A World of Trouble (26 page)

Finally, a door opens. I'm given one last push, which sends me flying to my knees. The pain is so great my hands and feet tingle, but I manage to keep my mouth shut and not cry out.

“Nadia will be right with you,” Mr. Bull grunts.

The door closes.

My pulse pounds in my ears. I count twenty heartbeats, then quietly test my voice.

“Lemon?” Pause. “Abe?” Pause. “Gabby?”

Pause.

“I'm here.”

Beneath my blindfold, my eyebrows scrunch together. “Elinor?”

“I think they're gone,” she says. “We're alone.”

“Um, not quite,” Abe adds quickly. Probably because in his mind, the idea of overhearing potentially mushy chitchat is worse than the idea of being overheard by our captors.

“I can't
see
,” Gabby whines. “This is way worse than the time Mystery blinded me with pepper spray!”

Mystery. It's crazy, but compared to this, being kidnapped by him and locked up in the cottage in the woods would be like participating in a fun game or sport. At least then I'd know my playing field.

“And that
stench
!” Gabby groans. “I think I'm going to throw up.”

“Oh no,” Abe says. “Please don't. If you do, I will, and then—”

“Hang on,” Lemon says. “Nobody move.”

I follow his instructions. Soon my still-functioning senses pick up a soft click. A pocket of heat. The smell of butane, then something burning.

The pressure around my wrists disappearing.

My hands are free. I rip the tube socks from my head.

It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the bright light. Once they do, they find Lemon. His blindfold's also gone. The
left corner of his mouth lifts in a half smile as he holds up his lighter and a fistful of seared string.

“Thanks.” I grin.

“Anytime.”

As he works on releasing the others, I look around. We're sitting on the floor in some sort of closet, although this one's three times the size of my mom's walk-in back home. And there are no clothes, shoes, or purses. And low benches frame the space. And whoever was here before us carved messages into the walls for those who came after.

BEHAVING'S FOR BABIES

ACT UP OR GET OUT

KIDS RULE

ADULTS DROOL

“You shouldn't have come.”

My eyes meet Elinor's. “So you said.”

“I'm serious, Seamus. This place . . . It's dangerous.”

“So is Kilter to the average kid,” I remind her. “But we're not average. We're Troublemakers. And there's nothing these oversize bullies can throw at us that we can't handle.”

“Really?” Abe asks, shaking out his freed hands. “Is that why
we're locked up? In this”—he scans the closet—“whatever this is?”

“It's a sauna,” Elinor explains. “In the former Blackhole Beauty Salon and Spa. When students misbehave—or don't misbehave enough—Nadia locks them up in places that only adults normally enjoy in the real world.”

“Students?” Gabby asks. “IncrimiNation's a school?”

Elinor hesitates, then nods. She turns back to me. “How did you know I was here?”

“You mentioned Blackhole in your note. Lucky for us, the town's not that big.”

She frowns. “If you really think Troublemakers can hold their own against IncrimiNators, why'd you come? Why'd you think I needed to be rescued?”

I look at my knees, which are pulled to my chest, and try to think of the best way to answer. When I look up again, Lemon, Abe, and Gabby are staring at me. They avert their gazes, move to the far end of the sauna, and pretend not to listen.

I face Elinor, take a deep breath, and begin.

“Because of the same note. The one you sent a few weeks ago.” I leave out the part about reading it only days earlier. There will be time for the whole story later—I hope. “I thought you
needed me. I mean—not me, specifically,” I add quickly, my cheeks warming. “But someone. To help. Because you sounded lonely. Unhappy. Scared.”

Her face softens slightly. When she speaks again, her voice is sad. “Nadia Kilter's my mother.”

Gasps fill the far end of the sauna.

“I know,” I say, ignoring them. My hands are between my torso and legs. I cross my fingers that she doesn't ask how. “And?”

“And I appreciate your caring enough to come all this way.” She turns and says in Capital T's direction, “Really, I do. Thank you.” She turns back to me. “But kids belong with their parents. I belong here.”

