Masterminds (10 page)

It's funny. You almost never see Purples around town. Their focus is on the Plastics Works. Why are they watching
Eli's house? If he's sick, he needs doctors, not sentries.

I can't help but think back to the note we found in Randy's pool filter, the one I was so sure was a joke. Well, I'm not laughing anymore. I don't know if Randy's on a farm or at a school, or if there are “special” people in Serenity, or even if I might be one of them.

But there is one part of Randy's letter that I agree with 100 percent. There really does seem to be something screwy going on in this town! I don't even care that much about what it is. I just want Eli back, safe and sound.

And then one day, there he is.

“. . . one nation under God, indivisible, with unity and gladness for all.”

We're just finishing the Pledge of Allegiance when Eli walks into the classroom. I've practically forgotten what he looks like. But he looks good. Better yet, he looks fine—completely healthy. We all jump up to welcome him. I want to throw my arms around him, but one glance at Malik tells me to hang back. (I don't think Amber could handle another blow to her Contentment grade.)

“All right, settle down,” says Mrs. Laska, smiling. “Take your seats, everybody. You too, Eli. Today, you're the guest of honor.”

“Thanks for the plant,” he says sheepishly. “It died.”

“We're just happy to have you back. Now, turn to page 214 . . .”

I don't get a chance to talk to Eli until lunch, and then I can't find him. In a school of twenty-nine, this is ridiculous. I wander all over the schoolyard and finally locate him in the trees. He's in the middle of an animated conversation with Malik—not my favorite person these days.

Their faces are flushed, their arms waving. But as soon as I get there, they clam up. It's pretty obvious that my arrival has interrupted something important.

“Scram,” Malik tells me. Always the diplomat.

I ignore him and focus on Eli. “Tell me what happened to you.”

“You saw Randy's letter,” he says stiffly. “You didn't believe it.”

I stare at him. “What does the letter have to do with being sick?”

“I
wasn't
sick. I showed the note to my father and he spent the next two weeks feeding me full of pills to make me forget it ever existed.”

“Where would he get pills like that?”

He points at Malik. “From
his
dad! They were in on it together!”

Astounded, I turn to Malik. “And you're fighting with him for accusing your father?”

“I'm not fighting with him!” Malik defends himself. “This is how I talk! I was trying to tell him something when you barged in, so take a hike.”

“Why can't I hear it too?” I demand.

“Because if Randy's letter made you go all clammy, you're not going to be too thrilled with what I have to say.”

“I—” I hesitate. “Maybe I'm not so sure about that anymore.”

“I just spent two weeks flat on my back, spitting pills into a potted plant,” Eli says bitterly. “And I'll be right back there if my dad finds out about this conversation.”

I'm appalled. “I would never tell on you!”

“Maybe
you
wouldn't,” Malik counters, “but what if you confide in your soul sister, Amber? She's the biggest fangirl Happy Valley ever had!”

“That's not fair—” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, though, I realize he's right. Poor Amber is losing her mind over a B-plus. Her mother has her on double Meditation because she stomped on Malik's toe. We've all bought into what our parents and teachers have told us, but Amber's the most devoted. If she thinks we're
conspiring against the Serenity way of life, she'll blow the whistle on us for sure.

“I won't tell her. I swear.” Part of me can't believe I'm promising to keep something from my best friend.

Malik looks to Eli, who nods his approval.

“I don't think the plastics factory makes very many traffic cones,” Malik says evenly.

Of all the things I expect, this has to be dead last. “How can you say that? There are truckloads of them being hauled out of town every day!”

Malik shakes his head. “I thought so too. But if you look close, they've only got three trucks—four, tops. It seems like more because they never go anywhere. They just drive around Happy Valley, lugging the same cones. They've been at it for weeks. Maybe for years.”

“How could you know that?”

He explains about the skateboarding accident and how the stains from Hector's nosebleed are still on the shipment. “I'm not as positive about the other trucks, but I'm starting to recognize them—you know, a dent here, a scratch there. No way have they got more than three or four. And the cones aren't freshly made product—not all covered in dust like that.”

My head is spinning. “But my
parents
work at that
plant! And not just mine—it supports the whole town!”

“I'm starting to suspect that a lot of the information we get might be wrong,” Eli puts in. “I had a pretty weird experience on the internet during that storm. I got two completely different web pages on the same topic. I mean
really
different.”

I must seem stunned, because Malik shoots me a look. “Heard enough yet?”

“Something's not right, something very basic to this town and our lives,” Eli says earnestly. “And whatever it is, all our parents seem to be mixed up in it.”

My head is pounding and my pulse is racing. What happened to Eli is scary, but that can be blamed on two people—Mr. Frieden and Dr. Bruder. But the Plastics Works is
everybody
—every adult in town—including Steve and Elizabeth Pritel!

Mom and Dad, who spoil me, who spent a fortune finishing the attic so I could have an art studio! Dad, who calls me Torific, and tells me I'm the princess of his heart! They go to that factory every day and come home and talk about the traffic cone business!

Is it all a lie? “There must be some explanation—”

Malik reads my mind. “Don't even think about asking your parents! They're up to their necks in this, just like
everybody else. That's rule number one—no parents!”

Eli regards me kindly. “You can still back out, you know, Tori. We trust you to keep this secret.”

Secrets. Lies. Those used to be dirty words, alien customs of an outside world we don't have to worry about here. How could so much have changed so quickly? Oh, how I wish I could roll back the last month and erase all this craziness.

