How to Lead a Life of Crime (20 page)

That wasn’t the kind of question I was expecting. “What? You mean the doctors at school?” I ask, and my dad nods. “No.”

“If they try to, don’t take it. And don’t mention any of this to Lucian. I’ve told you much more than I should have.” My father gets out of the car, but he doesn’t shut the door. He pauses, then turns and pokes his head back into the vehicle. “Consider yourself lucky. You still have a chance. Let’s see what you do with it.” Then he slams the door.

The handle won’t open my door. I can’t find a way to unlock it. I bang on the barrier between the driver and me. My fists can’t crack it. The engine starts.

I sit back and wonder what my father meant. I still haven’t figured it out when the car pulls up outside the Mandel Academy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE BLIND SPOT

I
’ve been brought to an empty classroom. There’s no place to sit, so I pace the perimeter.

“Hello!” I almost cringe when I hear Mandel’s cheerful voice. “It sounds like you’ve had quite a day!”

He’s not alone. A man comes through the door behind him. I’ve never seen the guy’s face before, but the look in his eyes is pure predator. He’s my father’s age, and he isn’t particularly tall or muscular. But I see his thick fingers and calloused knuckles, and I know that the man must be one of the academy’s killers.

Mandel’s hands are in his pockets. It’s his way of showing me that I pose no threat. “Why don’t you tell me what went wrong this afternoon.”

I don’t have a plan. What’s the point? But I’m not going to mention the dead kid. There’s no telling what he could do with information like that. “I lost my nerve. I panicked, and I got arrested.”

Mandel knows I’m bluffing. “It was a simple task, Flick. You must have stolen hundreds of phones before you arrived at the academy. What on earth made you panic this time?”

“I thought it was another one of your tests. I was scared of failing.”

“You assumed it was a test? My, my, we are a bit paranoid, aren’t we? For your information, Mr. Martin has been organizing similar trips for the past fifteen years. All of our instructors send students into the field from time to time.”

“Was today a simulation?”

Mandel smiles. “No, and I’m afraid you’ve made Mr. Martin’s life quite difficult. You were performing a favor for some very important alumni. Thanks to your performance, they’ve lost access to an important source of information, and they’re not very pleased with your instructor. And of course there’s the matter of the Facebook page.”

“Did Mr. Martin make lots of new friends?” I ask.

“I see you still have your sense of humor. Let me ask you . . . how did someone in a state of panic manage to craft such an entertaining profile?”

It’s a very good question. I don’t have an answer.

“Feeling tongue-tied? Then let’s move on. How long did it take you to construct Mr. Martin’s profile?”

“About twenty minutes.”

Mandel cocks his head. “You couldn’t think of anything better to do with twenty minutes of Internet time?”

“Who needs porn when I’ve got Gwendolyn?”

Mandel’s pet thug finds this amusing. Does he know my sweet little princess?

“More jokes,” Mandel observes. “And yet you have much more reason to panic now than you did this afternoon. But we both know you were just as composed then as you are right now. So let’s set that rather pitiful excuse to the side for a moment. I’m still curious about your time online. You haven’t had Internet access in months. Wasn’t there anyone you wanted to write? Any person you felt like phoning?”

“No.”

“Not even Joi?”

“Who?”

Mandel laughs. “Well played. Now let’s discuss your arrest. How many times have you been arrested in the past?”

“None.”

“And when you were arrested this afternoon, why didn’t you call the academy? Why did you choose to phone your father?”

“Why don’t you just tell me what you’re getting at?” I say. “You sound like you have everything figured out. So go ahead and do what you want to me.”

“You seem to think that I’m angry,” Mandel notes. “Do I look angry?”

“I have no idea,” I say. The guy never stops smiling.

“Mr. Martin would say that the day has been a disaster, but I’m actually rather pleased by what I’ve heard.”

What?

“I was worried that we might have sent you out a bit early. A gifted young man like you could have found a way to cause quite a bit of trouble for the academy. I knew there was a chance that I might need to do some damage repair this evening. But you acted like a true predator. First you attacked Mr. Martin. And then you went after your father. You were intending to kill him, weren’t you?”