I could respond with a few things. Like when kids are at Kilter, they're not with their parents. And when kids are at IncrimiNation, they're not with their parents (present company excluded). And when parents are mean, angry, aggressive adults who don't care whether the kids they're responsible for bathe, eat right, and take a few hours each night to stop destroying things and get some sleep, a little time apart can be good. Healthy. Necessary.

They're valid points. But I go with the only one that matters.

“You just said this place is dangerous. For that reason alone, you belong anywhere
but
here.”

Finally, a smile. Her copper eyes have been cool, but now they warm. Brighten.

At the far end of the sauna, there's a soft
thwat
.

“Hear that?” Gabby whispers, presumably to Abe. “That's what a
gentleman
sounds like.”

“Thank you,” Elinor says. “But I couldn't leave even if I wanted to. There's nowhere else for me to go.”

“Sure there is. You can go back to Kilter.”

She pulls her legs in tighter, rests her chin on her knees. “No. I can't. Annika kicked me out. She was mean and cold when she did it, just like she always is to me, but this time I don't blame her. She gave me three semesters to improve, to show I have what it takes to succeed there. I took the same classes three times, and I still couldn't steal a pack of gum or fake a bodily noise or draw a scary picture. There's no way I'd ever become a professional Troublemaker. I'm just not good enough at being bad.”

Again, I have multiple responses to choose from. Like if she doesn't think she can be a professional Troublemaker, why does she think she can be a professional criminal—or whatever
else IncrimiNation trains its students to become? Doesn't the latter require worse behavior? Also, she revealed at the end of last semester that her troublemaking talent was lying. How do I know that's not what she's doing right now?

Before I can pick one, Lemon speaks up.

“We have our own rooms now. Seamus has been sleeping on the floor of mine since the beginning of the semester.”

Elinor frowns. Like me, she must be wondering what this has to do with our current conversation.

“Why?” she asks.

“Because I'm too good at starting fires. I can't control myself. So Seamus stays with me to make sure I don't burn Kilter to the ground in my sleep. More than anything, that's what I want—what I
need
—to learn at Kilter. How to keep the flames in check so I don't hurt someone again.”

Again?

No one else seems to have caught this, because Elinor nods. Abe and Gabby exchange looks.

“I'm a nerd,” Gabby says quickly, loudly, like this is a confession she's been dying to share.

“Really?” Abe asks. “I had no idea.”

“I know. I hide it really well. But at my school back home, I get straight A-plusses. Not As.
A-plusses.
I never need extra credit, but I do it whenever it's offered. I finish my chores before they're given to me. I read instead of watching TV. I go to bed early and get up early to make my parents breakfast. I eat all my vegetables, all the time. I've never had a cavity. I volunteer at the local library, nursing home, and animal shelter. For my birthday every year, I ask people to donate to their favorite charities rather than buy me gifts. On Halloween, I don't go trick-or-treating. I stay home and hand out rice cakes.”

“Rice cakes?” Elinor asks.

“Rice cakes.”
Gabby sighs. “Being good is like this terrible, awful, incurable disease I was born with and can't get rid of.”

“And you're sharing this fascinating info because . . . ?” Abe asks.

“Because the way you steer clear of someone who's coughing up a lung? Or sneezing nonstop? That's what kids do with me. What they
did
with me.” She shakes her head. “Last year, I started watching the popular kids. They were usually the ones doing ridiculous things like tooting with their armpits in the middle of class. So I taught myself some of their tricks. Which got me sent
to Kilter. Where, for the first time ever, I have real friends.”

I still don't understand the impromptu sharing session, but it's kind of nice. Even Abe stays quiet at this last part. For a few seconds, anyway.

“My dad plays football. Professionally. If you ever meet him, he'll tell you he always wanted a son with a wicked throwing arm who could follow in his footsteps. That's what he tells everyone—our neighbors, my teachers, store cashiers.” Abe quietly taps one finger on the drawing pad in his lap. “Unfortunately, he got a son with a drawing arm instead. I tried making him happy, but if I even look at a football my bicep shrinks. Give me pastels or watercolors, though, and I'm like Popeye after a can of spinach.”

