Academic Assassins (8 page)

Welcome to the Hive.

Riiiiiing
…

The bell pummeled my eardrums. Each Plexiglas door swiftly slid open, releasing the girls into the gallery. They stepped out from their pods, eyes locking onto me.

Suddenly I was surrounded by girls. Lots and lots of girls. They stared blankly back at me, bewildered by the sight of a—

“Boy in the Hive!” One pointed an accusing finger at me.

Before long, several others joined in—“Boy in the Hive! Boy in the Hive!”

I stepped back, toward the door.

I nearly collided with Nailbiter, standing behind me. She clutched the collar of my shirt. All I could focus on were her fingers, gnawed raw.

“Help me,” she said. “Please! They are going to take me to—”

Her words were suddenly overwhelmed by the off-key chanting swelling up from all around—
“Boy in the Hive! Boy in the Hive! Boy in the Hive!”

Nailbiter tried again. “They're taking me to the Black—”

A pair of hands grabbed my shoulders, yanking me away.

“Boy in the Hive!”

Several ants each took an arm and tugged me in separate directions. I looked down at my feet and found some had grabbed my ankles, like I was getting drawn and quartered. They were clamoring all
around me, taking hold of my body and lifting me off of the floor. They hoisted me over their heads, passing me from one set of hands to the next until I bodysurfed through the ward. An image of an
actual ant colony carrying a scrap of food back to their queen ant popped into my head.

I saw Grayson rush in and halt at the door, only to lean back and clap along.

“Boy in the Hive! Boy in the Hive! Boy in the Hive!”

My body shuttled into the air, quickly landing back in the ants' hands. They flung me up again—only this time, there were no hands to catch me. Seemingly all at once, every last ant
took a step back, leaving me to splat across the concrete floor.

I landed on my butt, crushing my coccyx.

My brain couldn't rally the rest of my body to pick itself up from the floor. I rolled around on my back until I realized a ring of ants were staring down at me.

One girl leaned forward, her hair held up by pigtails.

How come this girl got to keep her hair? I wondered.

“No boys allowed in the Hive. You stick to your side of the building, we'll stick to ours—got that?”

Loud and clear.

S
o that escape plan hadn't worked quite as well as I had hoped.

Back to Program Director's office. I sat before Merridew's desk, alone. It felt like this was a test. Being here—unsupervised. Make one false move and I'd be sent to the
gulag.

Are there cameras watching me right now?

I noticed a framed black-and-white photograph of young cadets hanging on the wall. Each kid carried a rifle. Standing just off to the side was a much younger Merridew, chin lifted, head held
high, proudly presenting her battalion of soldiers-in-training. These kids couldn't have been much older than me, but the rabid glint in their eyes made them look as if they had graduated to
the battlefield, ready for war.

I recognized one of those cadets.
Is that Grayson grinning behind the glass?
Everyone here must have been military. Merridew had amassed a staff of soldiers.

I heard heels
click-clack
across the floor as Merridew entered behind me.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

She was carrying something. A slender brown strap. A leather belt.

A collar.

“Mr. Pendleton,” she said. Rather than sit behind her desk, Merridew knelt before my chair so that we were eye to eye. “Two visits in one day. I hope we are not making a habit
of this….”

The smooth, even tone of the foundation spackled across her cheeks cracked around her lips. She had a marble mouth.

“Not one to mince words, are we? I admire that.”

I couldn't help but focus on the
thing
in her hands. It seemed to slither as she talked. I almost forgot that I was supposed to be listening, and had to hop back into her monologue
midsentence. “…believe you will fit right in here at Kesey.”

She presented the collar to me as if it were a gift from a great aunt who had absolutely no fashion sense whatsoever.

Give me a minute, I thought, with some scissors and a Sharpie, I could modify this accessory to fit my own specifications. Maybe write my favorite band name across the side in Wite-Out, maybe
slip a few safety pins along the strap. Possibly scribble a Magic-Markered heart with an arrow piercing the vena cava:

SULLY + SPENCER 4-EVA

Merridew was talking again. “Let me assure you, my goal is not to penalize you. My goal is for you to reenter the world. To be a member of society once more. To be a
responsible
citizen. How does that sound?”

I like the no-punishment part, I wanted to say.

“We at Kesey do not believe in pharmaceutical interventions. We do not use psychotropic medications here. I have seen how they are completely overused and abused by other facilities. They
are a crutch—not a cure! No…I prefer to focus on the
root
of the problem rather than bury it with a prescription.”

Merridew didn't say anything for a moment, staring at me. Her smile never wavered, those lips as firm as chiseled rock.

“Here at Kesey, we prefer to emphasize
the three selves
.”

I had no idea what she was talking about.

“I have isolated the three tenets that make an upright citizen.”

She brandished her index finger.

“Self-awareness.”

She brought up her middle.

“Self-discipline.”

Finally her ring finger.

“Self-respect.”

I stared at those three wrinkled digits, examining the manicure of her nails.

“If we can reinstate these three selves into our residents, I believe we can refashion the most serious offender into a responsible and successful young adult.”

Good luck with that, I didn't say out loud.

The expression on her face faltered. “You do not believe me, do you?”

Had I hurt her feelings? I actually felt a twinge of guilt.

I slowly shook my head—
no
. I didn't mean anything by it.
Honest
. She had a real lovely prison-asylum here.