He doesn’t know that I tried to surrender. And for some reason, my father hasn’t told him the truth. Play along.

“I got tired of waiting for my reward.”

“But your father outsmarted you. And sent you back to me. He’s laughing at us both right now.”

“If he’d faced me like a man, I would have won.”

The thug and Mandel share a chuckle.

“Only little boys believe in ‘fighting like a man,’” Mandel says. “It doesn’t matter how you fight, Flick. There’s no such thing as honor. The only thing that matters is winning.”

“Then I’ll win the next round.”

Mandel nods. “Perhaps. I am extremely happy with the progress you’ve made. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re ready to graduate by the end of next semester. But in the meantime, there are still a few things you need to learn. Your next lesson will be taught by my colleague, Mr. Wilson. I’m afraid it’s going to be a little bit painful.”

Mandel has clearly been smoking some of Julian’s crack if he thinks his enforcement friend will be able to hurt me. I’m thirty years younger than Mr. Wilson. The old codger doesn’t stand a chance. Then the man steps forward and pulls up a pant leg. He has a set of nunchaku strapped to his shin. Why do I keep expecting Mandel to play fair?

“Mr. Martin has insisted that you be reprimanded. But please don’t consider this a punishment. Think of it as a lesson in humility. You’ve been fighting amateurs for too long. Your father is a professional. He trained alongside Mr. Wilson during their days at the academy. You’re about to get a taste of what to expect should your father choose to fight ‘like a man.’ Mr. Wilson?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t kill him,” Mandel says before he leaves the room.

• • •

I remember the one time I managed to hurt my father. It was the same fight that led to my exile in Georgia. I threw a punch, and it hit his jaw. For a second, I believed that the tables had finally turned. And in that second, I had a glimpse of another life. One in which my mother never suffered, my brother never scrambled to keep the peace, and I never had to tiptoe through the halls of my home. It was the most glorious vision I’d ever had. I wanted it so bad, and Jude must have known. Because he died trying to make it real.

• • •

They’ve planted grass on the surface of the moon. The lush green lawn keeps going and going until it meets a perfectly black horizon. I hear sprinklers in the distance—the rotating kind that Jude and I used to jump through when we were kids. I’d like the little dead boy to have a chance to enjoy them. But Peter Pan and I are the only ones here.

“Where are we?” I ask.

Peter Pan flies a slow, graceful loop around me before coming down to land. “This is the place between sleep and awake. The place where you can still remember dreaming. I’ve been waiting for you. Come with me. I’ll show you around.”

We start walking, side by side. The horizon never gets any closer. “Why am I here?” I ask.

“You’ve left your body back at the academy. It needs time to heal.”

“I’m alive?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m still me?”

“More you than you’ve been in a very long time.”

“Why didn’t Mandel figure it out? I tried to surrender. If Dad had let me, Mandel would have lost the wager.”

“Mandel will never understand what you did.”

“What did I do?”

“The right thing. You returned the man’s phone. Then you tried to stop Mandel’s experiment—even though you thought Dad would kill you.”

I made my choice, and I didn’t even realize it. “I chose to give up. That’s what Dad would say.”

“What takes more guts? To fight for your own life at any cost—or prove that you’re willing to lose it?”

I see his point, but I don’t know why he thinks I’ve just made some huge leap forward. “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing for the past goddamned year? I’ve given up everything for you!”

“No,” Jude says. “I died trying to help you. Why would I want you to risk your life for my sake? I told you to stay with Joi, but you wanted revenge. And you would have traded your soul just to get it.”

I’m still confused. “And today?”

“Today you let go. I was worried you’d changed, but when it mattered most, you were still the brother I knew. Maybe there is a predator gene like Mandel says. Or maybe Dad’s right and it comes down to a choice. But both of them are totally wrong about one thing. They think you’ve only got two options. Off or on. Fight or die. But there’s a third option: screw them. Be who you want to be—and don’t be afraid of the consequences. That’s what you did at the airport. That’s how you found your strength.”

