A World of Trouble (14 page)
Read A World of Trouble Online
Authors: T. R. Burns
“Really? Even though he's so . . . mysterious?”
“He's running in circles in plain sight.”
“Right now,” I say. “But not usually.”
“Mr. Tempest's not that mysterious. He's quirky. That happens as you age.” He glances at me. “Look at our parents.”
He has a point, although I was hoping for some inside information from an older Troublemaker that I might somehow use to impress Annika. Before I can remind him that Mr. Tempest was the only teacher we didn't have to get last semester in order to advance, because he's supposedly so hard to get,
and
that Capital T succeeded in bringing him down only after thwarting his attacks on us, the Athletes take their positions.
“What's that bicycle doing there? And that garbage pail?” The track, which was totally clear a moment ago, is now covered in random items. “They're going to trip and fall before we've even started.”
My questions are answered as soon as the Athletes take off. Because while normal track stars leap over hollow wooden squares, Kilter track stars leap over items you might find around your neighborhood.
“Start pushing,” Ike says.
The first cluster races in our direction. I grip the Drifter's
handlebar, turn, and walk. Snow flies from the chute. Unfortunately, it sails over the runners' heads and floats to the ground on the other side of the track. They sail over their next hurdle, a lawn chair, without breaking stride.
Hearing the next group coming up behind me, I look over my shoulder. I'm trying to pick a target when my right foot lands in a shallow hole. I squeeze the handlebar for balance, and freeze when it buzzes in my hands. Turning back, I see words scrolling across the silver metal. I touch
ANGLE
, then
DOWN
. The snow chute lowers.
The handlebar is a control panel. After some quick fiddling, I discover that in addition to its angle, I can adjust the snow's trajectory, speed, and volume. As the next group passes me, I focus on an easy target: the broad back of a large male Athlete. A wall of slush fires from the chute, makes a smooth arc six feet in the air, and slams between his shoulder blades. The force tips him forward and slows him down. Heart racing, I turn around as he scans his surroundings.
“Ten demerits,” Ike says when I reach him. “Nice.”
“Won't he know it's me?” I ask.
“Probably. But part of his training is learning how to avoid
you. And if he tried to interfere with your lesson, he'd be slammed with gold starsâwhich would hurt way more than what you just did.”
“Why not just use snowballs?” I ask as we wait for another group to approach.
“If a guy's hit with a snowball in the real world, he knows he's being attacked and will retaliate accordingly. If he's caught in snowblower crossfire, he'll likely assume it was an accident and go about his business. That's a million times more effective, especially when dealing with adults.”
I want to point out that Dad's snowblower does what it says and nothing more. It doesn't create snow. Or control where it goes, or how fast it gets there. Practical application's nice, but you can't get fancy Kilter weapons in the real world.
Unless, of course, you're Mom.
I turn and walk. When the first cluster of runners comes around again, I aim for another male Troublemaker. I get both legs at once, making him stumble.
“Another five,” Ike says. “Keep it up.”
As the runners dash and hop along the far side of the track, I check on Mystery, who's still jogging in the outermost lane.
Then I ask Ike something I've been wondering, especially since seeing Kilter Academy's potential second campus the other day.
“What are you going to do?”
Ike looks up from his K-Pak. “What do you mean?”
“You're a fourth-year. This is your last semester. What will you do when you graduate?”
In other words, will he be going to regular college . . . or Kilter Kollege?
Something crosses Ike's face. His eyes darken. His mouth turns down. It's like a large cloud has formed directly above him. I'm tempted to look up and see if this is actually the caseâbut then the shadow lifts. And Ike looks past me.
“Now, that's a little strange,” he says.
I follow his gaze to a group of runners. They're still running and jumping, so I'm not sure what he means. But then I glimpse a flash of black amid all the white.
Mystery's left his lane and joined the Athletes. He keeps pace in the middle of the group, which is packed so tightly together it's hard to see him. When they reach the southern end of the track a few seconds later, he scoots out between two Troublemakers,
runs off the track, and keeps going across the lawn. His legs pump faster. Every few feet he glances behind him, like he's worried someone might follow.
I turn back. “Fern gave us a special assignment for gym class. I just remembered that I forgot to do it.”
“No problem. As soon as you get fifty demerits, you're free to go.”
I fight the urge to look back at Mystery. This effort makes fighting the urge to lie impossible. “It was due this morning. We get gold stars every hour we're late.”
“Oh. Okay.” Ike looks around. “Get five of them, from here, and you're a free man.”
When I follow his gaze this time, I find it directed at a frozen pond a quarter mile away. Ten Troublemakers zip and spin in a heated game of ice hockey. Hitting five twirling targets at this distance seems like an impossible task, but the longer I try to talk my way out of it, the farther away Mystery gets.
So I stand up straight. Square my shoulders. Squeeze the Drifter handle. And aim.
My first shot misses. So does my second. And third and
fourth. The snow reaches the makeshift rink, but by the time it does, the Troublemaker's skated away and is nowhere near where he was when I first fired.
A quick check to the lawn shows Mystery approaching the far tree line. Heart thumping, I return to my task. As the skaters zigzag toward the net at one end of the pond, I have an idea.
