Academic Assassins (15 page)

I missed her so much.

There was a burning at the back of my throat. I could feel a strain in my chest.

I was going to cry.

I locked onto a small tangle of graffiti secretly scratched over my head. I tried to decipher the dense knot of overlapping words.

CLAW AND FANG

Who would've written this? Sully? Another inmate? The lava in my stomach continued to rise up my throat, ready to overflow. I could feel the sting in my eyes.

Don't cry, Spencer. Not here. Not around the others.

I bowed my head to hide my eyes.

Mom hesitated. She must've seen the tears. “This is my fault,” she said. “I spent so much time dealing with the divorce that I lost sight of—”

I lowered the phone. I couldn't hear this. Not now.

All I ever wanted was my parents' attention. I understood that now. But now that I had my Mom's, what could I do with it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I was stuck here.

I banged my head against the Plexiglas. The pain in my skull reduced the strain in my chest for a split second.

So I did it again.

I could sense the conversations surrounding me slowly fade, suddenly aware that my neighbors were now peering over their shoulders at me.

Weakness has a smell. Warm apple pie.

Mom rapped her knuckles against her side of the window, bringing me back. I lifted my head and saw that she was fighting off her own tears. She raised her phone up, motioning for me to do the
same. I brought the shell back to my ear, the lull of the ocean warm and welcoming.

“You've got to be strong for me, Spencer,” she said. “Please. You'll see this through. You can do it—I know you can.”

“I want to come home….”

“I met with the program director,” she offered, a hint of optimism in her voice. “Miss Merridew talked me through your treatment program and she sounded very confident about
your recovery. She thinks you might come home in a year.”

“A
year
?” The word
year
came out a little louder than I had planned it. “
Mom
. Listen to me. Something's wrong here. I think they….” I
leaned in and lowered my voice. “The people here are doing something to the kids.
Experimenting
on them.”

Mom took this information in with a slight nod. Did she believe me? She scanned the Visitors' Room, taking in the docile-looking kids with their parents. I noticed Nailbiter had turned
away from her family and was looking at me.

Staring. Listening in.

Great, I thought to myself. Not only do I have to worry about the surveillance cameras—but my fellow residents. There are lobotomized snitches in our midst.

“All I know is,” I whispered into my phone, “kids come here one way and become something else. Changed.
Altered
. And not in the
I've-seen-the-error-of-my-ways-and-want-to-go-the-straight-and-narrow
kinda way. I'm talking brainwashed.”

Mom slowly shook her head. “How…?”

“They shock us.”

“…Shock you?”

“With these dog coll—”

A hand clasped my shoulder. I looked up to find Grayson hovering behind me.

Where did he come from? Had he been behind me this whole time?

“Alright,” he said. “Visiting time's up.”

“We've got fifteen minutes,” I protested. “It hasn't even been five…”

“There's been a mistake. You're not on the visitors' list today.”

“Says who?” I asked.

“That would be me, Mr. Pendleton.” The warmth of Merridew's voice crept over my skin as she strolled toward me. Her finger glided over the shoulders of each ant she passed, as
if to check for dust. “Family visits are not a right here at Kesey. They have always been a
privilege
. Tell me, Mr. Pendleton—do you feel that you have earned the
privilege
to visit your mother? What have you done recently that should be rewarded with some family time?”

“You can't do that….”

“I am merely making sure you are mindful of what information you share with the outside world, Mr. Pendleton.” Merridew leaned over and whispered in my ear so that only I could hear
her—“I want you all to myself.”

I looked to Mom through the partition. All of the other mothers were side-glancing at her, silently judging her. None of them could hear what Merridew was saying, but it was easy to see that I
was in trouble.

“You're not getting away with this,” I muttered to Merridew. “I won't let you.”

“But I already have.”

I noticed a guard walk up behind Mom before she did. He tapped her on the shoulder, catching her by surprise. They had a clipped conversation I couldn't hear.

“Mom!” I tried to stand, but Grayson was quick to grab me and hold me down.

I pounded my fists against the Plexiglas.

“They electroshock us here,” I shouted, hoping she could hear me. “They jolt us with remote controls! They won't stop shocking until our brains are fried! Merridew takes
away our individuality and makes us her slaves!”

Mom was forced to watch me get wrestled to the ground. Grayson pressed my head against the floor with his palm. I could just manage to look up and spot Mom, her hand held up to her mouth, her
horrified eyes taking in the sight before her—her son acting like a paranoid lunatic.

Again
. Just like Merridew had probably planned all along.

“See?” Merridew asked with a smile. “You are all mine, Spencer.” She looked to Grayson and instructed, “Take Mr. Pendleton back to his habitation pod so he can
reflect on how he can earn back the
privilege
of visiting with his family.”

All the other parents glanced away from their own booths as Mom soundlessly struggled to stay. Her face had grown beet red. The guard clutched her shoulder and escorted her out from the visiting
room. I watched her phone, still dangling by its cord, as it swung back and forth like the arm on a grandfather clock—
ticktock, ticktock, ticktock….

One thing was for certain. I couldn't count on anybody getting me out of here. My parents couldn't save me from this place. Mom couldn't save me.

I had to save myself.

And if Merridew wasn't going to play fair, neither would I.

This means war.