Sitting next to him, Gabby raises one hand to pat him on the back. Then she seems to think better of it and lowers her hand. “You're an amazing artist. I'm sure he's superproud of you.”

“Thanks, but no. He's not. That's why I'm at Kilter. My mom signed me up because of the public graffiti and endless wall murals at home, but when I was there over break, she said I'd learned my lesson and that I didn't have to go back if I didn't want to. But I did want to. I thought it was the only place that could teach me things—tough, nonfootball things—that Dad might approve of.”

This is all news to me. Funny how you can spend so much time with people and still not know who they really are. Maybe I'll bring this up with Miss Parsippany in my next note. If there
is
a next note.

Which reminds me.

Heart racing, I unzip my coat and take out my K-Pak. There's no reception in here, but the clock still works.

11:19.

My heart sinks. But before it can reach my toes, I have a genuine happy thought.

GS George left—but only nineteen minutes ago. He couldn't have gotten far. He has his K-Pak, so if we can just get out of here and go somewhere with reception, I can e-mail and beg him to turn back around. If Annika's checking her messages in the middle of the night (which wouldn't surprise me), this could risk alerting her to what's going on, but at this point, that risk is worth taking.

“Guys,” I say, raising my eyes from the screen, “we really have to—” I stop. They're all watching me. “What?”

“You're up,” Abe says.

“Up? What do you mean?”

“We all shared our stories,” Gabby says. “About being mostly good kids who don't really belong at Kilter. Now it's your turn.”

My heart resumes its descent. The blood in my head follows.

“Um . . . well—”

I'm saved by a bell. Literally. The shrill ringing starts overhead but fills the sauna instantly. It's so loud my hands shoot to my ears. My eyes squeeze shut. It finally ends five excruciating seconds later, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

When I inhale again, something seems off. The air's different. Warmer. Moister.

When I open my eyes, I can barely see Elinor through the thick white haze.

“Steam,” she says. “Mother's coming.”

She jumps to her feet. Lunges across the sauna. Steps onto a bench and hops until her fingertips hit the ceiling. A small piece of wood pops up; she shoves it aside and faces us.

“Go.”

“Go?” I stand too. “Where?”

She points to the square hole above her. “That's an attic. It runs the length of the building. The main entrance is above the nail salon. It should be unlocked, and the salon should be empty. You can get out that way.”

“How do you know?” Gabby asks.

“I've spent a lot of time in here,” Elinor says.

“Why would Nadia—your mother—put you in here with us if you knew how to get out?” Abe asks.

“She doesn't know I know. I always explore and come back before she finds me missing.”

Gabby raises her eyebrows. “You don't give yourself enough credit.” She motions for Abe to stand. “Knee, please.”

This request would normally invite a string of sarcastic responses before Abe eventually, reluctantly, possibly obliged. But steam is swirling. The temperature's rising. Outside the sauna door, footsteps are nearing. So he doesn't bat an eye before putting one foot on the bench. When his thigh is perpendicular to the seat, Gabby steps onto his knee, grabs the sides of the ceiling hole, and pulls herself up. Then she reaches one arm down to help Abe. Then Lemon.

This is all happening too fast. I turn to Elinor.

“Why don't we just stay here? And explain who we are and where we go to school? I mean, Nadia is Annika's sister. Once we apologize for trespassing and maybe even blame the whole thing on a troublemaking assignment, I'm sure she'll let us go.”

Elinor slowly shakes her head. Her copper eyes fill with tears. “Oh, Seamus,” she says softly. “You don't—”

She's cut off by a loud bang. My head snaps toward the sauna door, which I expect to be off its hinges. It's not, but it is shaking.

“Go.” Elinor puts one hand on my coat sleeve. “Now. Please.”

“Eli-
Snore
!” a deep female voice sings on the other side of the door. “I'm simply
dying
to meet your friends. Shepherd's already told me so many wonderful things about them!”