I shift position, point, and shoot. The snowy stream makes a huge, rainbow-like arc toward the pond. Picking up speed as it descends, it nails the goalie's left shoulder. The goalie, who's three times bigger than every other player thanks to enormous silver padding, wipes out. He falls down and spins, face-first and spread-eagled, across the ice. Between his size and his hockey stick, which he still holds, he accidentally strikes one foot after the next until both teams are skating on their bottoms instead.
I turn around. Ike holds up one palm. I slap it with mine.
“Good luck with gym,” he says.
“Thanks.” I dart around the bench he's sitting on. “Where's my backpack?”
“Right where you leftâ” He stops when he sees that the
bench next to him, where I put my stuff before starting the task, is empty. “Well, that's too bad.”
I'm on the verge of total panic paralysis when I hear something. Music. It's soft, but I can still make out the song, which is familiar. It plays during the
Return of the King
creditsâand whenever I feel like listening to it on my K-Pak.
And then I see him. Houdini. Strolling toward the Adrenaline Pavilion gateâwith my backpack hooked on one shoulder. My K-Pak, which he must've turned on, pokes out of the bag's front pocket.
I say good-bye to Ike, then run like I've never run before. Unfortunately, that's not fast enough. Houdini doesn't seem to be in a hurry, but his head start is so big I won't be able to catch up without losing sight of Mystery. I could grab a bunch of tennis balls from the indoor courts I'm about to pass, but throwing things would only stall him briefly before prompting him to book it across campus. I could just let him go . . . but he has my K-Pak. Which has my e-mail. No one's ever discussed Kilter's online personal privacy, but something tells me that, at a school for Troublemakers, if you can access another student's messages, you're a star and he had it coming.
So I do what I have to do. I swing by the ice rink, swipe a skateboard one of the hockey players left nearby, and silently vow to return it to the exact same place when I'm done so its owner can find it again.
And then I rollâand swish. Because this skateboard, like the Kilter Drifter, does things its normal counterpart can't. Like automatically shift from wheels to blades every time I hit a patch of snow or ice. And travel twice as fast with half the effort.
My foot's only hit the ground three times when I catch up to Houdini. I yank my backpack off his shoulder without slowing down.
“Way to hustle, Hinkle!” he shouts after me.
I throw the bag over my shoulder, change direction, and zoom across the lawn just as Mystery slips between two trees. I shoot into the woods thirty seconds laterâand the skateboard immediately snags on dead leaves and fallen branches. I hop off, cram it into my backpack, and continue on foot.
Dear Miss Parsippany,
I think.
Today I did another thing I probably should've done differently. I ventured into a dark forest, by myself, and trailed an ax-wielding loner toâ
My K-Pak buzzes inside my backpack. I pull it out and read while I walk.
FROM:
[email protected]
SUBJECT:
Sizzling Cold Weather Accessories
Hi, Seamus!
The calendar might say it's winter, but it sure doesn't feel like it . . . because you're on FIRE! You just earned 75 demerits for tripping up the Athletes, swiping a fellow Troublemaker's skateboard, and stealing Houdini's backpackâwhich was yours first, of course, but became his the second he took it. That brings your total demerit count to 385. Take away the 300 gold stars you've earned for calling the Hoodlum Hotline, jumping at the sound of Devin's horn, and letting Houdini swipe your stuff, and that gives you 85 credits!
We realize things are probably just starting to heat up, but you'll still want to blend in. This in mind, we highly recommend the Kilter Knit Set!
I press the flashing camera icon. A photo of a teenager wearing gray earmuffs and a gray scarf appears. That photo blinks, so I press it, too. A second image loads. In this one, the kid flings the earmuffs like nunchucks and the scarf like a lasso.
I return to the message.
Capable of reaching maximum speeds of 300 rpm (rotations per minute), this isn't your grandmother's handiwork! And while her priceless arts and crafts can take years to complete, the Kilter Knit Set can be yours today for 75 credits.
Your classmates have no idea how much trouble a former ball of yarn can make. Stop by and start showing them!
See you soon!
At Your Service,
The Kommissary Krew
Closing that message, I see a few more I missed while I skim them quickly.
FROM:
[email protected]
SUBJECT:
Music Man Meltdown
Hey,
Was just at Kanteen. So was Devin. Overheard him talking to Wyatt. They were getting snacks to go watch a movie in the classroom building faculty lounge.
Now's our chance. Meet by the first-floor water fountain in ten?
FROM:
[email protected]
SUBJECT:
RE: Music Man Meltdown
On my way.
âL
FROM:
[email protected]
SUBJECT
: RE: Music Man Meltdown
YAYAYAY!!!! That's PERFECT! Now remember, we have to
FROM:
[email protected]
SUBJECT:
RE: Music Man Meltdown
Oops! Sorry, I was so excited I hit send before I was done! We'll do a quick run-through when we get there. See you in a few!!!!!!!
I check Abe's message again, then my K-Pak clock. He wrote twenty minutes ago. Which means the rest of Capital T
is currently in the classroom building. Waiting for me.
I stop walking and listen. Hearing Mystery's footsteps crunching to my right, I change direction and keep going. I'm about to write Lemon back to apologize and let him know I'll be there as soon as I can when a new message pops up.
FROM:
[email protected]
SUBJECT:
Hi
Dear Seamus,
Hi. How are you? You never wrote back, so I just want to make sure everything is okay. How's school? Capital T? Annika?