first time in weeks, I was tucked into bed at a reasonable hour, but no matter how many pigeons I counted (I wasn’t that familiar with sheep), I couldn’t fall asleep. Oona was angry, Kiki was worried, squirrels were attacking innocent park-goers, and someone was inside the Shadow City. But worst of all, the map was in Luz’s hands—and out of my control.
The next morning, I practically sleepwalked to school. By the start of first period, I had already left my geometry book on the subway, injured my pelvis by walking into a parking meter, and forgotten to turn off my cell phone. Just as I began to drift off in the middle of Mr. Dedly’s lecture on Dutch wall construction, it began playing the theme from Jaws. Cell phones were forbidden at the Atalanta School, and I would have rather been caught with a dead body in my locker than a ringing phone in my hand. I winced as every head in the classroom turned toward the purse that was hanging from my chair.
“Out, Ananka,” Mr. Dedly bellowed. “Deliver your musical handbag to the principal’s office immediately.”
A girl named Petra Dubois had the nerve to snicker as I stood up.
“Wonder if Principal Wickham would like to know who wrote your last essay?” I whispered as I passed by her desk, winking when she gasped. Gossip may be petty, but it certainly has its advantages.
“OUT!” Mr. Dedly shouted.
Once I was in the hallway, I quickly ducked into a bathroom and answered the phone.
“This better be somebody’s one and only call from jail,” I growled.
“It’s worse,” said the voice on the other side. “Did I get you in trouble?”
“Let’s just say I may be looking at a very bleak future. What do you want, Betty?”
“I just heard from Kiki. Luz got mugged on the way to school this morning.” There was a brief pause. “By the squirrels.”
The idea that Luz Lopez had been the victim of a robbery, particularly one perpetrated by wildlife, was staggering. Her surly disposition usually succeeded in keeping most people and animals at a distance.
“Where?” I asked. “Is she hurt?”
“She’s a little scratched up, but she’ll survive. She said she was cutting across Morningside Park when three huge squirrels jumped her. A jogger pulled them off, but by that time her backpack was gone.”
“The squirrels have moved uptown? How much money did they get?” I asked.
“There wasn’t any money, Ananka.” Betty was trying to break the news gently.
“No,” I moaned.
“Yeah. They got the motion detectors. And the map.”
My worst fears had come true. “What’s Kiki say?”
“She wants us all to meet at her house after school. We’re going to Morningside Park to get the map back.”
“Are you kidding?” I asked. “There’s no way the squirrels will still be there.”
“Kiki said you’d say that. She told me to give you a message.”
“What is it?”
“She wants to know if you have a better idea.”
“I’ll try to think one up on my way to reform school,” I huffed and hung up.
• • •
The walk to Principal Wickham’s office was known as the plank (as in “Jordan was forced to walk the plank yesterday, and nobody’s seen her since”). Her door sat at the end of a gloomy hall in a part of the school that most people avoided. It was a well-known fact that, back in the days when the building was a home for wayward children, the office had belonged to a doctor who enjoyed practicing his surgical techniques on hapless delinquents. While I’d always felt a certain fondness for Principal Wickham, there were plenty of Atalanta girls who swore she could be equally cruel.
I knocked at the door before opening it a crack. Principal Wickham was paging through a stack of files, and she looked tiny and old behind her enormous oak desk. Judging by the stories floating around, one might have expected to find the heads of naughty students mounted like hunting trophies on the walls. Instead, dozens of dusty photographs clung to the dingy plaster. In one, a well-known painter posed beside her masterpiece at an exhibition of modern art. Another photo had been snapped at the recent inauguration of New York’s first female senator. The rest of the pictures spanned at least four decades, but they all shared two things in common. They each focused on famous women—directors, writers, CEOs, and surgeons. And in each one, hidden somewhere in the background—her face blurry or half concealed by a champagne glass—was Principal Wickham. Even in the black-and-white photos taken in the days when women never left the house without their hats, gloves, and stockings, she looked a hundred years old.
“I had a hunch I’d be seeing you soon, Miss Fishbein,” the principal murmured without looking up. “Come in. Make yourself comfortable.”
I plopped down in one of the hard leather chairs. While I waited for her to finish her paperwork I stared at a defective smoke bomb that sat on her desk. The fuse was singed, but it hadn’t burned.
“So,” the principal finally said, laying down her pen and removing her bifocals. When her eyes met mine, I realized that even without her thick glasses she could see things that others couldn’t. “What do you make of that?”
“What is it?” I asked in my most innocent voice.