“It was the little boy. The one who died. He made me think about you. Is that why you put his pictures on that phone?”

When Peter Pan grins, I realize how stupid the question must have sounded. “You know I don’t have that kind of power,” he reminds me. “Even if I did, all that matters is that you knew what the pictures meant.”

“I saw that kid, and all I could think about was how much I miss you and how much I lost when I let you go. I couldn’t do that to someone else. I couldn’t take away what little was left of his one good thing.”

“You figured out that he wasn’t just an assignment or a means to an end. He was real.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s all real, you know,” Jude tells me. “All the bodies left behind in their war games. All the people they poison and rob. They’re human beings.”

“I know. That’s why I called Dad and told him to come get me. He’s bad, but Mandel is a million times worse.”

“You don’t need Dad’s help. You’ve found Mandel’s blind spot. He doesn’t know there’s a third option. Remember what you told Dad? He asked what you would do if you were given the choice to kill or die. You said you’d do ‘something else.’ Well, you’re going to face another choice soon enough, I’ll bet. And whatever you do—make it spectacular.”

I laugh. “Any ideas?”

“Nope, but you’ll figure it out.”

“I’m glad to have you back, Jude.”

“I never went anywhere,” he says. “There’s nowhere to go.”

• • •

I’m in the infirmary and a machine by my head is beeping insistently. A nurse peeks into the room and sees I’m awake. A few minutes later a doctor arrives. He shines a penlight into each of my eyes.

“Can you feel your limbs?” he asks.

“Yes.” Everything hurts. My throat is painfully dry. And I’m pretty sure there’s a catheter stuck where no plastic tubing should ever be forced to go.

“Do you know where you are?”

“The seventh circle of hell?”

“I heard you had a sense of humor,” he replies dryly as he slides a blood pressure cuff up my arm.

“How long was I out?”

“Thirteen days.”

Damn! Mr. Wilson really knows how to swing a set of nunchaku.

“Any serious damage?”

The doctor glances at my face. “You’re not as cute anymore.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” I really don’t know.

“You’ll be fine,” the doctor says on his way out of the room. “By the way, you have a visitor waiting outside.”

It’s not Mandel. It’s Gwendolyn. And I’m glad to see that she isn’t pretending to be concerned. She just glides in, wearing a black dress with a strange, white image that stretches from the collar to the hem. It looks like an x-ray of a bird in flight. She takes a seat in the chair at my bedside and stares at me.

“Hello, sweetheart,” I croak.

“He’s right. You’re not as cute anymore,” she informs me.

“Well, if you get sick of looking at me, you can always cut off my head.”

“Maybe someday I will,” Gwendolyn replies. “It’s definitely something to look forward to. But for now Mr. Mandel says we’re still a couple. He made me come down to offer my congratulations.”

“For what? Getting my ass handed to me?”

“For being named one of the academy’s Duxes.”

“You’re kidding.”

She picks up a section of my IV tube and rolls it between her thumb and index finger. She’s probably itching to give it a yank. “I wish. I thought you were out of the game when you fell to fifteenth place in the Art of Persuasion. But I guess your other grades were pretty amazing. We’re tied.”

“Tied? We’re both Dux?” It sounds great—until I realize that Mandel has made Gwendolyn my chaperone.

“Yes, which means you better get your ass out of bed. The new semester starts in four days. We have work to do.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

FRESH MEAT

W
hen I get to my room, I strip and stand in front of the mirror. My skin is a patchwork of purple, yellow, and brown—the colors of death and decay. If zombies ever invade the Mandel Academy, they’ll probably accept me as one of their own. Still, as bad as my carcass looks now, it must have been twice as gruesome while the bruises were fresh. My right leg doesn’t appear to be seriously injured, but it can’t bear much weight. The doctor didn’t give me crutches or a cane, so I hop whenever I can. When I can’t, I walk with an old man’s limp. My left arm was in a sling when I left the infirmary. I slipped that off before stepping into the elevator. The arm may be useless for now, but I’d rather no one else know it.