“We cannot make a person change,” she said. “That desire needs to come from within
you
, Spencer. I truly believe that we can motivate our boys and girls to
want
to become better people.”

She had said my first name again.

“Of course,” she said, “our residents are still held accountable for their actions. They need to be. But rather than thinking of Kesey as the final destination on an endless
procession of stopgaps and half-measures, we provide an opportunity for our residents to decide to avoid delinquent behavior
for themselves
.” She paused for dramatic effect. “And
how do we do that, Mr. Pendleton? By emphasizing the three selves—
correct!
” She clapped her hands. “Self…?”

Up came her three fingers again, one after the other.

Index.

“
Awareness
,” she prompted. “Self…?”

Middle.

“
Discipline
. And self…?”

Ring.

“
Respect!
” Merridew seemed pleased, her grin spreading across her face. She unlatched the buckle on the collar. My eyes locked onto a tiny, flattened black box sewn into the
center. A coil of red and green wires snaked out from the plastic square, a flat-faced foam disc fastened at its tip.

Merridew raked her tongue over the foam's surface. I swear I heard a sandpapery scrape as she licked. She pressed the pad against my forearm.

So I'm going to be hooked up to an electrode all day? What exactly does this black box do? Keep track of my movements? Record my brain waves?

Merridew flipped a switch located at the base of the box. A barely perceptible hum resonated out from the collar. A red light pulsed with electric life.

“It is still early, but from what I have read from your files, you possess an intense anger toward authority figures and a rather healthy distrust of adults.”

I wouldn't disagree.

From her suit jacket pocket, Merridew fished out a remote control that fit in the palm of her hand. This channel clicker seemed to have only one button on it.

One shiny, red candy–like button.

“Everyone on our staff is in possession of their own Conduct Response Unit,” she said. “Think of it as a universal remote. If one of our supervisors witnesses you displaying
any sort of unruly behavior, he merely has to aim his C.R.U. activator at your collar in order to administer a brief, three-second response.”

…Response?

Merridew pressed her thumb against the button. A torrent of electricity surged through the suction pad adhered to my forearm and
I could feel the suction pad burrowing into the muscle as if
her saliva has an acidic tinge to it and she's a leech eating through my arm
MOM IS SITTING IN THE COURTROOM SHE'S CRYING I LOVE YOU MOM I'M SORRY
my muscles instantly
cinched into a knot both hands clenched into fists but I can't move my hands I can't move my arms or my legs I'm frozen my muscles won't move can't run can't
stand
THEY WON'T LET ME TALK TO MY MOM I JUST WANT TO HUG HER BUT THE OFFICER WON'T LET ME
Spencer get up get up—

Merridew's thumb lifted off the button.

The tension in my muscles immediately slackened. My body sagged to the floor like a sack of potatoes, released from the black box's lightning-bolt grip.

There was a residue of electricity in my teeth. It had a metallic aftertaste that overwhelmed my mouth.

My vision blurred. I had to blink to bring Merridew's office back into focus.

She patiently waited for me.

Smiling.

“As long as you are within the line of sight, our C.R.U.s are capable of transmitting a response from over fifty yards.”

That grin lingered across her lips, sugar-masking something sour. Her breath smelled like some calcified bottle of cough syrup stashed at the far back of your medicine cabinet and forgotten.

“Our goal is to instill a sense of
right
and
wrong
within you. For the longest time, that internal switch has remained flipped to
right
with no regard to those actions
that civilized society might consider
wrong
. I intend to fix that switch.”

Merridew held up the C.R.U. remote. “With this—”

She pushed the button and
lighting piercing the back of my eyes I can see the storm brewing dark clouds spreading in my head
MOM I LOVE YOU MOM HELP
I have to run inside or I'm
going to get drenched run run hide quick before it's too late
—

Her thumb lifted off the button.

The backward arc of my spine released itself like a rubber band snapping. My body flopped forward. My lungs had seized. It felt as if my rib cage had completely clenched. I couldn't keep
the air in my chest. Was I having an asthma attack?

This witchy administrator wants to kill me, I thought.

Nobody was around to stop her. She had complete control.

“The C.R.U. is our way of providing you with a signpost,” Merridew continued. “The next time you find yourself at the crossroads between
right
and
wrong
, you can
make an informed decision on which is the appropriate path for you to choose.”

Merridew slowly lowered the remote.

“If you attempt to remove the electrode around your neck,” she said in an even tone—no emotion whatsoever—“you will receive a response. If you try to take your
collar off, you will receive a response. Is that understood?”

Merridew lifted the C.R.U. and I instantly flinched, bracing for another shock.

Nothing.

“See?” Merridew's warm voice drifted through the darkness. “You are in control of your actions, not us. It is only when you make a decision outside of the socially
accepted standards of behavior that we offer you a reminder.”

My eyes were still closed. Teeth clenched. In the blackness behind my eyelids, a quote from
Brave New World
came to mind—
“Now we proceed to rub in the lesson with a mild
electric shock.”

When I finally opened my eyes, I realized Merridew had been waiting for me, arms crossed at her chest, her remote control from Hades nowhere in sight.

“The choice is always yours, Mr. Pendleton.
Yours
.” Her lips lifted, her smile radiating a warmth that brought to mind heat waves emanating off a piece of roadkill left on the
highway during a blisteringly hot day in August. “Any questions?”

I was on death row. I had my very own portable electric chair choking my throat.