“That is the cause of the disturbance yesterday. I believe you would call it a stink bomb. A particularly effective one, I
might add. Whoever made it deserves a suspension from Atalanta and a scholarship to Harvard. I’d ask if you knew anything about it, but I’ve seen your chemistry grades, Miss Fishbein, and I doubt if you’re up to the task.”
“Do you have any leads?”
“Not one,” said the principal. “Perhaps I should ask your friend Kiki Strike to take the case.” She delivered the blow so smoothly that I barely realized I’d been hit.
“Kiki Strike?”
“Please don’t play dumb, Ananka. Your grades are atrocious, but I know you’re intelligent. Kiki Strike was a student here a couple of years ago. I checked the files after your mother mentioned her name. She seems to think your friend is the same girl who keeps making the papers.”
“That was all just a hoax, Principal Wickham.”
“So they say. But I don’t believe everything I hear on television. Now, Miss Fishbein, let’s be honest. What you do when you’re not at school is none of my business. But staying awake between the hours of eight and four is a requirement here at Atalanta. If you don’t think you can manage that, I believe your mother may have a few other options for you.”
“Yes, Principal Wickham. But I have been staying awake.”
“Have you? So to what do I owe this visit?”
“My cell phone rang in Mr. Dedly’s class. It was an emergency.”
“Oh dear,” said the principal, shaking her head in exasperation. “I think you’re well on the way to making an enemy of Mr. Dedly, Ananka. What, may I ask, was the emergency?”
“A friend of mine who goes to school uptown just got mugged.” I expected her to scoff, but instead she nodded solemnly.
“Yes, one of our students was recently mugged as well. By squirrels, strangely enough. I must say, I’ve never been a fan of squirrels. Greedy little creatures. All fur and teeth. But the paintings around town are impressive. The person behind them has great talent, but that’s another matter, isn’t it? Is your cell phone off now, or do I need to confiscate it?”
“No, ma’am. It’s off.”
“Then I suggest you don’t miss another of Mr. Dedly’s fascinating lectures. But, Ananka, if I see you again, I won’t be so lenient. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Principal Wickham,” I said, wondering how I’d gotten off the hook so easily. I scampered out of her office before she had a chance to change her mind.
• • •
My brush with trouble was long forgotten by the time the last bell rang. I left all my school books in my locker and jumped on a bus to Kiki’s house. When I arrived, the massive wooden door opened just wide enough for me to slip inside. The large, uncluttered room was furnished with one sofa, one coffee table stacked high with books, and a large archery target, which stood at the end of the room. The brick walls showcased an astounding array of martial arts weapons. Butterfly swords, battle-axes, and chain whips gleamed in the sunshine that streamed through the skylight in the ceiling. Beyond the living area was a glass conservatory that looked out on an overgrown garden. Rare orchids, their blooms the shape of caterpillars, spiders, and crabs, sprouted from dozens of clay pots.
A cloud slid across the sun, and the room grew dim as an arrow whistled through the air and lodged itself in the target’s bloodred center.
“Luz didn’t go to school today,” Kiki explained. “Verushka’s been teaching her how to use the crossbow.”
“I’m glad Verushka’s feeling better,” I noted, watching her deliver a second arrow into the heart of the target and wondering why she was wearing a pair of blue gloves indoors.
“She feels better than she looks,” said Kiki.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see.” Kiki led me across the room. “Try not to make a fuss.”
“Hi, Ananka.” Three Harry Potter Band-Aids covered the squirrel scratches on Luz’s nose and cheeks. They seemed out place with her olive-green, army-inspired ensemble. “Sorry about the map.”
“We’ll get it back,” I assured her, though I held little hope of seeing my map again. “I’m just surprised that anyone would mug a girl dressed like Fidel Castro’s niece.”
Luz’s eyes narrowed and her Band-Aids crinkled. “I’m going to do you a favor and forget you said that. For your information, I got the idea for this outfit from a picture of Verushka back in the day.”
“And I am flattered by the tribute.” Verushka wheeled around and offered me the crossbow. “You would like to try, Ananka?” Kiki watched with a grin as I struggled not to show my shock. The tiny gray-haired woman looked like she’d spent a week trapped in a dairy freezer. Her skin was a pale blue that darkened to navy at her lips and fingertips. “It is not smart to stare at a woman with a crossbow,” Verushka said with an oddly girlish giggle.
“I don’t understand,” I mumbled. “I thought your leg was the problem.”
“Yes, but you see my leg is still attached to the rest of my body,” Verushka pointed out.
“Will the blue go away?” I asked, relieved that I hadn’t insulted her.
“The doctors say it is temporary,” said Verushka. “But I am afraid my days as a sex symbol are over.”