After I woke from the coma, I spent two days strapped to a hospital bed. Aside from a few delightful chats with Gwendolyn, my only entertainment was a series of sponge baths that didn’t live up to my expectations. Mandel never once paid me a visit. But now that I’ve been released, I see he’s left me a homecoming gift. My computer is running and there’s a new folder sitting on the desktop. I laugh out loud when I see the label he’s given it: when you’re ready. Who knew a psychopath could be so corny? It sounds like the title of a 1970s sex-ed pamphlet for girls. But I doubt Mandel wants to warn me about the dangers of teenage fornication. The folder must contain information about my father. It may even be the proof he killed Jude. As curious as I am, I won’t open the file. If I’m lucky, I’ll have a chance to make use of it later. But I finally know who I want to be. I want to be the person who destroys the Mandel Academy.

The question that’s been eating away at me for forty-eight hours is, how? When I wasn’t being probed by the infirmary’s doctors, I sent my mind in search of answers. I tried to relive each day of the last four months—and replay every conversation I’ve ever had with Mandel. I must have seen or heard something that would help me blow this whole place sky-high. But I still don’t know what it was. All I have is a single clue. Jude was right—Mandel does have a blind spot. My thoughts kept returning to the night Lucas and I tried to escape. Mandel assumed I’d been running for my life. It never even dawned on him that I had been trying to save Lucas. He called my actions illogical. He couldn’t understand them. I guess risking your ass to help someone else makes no sense to a man who fantasizes about murdering millions.

So the academy’s leader is a nut job with a limited understanding of human psychology. It’s an interesting piece of data, but I have no idea how to make use of it. Unfortunately, a lack of inspiration is hardly my biggest problem. I’m crippled, outnumbered, and there’s a computer chip in my head. And there’s always a chance that my own DNA could turn against me. All I can do is hope that Mandel is wrong about the predator gene. Because if I stay in control, I know I’ll make the right choices. I’ll die before I fight like my father did. But I’d rather do something spectacular. And I’m stuck here until I figure out what that’s going to be.

I’m not one of Mandel’s predators, but I am a Dux, and my new duties must be addressed immediately. Gwendolyn keeps complaining that we’re far behind schedule. The next semester begins in two days. The Beauty Pageant will take place tomorrow night, and I still haven’t had my sneak peek at the newbies. Gwendolyn said she’d give me a debrief over lunch. It’s just past noon, and I’m eager to get to the cafeteria before the Wolves arrive. I don’t want to parade my new limp in front of them. But showering isn’t the simple operation it once was. I clean only the parts that are already reeking. While I mow through two weeks of stubble, I check my new battery-powered, cordless alarm clock and see that I’m running late.

Gwendolyn is sitting on her own, her face lit by the glow of the tablet computer in her hands. She’s chosen a table in the far corner of the cafeteria so I’ll have to hobble past every student at the academy. Gwendolyn wants them all to get a good look at me. I’m wounded and vulnerable. I start to expect an ambush the second I set foot in the lunchroom. The Wolves have gathered at two tables near the jumbo-sized screen that displays the new rankings. Ella is wedged between Caleb and Leila. I scan the rankings list and see that she’s taken Ivan’s place at number 12. My own name is all the way at the top. The Wolves watch as I limp across the room. I give them the finger with my good hand. No one snarls or growls. All but one of them glance back down at their trays. Ella keeps her eyes on me. It must be my imagination, but it almost looks like she’s smiling.

At first I’m baffled. I’ve given Austin, Leila, Caleb, and Julian every reason to kill me. The four of them could rip me to shreds before the lunch on their plates has time to cool. It’s possible that Mandel ordered his pets not to pounce. But I’m starting to think that there might be another reason they haven’t attacked. Before I was Dux, the whole pack would have benefited if I’d been eliminated. Now that I have the title, one of the Wolves stands to gain much more from my death. Caleb is number 2 in the rankings. He’ll still be seventeen in September—too young to graduate—which means he’s here for another year. If I die and Gwendolyn heads to Harvard, he’ll be named the school’s Dux. But his friends won’t help him because they all want the top place for themselves. Not a single Wolf will sacrifice for the sake of the pack. They’d rather suffer under a leader they despise. That means even though I’m at my weakest, I’m safer here than I’ve ever been.

