A World of Trouble (19 page)

“That's pretty shady,” Gabby says.

“It is,” Abe agrees, “but so what? If the school director wants you to be as successful as possible, why is that such a bad thing?”

“No student's success should hurt another student,” I say. “Remember the Ultimate Troublemaking Task last semester? When Elinor was burned? And you guys snuck her off the mountain for help because Annika was too busy celebrating our victory to bother?”

Gabby and Abe nod. Lemon's gaze lowers to his hands.

“Well, that would've been terrible if Annika was only the school director. But she's not. She's also Elinor's aunt.”

They exchange puzzled looks.

“I learned that accidentally, when I found Elinor looking at an old photo album.” There's a bit more to it than that,
including a secret trip to Good Samaritan Headquarters and a certain Wanted poster featuring Nadia Kilter—Annika's sister and Elinor's mother. But not sharing this is simply omitting, not lying. “Can you imagine? If something like that happened to us, and our moms, dads, aunts, uncles, or whoever, didn't automatically freak out and drop everything to take care of us?”

I give that a minute to sink in. When it does, Gabby speaks first.

“No,” she says quietly. “I can't.”

I wait for Lemon and Abe to respond. They don't, so I continue.

“Here's the thing. Lemon might be right. Annika seems to have certain expectations of me that she wants met, no matter what. But with Elinor, I think there's something else going on. Something bad. In her note from three weeks ago, Elinor said Annika didn't want her back at Kilter. And I'd bet all my credits that Annika was the one who not only kept her away from here, but decided where she should go instead.”

“Did Elinor say what was wrong with her new school?” Lemon asks.

“Not really. Just that it'd take some getting used to. And that she wished she wasn't there by herself.” That last part's not the whole truth either, but for my current purposes, it's enough.

Abe half sighs, half groans.

“But she didn't have to say more than that,” I add. “I know you guys didn't get to know her very well last semester. No one did, not even me. Because that's how Elinor is. Shy. Private. Which is why I think something had to be really wrong to make her admit even that much.”

“Seamus has a point,” Lemon says.

“I repeat,” Abe says. “So.
What?
”

“So we should help her.”

“Because Hinkle has a hunch?”

“No.” Lemon's voice is low but firm. “Because
she
helped
us
.”

Abe starts to protest. Lemon continues before he can.

“When we went up to the Apex for the Ultimate Troublemaking Task last semester, Seamus was in solitary confinement. Between you, me, and Gabby, we had a book of matches, a can of spray paint, and a canister of gasoline. There was no way we were going to burn down the amusement park and make Annika cry, especially in the middle of a blizzard. The only reason we did was because Seamus helped. And the only reason he was able to help was because he left solitary confinement and immediately drove up the mountain—with Elinor.”

“She came and got me,” I add. “I never would've escaped on my own.”

Abe folds his arms over his chest. Looks down at his feet.

“You're proud of Capital T,” Lemon continues, his voice gentler. “You take being a member very seriously. We all do. But we haven't been totally successful on our own.”

Abe sighs. Pulls out the chair. Sits.

“Fine. What do we do?”

“We go get her,” I say.

“Where?” Lemon asks.

I practice saying the words in my head. Besides admitting to Annika's special treatment, this was the other part of Phase One I've been dreading the most.

“Blackhole, Arizona.”

“Arizona?” Lemon asks.

“As in, like, a million miles from here?” Gabby asks.

I look at Abe, already wincing. He looks at me. Then he laughs. And laughs . . . and laughs . . . and laughs. When the hysterics die down to chuckles, Lemon poses a perfectly reasonable question.

“How do we get there?”

“Leave that up to me. I have a plan.” I don't know how effective it'll be, but they don't need to know that.

“When do we go?” Gabby asks.

“Tomorrow night. While everyone's asleep.”

This tickles Abe's funny bone again. While he cracks up, Lemon asks what they should do to prepare.

“Go to the Kommissary. Buy whatever you think you might need for an intense, potentially dangerous mission. Then just act like it's any other day and everything's normal. Whatever you do, don't mention one word about it in K-Mail. The last thing we need is for Annika to read something that makes her even more paranoid than she already is.”

Lemon nods. Gabby takes a notebook and pen from her backpack and starts writing. Abe giggles a few seconds more before asking a question of his own.

“You're not serious. . . . Are you?”

I glance at Lemon and catch his eye. Does
he
think I'm joking?

Lemon shakes his head. We both look at Abe.

“Let me get this straight,” Abe says, no longer amused. “You want us to sneak off campus? In the middle of the night? To go to another state on the other side of the country?”

I mentally review the checklist, then say, “Yes.”

Abe's head shoots forward. His eyes bulge from their sockets. When no one says anything else, he sits back and shrugs. “Nope. No way. Not going to happen.”

“But—”

“I understand everything you just said,” Abe says, interrupting Lemon. “I agree we couldn't have won the Ultimate Troublemaking Task without Elinor, and I appreciate her help. But if we're caught doing what Hinkle's suggesting, we're done. Kicked out of Kilter. For good. I'm appreciative . . . but I'm not stupid.”

Now, this reaction I expected.

“Kilter's a school for Troublemakers,” I remind him. “Where bad behavior is not only encouraged, but rewarded.”

His face relaxes slightly.