“Maybe, but you’d make a great Smurf.” Luz had a habit of taking things a little too far, and I decided to change the subject.
“What’s with all the books, Verushka?” I picked up a few of the books on the coffee table. “Conversational Urdu? The Art of War? Homemade Poisons and Antidotes? Royal Babylon? It looks like you tried to read an entire bookstore today.”
“When you are as old as I am,” said the little blue woman in the wheelchair, “you will not want to waste any time.”
“Verushka’s trying to catch up on our lessons,” Kiki explained with a sigh. “It’s not easy being homeschooled.”
“This is your schoolwork? I’d trade Atalanta for this any day. Why study something useless like geometry when I could be learning how to speak Urdu instead?”
“Without geometry, there would be no tunnels. Without tunnels, no Shadow City. No Shadow City, no Irregulars,” Verushka announced. “You owe more to math than you think.”
The doorbell rang, and Kiki ran to answer it. Standing at the door was Oona Wong wearing a white manicurist’s smock and a scowl on her face. DeeDee and Betty were close behind her. Oona marched inside, ignoring them both.
“Oona doesn’t look thrilled to be here. Any idea how Kiki convinced her to come?” I asked Luz.
“Who knows?” Luz whispered as Oona approached. “Maybe she promised Iris’s head on a platter.”
“Talking about me?” snipped Oona.
“Get a life,” Luz responded.
“We’re just glad you came,” I said, elbowing Luz.
“Yeah, I bet you are. Who else would provide the entertainment?” Oona dropped onto the sofa, crossed her arms, and stared into space. Verushka wheeled her chair over to the girl and whispered in her ear. Oona nodded solemnly, and the old woman rolled out of the living room.
“Let’s get to work,” said Kiki. “We need to be at the park before sunset. Luz, want to tell everybody what happened this morning?”
“Sure.” Luz unrolled a map of the park and held it up for us to see. “At seven thirty this morning, I entered Morningside Park through the north gate. My destination was the southeast gate, approximately thirteen blocks away. I was almost to the waterfall when I felt something land on my head. At first I thought I’d been beamed by a pigeon, but when I saw the thing’s tail, I knew it was one of those giant squirrels. I dropped the bag I was carrying and tried to pull it out of my hair. Shortly after that, two more rodents attacked me. A jogger stopped to help me, but it wasn’t till I heard a whistle that the squirrels disappeared. That’s when I saw the bag was gone.”
“Luz Lopez, squirrel victim,” sneered Oona. “What will you do for an encore? Get mauled by mice?”
“Shut up, Oona!” Luz raged.
“Oona, you promised,” said Kiki. “Can we all play nice long enough to get the map back? Aft
er that you and Luz can duke it out, for all I care.”
I raised my hand.
“Yes, Ananka, I know you don’t think the squirrels will still be there. But we’ve got to give it a shot. Otherwise, we’re going to be staking out parks for the next few months. Luz and I spent the afternoon coming up with a plan. The six of us are going to set up an ambush. DeeDee, how would you like to be bait?”
• • •
I stood on the edge of a rocky precipice, feeling dangerously dizzy. Two inches from my toes, the earth plunged a hundred feet, until it came to a halt in Harlem. A narrow path wound down the side of the cliff to Morningside Park, where the trees swayed in rhythm as if the land were moving beneath them. Through my binoculars, I could see two young men in hooded sweatshirts perched motion-lessly like malevolent Buddhas atop one of the boulders that studded the landscape. A woman with a baby carriage hurried for the exit before dark descended. There was not a squirrel in sight.
“Move in,” said Kiki’s voice in my earpiece. “Take your positions.”
I inched down the steep path, checking behind every tree I passed and listening for the sound of footsteps behind me. When I was finally overlooking DeeDee’s route, I crouched behind a patch of overgrown grass and raised my binoculars. I found Kiki kneeling in the shadow of a statue that showed a young faun taking refuge from a ravenous bear. Luz and Oona were close by, concealed in a bush. Betty, dressed as a sanitation worker, emptied garbage cans. When Kiki gave her the cue, Betty fished a copy of the Weekly World News out of a can and took a seat on a park bench.
“That’s it. You’re on, DeeDee,” I heard Kiki say.
DeeDee entered the park from the north. With her handbag dangling from her arm, and iPod headphones in her ears, she danced down the wooded path, her dreadlocks swinging from side to side. The two young men on the rock watched her go by, their heads following while their bodies stayed still. After passing Betty on the park bench, DeeDee paused to dig through her handbag, pulling out a stick of chewing gum.
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