I always thought the tracking chips were what kept the Wolves in their cage. Now I can see I was wrong. Even the most advanced technology couldn’t stop a pack of twelve brilliant beasts. Together, they could find a way to beat the chips. But Wolves aren’t team players. None of them could escape on their own—and they won’t work together. They’re each too busy trying to win the big prize. They’ll never stop playing Mandel’s game. And they’ll never realize that they’re nothing but pawns.

When Gwendolyn spots me approaching, she hops up and kisses my cheek. “How do you like being a gimp?” she whispers sweetly in my ear.

My grin becomes a wince as I lower my aching body onto the stool opposite hers. “Look, Fang, why don’t we put an end to this bullshit. You don’t want to be with me. And I’m not interested in cuddling up with a bitch that bites. Now that we’re both Dux, I don’t see any reason to keep putting on a show for the underachievers.”

“We can’t stop.” She says it through her teeth.

“Sure we can. Just tell Mandel that you gave me the boot. He’s probably figured out that you hate me. You haven’t been doing a very good job of hiding it lately.”

Gwendolyn leans forward, her hands pressed flat against the table like she’s about to spring across it and eat me alive. “Let me explain something to you, Flick. Mr. Mandel knows exactly how much I loathe you, but it doesn’t make any difference. You’re my big project this semester. Lucas was my last assignment. I was supposed to help the little wuss grow a pair of balls, but I failed. This is my last chance to graduate. If you screw up, I’m never getting out of this building.”

I’m almost disappointed in Gwendolyn. I thought she was savvier than this. “Mandel is full of shit. . . .”

Gwendolyn grabs the wrist of my injured arm. Shut up! she mouths as her nails puncture my skin.

I pull her painted claws out of my flesh. “You think I care if he’s listening? You didn’t fail your last project. You were set up. Mandel never expected Lucas to kill that airline CEO. You were given an assignment you couldn’t complete so you’d be desperate to prove yourself the next time around. Mandel knew I was going to be your project this semester, and he wanted you to be willing to do whatever he asked.”

Gwendolyn sticks out her lower lip like she’s mocking a child. “What difference does it make if he tricked me? Are you trying to tell me that life isn’t fair? Are you really that pathetic?”

It seems like a good time to test my new theory, so I reach for the tablet computer and type out a note.

Why should we have to play Mandel’s little games? You and I are the best of the best. We could take over this place if we put our heads together.

“And what if we did?” Gwendolyn asks. She’s choosing her words carefully. As much as she despises me, she won’t say anything that might condemn me. “You want me to believe that we’d live happily ever after? I’m not stupid. I know you’d find some way to get rid of me. If I didn’t get to you first.” She thinks my proposal was nothing more than a ploy—and an incredibly lame one at that.

I decide to give it another shot, just to be sure. “Why would I want to get rid of you, Gwendolyn? We could be invincible together. Even Mandel thinks we make a great team. He’s letting us share the Dux title, isn’t he?”

She replies in a whisper so soft that the words dissolve into the air. “Yes, and I’d kill you right now if I could. I didn’t work my ass off for three years to share. And if you keep talking like this, we’ll both end up dead. Do you understand? So shut your mouth and smile for the idiots.”

I give her my toothiest grin.

“Good. Now let’s get down to business.” She shoves the tablet computer back across the table. I catch it just before it flies over the edge.

The form on the screen contains a few fascinating facts about a kid named Max. He’s six foot four, 218 pounds. He just turned sixteen, and he’s spent the last two years in juvie. It says he was convicted of four counts of aggravated assault, but it doesn’t elaborate. There’s no photograph of Max, but the description almost makes me nostalgic. He sounds just like dear, departed, decapitated Ivan. At the bottom of Max’s profile, there’s a little box labeled type. It contains a plus mark.

“Scroll down. There’s information on all six new students,” Gwendolyn says.

“What does this mean?” I ask, pointing to the type box. It must mean Max is a member of the 1 percent. A psychopath, a born predator. But I’m curious to find out if Gwendolyn knows.