H
ere's how gardening detail worked, as far as I could tell:

This was slavery. Hands down.

Just like in an ant colony, the drones broke their backs for their queen, keeping the Kesey machine running with the toil of its residents.

Let's put a wrench in the works, shall we?

I was surrounded by a boundless amount of barbed wire. From a distance, the two-sided blades of concertina wire perched on the fence looked like a horde of butterflies—each with wings that
could fillet your flesh with a single flap.

The blood-red sea of Merridew's prized poinsettias reached as far as the security fence. A breeze blew through the garden, rustling the endless stretch of petals as if its crimson waters
were boiling over.

I was going to hit Merridew where it hurt.

Her flowers.

The Men in White barely paid attention to the dozen kids working in the field. They kept to the shade, leaning against the side of the building. If an ant started to act up, they would barely
move a finger.

Actually—that's all they had to do. One unseemly peep from us and out came their C.R.U.s, and with a simple press of the button—
Zzzst!

Refried ants.

Walking along the poinsettia patch, I made sure not to step on any of the ants kneeling about the garden. Most had scratched “MIMI” into the collars around their necks, so
there'd be no mistaking which tribe these pigtailed goons belonged to….

THE SCREAMING MIMIS

MEMBERS: 12

MODUS OPERANDI:

The Screaming Mimis was an all-girl cult that worshipped the beloved character from Merridew's ever-popular children's book series. With nothing else to read at
Kesey, Mimi became their mascot. They took their devotion for the clumsy mutt to an all-time high. Or low. Depending on how you looked at it. This rabid fan base followed the saccharine fables as
if they were law, misinterpreting the morals of the story.

Mimis believed that they were the spiritual descendants of the adorable dog. They administered the lessons taught in Mimi's books with excessive force:

Be kind to other people—or else get a fist in the face.
Practice random acts of kindness—or suffer random acts of violence.
Don't kick a man when he is down—punch him while he's up.

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS:

The Mimis' key distinguishing characteristic was their pigtails. Merridew felt partial to the Mimis and their worshipful reverence to her books, so she threw them a bone.
Unlike the rest of us ants, the Mimis were allowed to keep their hair. Not fair. They were permitted to tie it up in a pair of pigtails high up on their head—much like Mimi's floppy
labradoodle ears.

MOTTO: “What would Mimi do?”

I spotted Sully by herself, kneeling before an open gulch in the soil. Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing her biceps. I zeroed in on the sliver of raised skin on her shoulder. Her scar; the
shallow residue of the mark of the Tribe—a stick figure raising a spear over its head. She slyly slipped something into the ground when she thought nobody was watching. It shimmered in the
sunlight, like plastic. She slid a poinsettia over the mystery item and shoveled topsoil over to conceal it.

I took a step forward, and my shadow suddenly eclipsed her own. When she realized she wasn't alone, her spine straightened.

“You a narc now?” Sully asked as she stood.

“I'm just looking to get my green thumb on.” I scanned the flowerbeds. “Why? You gonna shoot me with your slingshot?”

“Don't be such a drama queen,” she said. Then, almost as an apology, she added, “That little blow up in the visitors' room sure must've stung. You
okay?”

“You heard about that?”

“Word gets around.”

“Merridew won that round, but this war's just getting started.”

“At the rate you're going,” Sully shook her head, “you're not gonna last a week here.”

“Better place your bets now before it's too late.”

“Who says I haven't?”

“You're actually betting on how long I'll survive?” I asked.

Sully shrugged. “Got to pass the time somehow. Don't take it so personally.”

“What a resounding vote of confidence.”

“Just try and last two more days for me,” she said. “I'll win three boxes of Girl Scout Cookies if you live 'til Tuesday.”

Her eyes. The sun overhead cast its rays across her face, bringing out the green in her eyes. Every last freckle along the bridge of her nose brightened.

Something in my chest cracked. My throat lumped up. I couldn't stop myself from wrapping my arms around Sully and squeezing her as hard as I could.

“I missed you so much….”

Sully didn't hug back.

“#347678,” an orderly shouted from the shade. “Release the resident.”

“You can't let anyone see you like this,” Sully whispered. “These punks will eat you alive.” She pulled out of my grip, fixating on the soil. “Stay strong,
okay?”

Sully peered over her shoulder, looking to see if the Men in White were still eavesdropping on us. Coast was clear. “Keep a secret?”

I nodded—
Your secret's safe with me.

Sully tilted her head as an invitation for me to kneel next to her. Her fingers pierced the upturned earth, breaking open the ground she had just finished filling.

“Tell anyone about this and I'll kill you,” she said.

“Quit flirting with me.”

“Shut up.” Sully rolled her eyes as she uprooted a ziplock baggie. Shaking bits of dirt off the clear plastic, the contents slowly came into focus.

Candy bars.

“Not bad,” I said. “Keep your contraband under the poinsettias where the Men in White won't look.”

“I've got a connection to the outside. Anything you need, just come to me. Candy, razors, office supplies….I'm your guy.”

I thought about it. “There is one thing….I'm looking for a book.”

“Does this book have a title?” she asked.

I leaned over and whispered into her ear.

Sully pulled back and held my eyes for a second before shaking her head. “A book like that could land you in the Black Hole.”