“I bet no other students have ever tried to pull off something like this. If we're caught, we might get docked a few days of troublemaking. That would be unfortunate, but not the end of the world.” I hesitate. “But if we're not? If we see it through to the end?” I think I'll have to force a smile, but I don't. It comes naturally. “Capital T will be forever known as the best bad kids in Kilter history.”

“And probably earn enough demerits to buy the entire Kommissary,” Gabby adds.

Maybe it's the promise of eternal fame. Maybe it's the idea of owning any troublemaking item he could ever want. It's probably not the desire to return a favor or be a good friend, but that's okay.

Something convinces Abe to sit back. Sigh heavily. And say:

“Whatever. I'm in.”

DEMERITS: 385

GOLD STARS: 300

A
fter a long, sleepless night
, Phase Two of Operation Evacuate Elinor begins the next morning.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
Tin Man

Hi, Ike!

So I know it's short notice, but would you be up
for a training session before classes start today? I'm feeling a little rusty.

Let me know! Thanks!

—Seamus

His response comes while I'm getting dressed.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
RE: Tin Man

Hey, Seamus,

You got it. See you at the gazebo at seven.

—Ike

I finish getting ready. Fling forks at the bread bin until a direct hit pops it open, then grab a muffin. Remind my alliance-mates, who are silently eating breakfast, to act like today's no different from any other day. And leave the house.

I'm halfway to the gazebo when my K-Pak buzzes. Worried someone's having doubts about participating—and wanting
to catch their note saying so before Annika does—I yank the mini computer from my backpack and read as I walk.

Fortunately, the note's not from Lemon, Abe, or Gabby. Unfortunately, it's from Annika herself.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
How are you??

Dear Seamus,

I'm sorry you left so suddenly yesterday. I hope you're feeling better today!

You probably haven't been able to monitor Mr. Tempest too closely while under the weather, but I thought I'd check in anyway. Do you have any updates?

Get lots of rest! And be sure to have a big bowl of fish stick chowder for lunch today. When it comes to killing a cold, it kicks chicken soup's you-know-what. And I've already asked the Kanteen chefs to make a special batch just for you.

xo,

Annika

I start to put my K-Pak away without answering, but then think better of it and take my own advice.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
RE: How are you??

Hi Annika,

Thanks for checking in! I'm sorry I had to leave so suddenly yesterday too. I rested all day and am feeling a little better this morning.

As for Mr. Tempest, everything seems to be business as usual. I'll keep you posted.

Can't wait to try the chowder! It sounds delicious!

Thanks again!

—Seamus

I press send. The digital envelope swishes around the K-Pak screen—and shoots past my right ear. Or at least, it sounds like it does. I'm about to look behind me, just in case, when something buzzes by my left ear.

“Morning!”

I follow the greeting. Through the early-morning fog, I see Ike standing in the gazebo entrance. I wave and jog toward him.

“Hi,” I say as I get closer. “Thanks for meeting on such short notice.”

“No problem.” He waits for me to reach the bottom step, then holds out one hand.

I stare at the device in his open palm. “What is that?”

“The Kilter Icickler. It turns water into frozen daggers with the push of one button and fires them with the push of another.”

Once again, I asked the wrong question. I try a better one.

“Where did you get it?”

“Where I—and you, and every other Troublemaker—gets anything. The Kommissary.”

A hot, fast heat blooms in my belly and spreads to my fingers and toes. Does he know about Mom and her addiction to the Hoodlum Home Shopping Network? Are they in cahoots, which is what Dad asks whenever a neighborhood dog digs in his flower beds the same night deer swing by for a snapdragon snack? Or is Ike's introduction of a weapon I already own simply a coincidence?

I don't have time to worry about another conspiracy theory.
So I shrug off my coat, wipe my brow, and take the Icickler.

“Ten demerits for pants, twenty for coats, thirty for cold-weather accessories.” Ike lifts his chin toward a group of Troublemakers gathered on the other side of the lawn. They're too far away for me to see their parka patches, but their faces are tilted skyward and hazy stars, hearts, and other shapes float above them. So I assume the older Biohazards are taking advantage of the cold to practice turning breath clouds into geometric shapes.

I raise my arm. Aim the Icickler. Register Ike's instructions.

“Wait.” I lower my arm. “You don't want me to actually hit them, do you?”

“Of course not.” Leaning against a gazebo post, he points to a cluster of trees just behind my targets. “Think thumbtacks and corkboard.”

Easier said than done. If you get hit with a thumbtack, you might lose a droplet of blood. If you get hit with a Kilter-made icicle, you might lose a limb.

You can rock this, Hinkle.

Houdini's voice zips through my head. He still sounds more confident than I feel, but the clock's ticking. So I raise my arm again. Aim. Fire.

I get a hit on the first try. And the second. And the third, fourth, and fifth. Soon the entire Biohazard group is stuck to three wide tree trunks, their clothes—and bodies—held in place by cold spikes. One girl cries out in surprise, but no one screams in pain. They twist and turn and crane their necks, trying to break free and figure out what just happened at the same time.

“Rusty, huh?” Ike asks.

Maybe I shouldn't have been so good so fast. I don't want to make Ike even more suspicious than he might be by the time we're done. Then again, this could be the perfect time to accomplish what I really wanted to in this morning's training session.

“Ever feel that way?” I ask. “A little out of it? Not quite good enough?”

He turns toward me. Despite the rising sun, his face darkens. The corners of his mouth droop. He looks like he did at the track the other day . . . just as I hoped he would.