My question was perfectly reasonable, and yet Gwendolyn snorts as if it’s proof I’m an imbecile. “It means Max has the kind of blood you can donate to anyone. If he dies, the school will store his blood in case another student needs a transfusion. There’s usually a kid in each class who has the right type. I have it too.”

“Interesting. But why the plus mark? The ‘universal donor’ blood type is O negative.”

“Why are you asking me?” Gwendolyn demands.

“Just making conversation,” I reply as I scroll through the files. There are three females—Flora, Violet, and June—and two more males—Orson and Hugo. Of the six, only Max has a plus sign in the type box. “When do we get to inspect the fresh meat?”

“After lunch. Mr. Mandel has arranged an exhibition.”

First we get bread, then a circus. Mandel knows how to keep his top people happy. “You mean a fight? Like the time I kicked Ivan’s ass for your viewing pleasure?”

“Yes. But today it’s not just for fun. Mr. Mandel told us to pay close attention. There’s something strange going on with this Incubation Group. He wants to see what we think.”

“Strange? In what way?”

“He didn’t say, and I’m not a mind reader,” Gwendolyn snaps. “Why do you keep asking all these retarded questions?”

She’s really starting to piss me off. “You know, darling, you might try being more pleasant,” I warn her. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure you flunk out of school. And I’ve seen what Mandel does to the kids who don’t graduate. I bet he’d love to take a cranial saw to your pretty little skull.”

• • •

The elevator gates open, and we enter the Incubation Suites. The name finally makes sense to me now. I was imagining babies and birds when I should have been thinking tenth-grade biology. The
incubation period
starts when you catch a disease. It ends when you begin to show the first symptoms.

Gwendolyn uses a card key to unlock one of the two Employee-Only doors that I remember from my own stay in the Suites. Just as I suspected, behind the first door is a set of stairs leading up to the glass-enclosed catwalk.

“What’s behind door number two?” I ask, pointing down the hall. “A lady or a tiger?”

“Storage, you dolt,” my tour guide responds. “That’s where they keep all the furniture they’re always moving around.” I can’t even tell if she got my joke. A month ago, Gwendolyn would have laughed just to humor me. Now she only has two settings—silent and snarling.

When we reach the top of the stairs, she grabs a remote control from its cradle on the wall. The device has a single red button, and Gwendolyn keeps her thumb on it as we stride toward our destination. She must be worried I’ll snatch her precious remote away, but I’m too entertained by this rare behind-the-scenes glimpse of the Mandel Academy. Walking down the catwalk is like floating through the open air. You’re so high up you can’t help but feel like a god.

Gwendolyn clicks the red button before we enter the gym. The stretch of catwalk in front of us shimmers. The glass looks a shade milkier, but we’ll have a perfectly clear view of Mandel’s “exhibition.”

“Max, June. On the mat!” I recognize the voice of my former self-defense instructor.

Far below, seven people assume their positions. Two of them will be facing each other in battle. But it doesn’t appear to be a fair match. One of the combatants is a beast of a boy. The other is a tall, willowy girl with jet-black hair pulled up in a bun.

I take a step toward the glass, and my own ghostly reflection comes into view. My mouth is open, and my good hand is preparing to wave. My teeth almost touch, and my tongue presses against the top of my mouth, but Joi’s name never makes it past my lips. I watch my hand fall to my side. The only thing I hear is the sound of my heart trying to break free from my chest.

I thought I’d forgotten her, but I didn’t even need to see her face. I would have known her by the curl of her hair, the shade of her skin, the curve of her spine, the length of her fingers. Nothing about her has changed. She’s the girl I watched treading water. The girl who smiles in her sleep. The girl who didn’t need to be told how much I loved her.

The girl I deserted and betrayed is down there on the mat. Mandel has brought me here to watch her fight one of his predators. I won’t let Joi get slaughtered today. But even if she survives this sick exhibition, it’s only a matter of time before she knows what I’ve done. She’ll hear about Gwendolyn. She’ll discover just what it takes to be Dux at this school. And she’ll hate me even more than she already does.