But it's too late for that.

I have one final question for them. “What do you mean ‘back out'? Back out of what?”

Eli mulls this over a moment. “Well, we can't ask anybody, because we can't trust anybody. If we want to get to the bottom of this, we're going to have to do it on our own.”

“Now you're talking,” Malik approves. “Where do we start?”

They stare at each other, and it's obvious they've thought not an inch beyond deciding to take action.

To my surprise, the voice that breaks the silence is my own. “We start with the one thing we know for sure—the Plastics Works. If they're not making traffic cones, what
are
they doing in there?”

It takes a few days for things to get back to normal around our house. Eventually, though, life resumes its regular boring rhythm. Boring is good. My father likes order and sameness, which makes it hard for him to peek into my room and check on me at all hours of the night. Soon I'm the one checking on him. He sleeps like a baby, and snores like a buzz saw.

That's when I give the go-ahead to put our plan into action.

Every time I think about what I'm doing, I feel like my head's going to explode. That's when I remind myself of what my dad and Dr. Bruder did to me. It's always good for a surge of courage.

Serenity isn't the liveliest place in the middle of the
day. At night you could safely roll a giant boulder up Amity Avenue without putting anybody in danger. And at two o'clock in the morning, it's dark and silent as a tomb.

I ease myself out through the back door, convinced that I'm going to be the only one crazy enough to report for this expedition. The kids of Serenity follow the rules 100 percent. The town charter has no provision for sneaking around.

The meeting place is under the big maple tree at the corner of Amity and Fellowship. I'm equal parts amazed and relieved to find Tori there waiting for me. She seems terrified.

“I thought for sure it would be just me,” she says, a slight tremor in her voice.

“Me too. Where's Malik?” I'm wondering if something went wrong—a medical issue somewhere in town that would have Dr. Bruder awake and about. We have no backup plan. Do we go home or continue on as a twosome? The thought of weaseling out of this is more attractive than I'd like to admit.

But no such luck. I make out a hulking dark figure approaching along Amity.

“Sorry I'm late,” Malik greets us. He may be big and tough, but he looks twice as scared as we are.

The three of us start down the Fellowship hill toward the chimneys of the Plastics Works. It's a moonless night, so dark that when you step away from somebody, the face disappears almost immediately. We might as well be in deep space.

The factory is absolutely still—a shadow that could just as easily be a small mountain as a building. There are only a handful of lights, none of them much brighter than a bug zapper. Considering this is supposed to be a major manufacturing corporation, it sure looks like nobody's home.

We don't see the perimeter fence until we're almost upon it. It's eight feet high, and seems even higher in the darkness. We begin to circle the property, looking for a way in. At last, we arrive at the electronic gate. Three traffic cone trucks are parked on the roadway just inside.

“There could be others,” Tori suggests. “You know, out of town making deliveries.”

“You guys want to see Hector's blood?” Malik offers.

“We'll take your word for it,” I decide.

As far as I know, no kid has ever been inside the Plastics Works. The plant is off-limits except to employees, and there are no open houses or take-your-children-to-work
days. That's what makes the next step so difficult. Once past that gate, there's no pleading innocence or playing dumb. Everybody knows it's forbidden territory. Worse, the plant is Purple People Eater country. We may make fun of their big teeth and photosynthesis, but nobody wants to tangle with them.

The gate is a little shorter than the fence—perhaps seven feet. Climbing over it feels like passing a point of no return. When we jump to the ground, the impact of our shoes on the gravel resounds like fireworks, and we scramble to the dirt path as quickly as we can.

Another crunch—a footstep? Is somebody there? A hand squeezes my wrist. It's Tori, her face ghostly white.

I count silently—ten seconds, then twenty.

“False alarm,” I whisper.

We scamper toward the building itself, taking a quick inventory of all doors and windows. Our plan is simple: Find a window, look inside. Are they making traffic cones? What else are they doing? If we can't see anything in the first window, we move on to the next, and so on.

But the closer we get, the more it becomes apparent that the windows are a lot farther up than they appear from the road. There's no way we could boost one of us
high enough to get a look in there, not even standing on each other's shoulders. And anyway, we're not circus performers.

There's a loading bay, but the heavy folding door is padlocked shut.

“What about this?” suggests Malik. He reaches for the handle of the only other way in on this side of the building, a metal door marked
Keep Out.

“Freeze!”
Tori rasps.

“I doubt it's open,” I put in.

Tori points to the top corner of the doorframe. Two tiny strands of color run from the brick into the metal. “It's wired for an alarm. There might even be a sensor on the knob itself.”

We stare at her. Where did
that
come from? I mean, I'm grateful that she saved us from a potential mistake, but how did she
see
it? People don't even lock their doors in Serenity. What gave Tori the eagle eyes to spot an inch and a half of alarm wire?

“We can't touch anything,” I decide.

“Great,” grumbles Malik. “So we risked a heap of trouble to come here and do what? Nothing.”

None of us has an answer for that. We're standing there like idiots, when the noise reaches us—a soft
electric motor. The thought of Purple People Eaters jolts us into action. There's only one place to go—a low stand of shrubbery against the wall of the factory. We practically trample each other, scrambling into shelter just as a golf cart makes the turn around the corner of the factory and comes into view.

Flashlight beams crisscross the ground in a rhythmic pattern. My eyes follow the cones of light to their source on the cart—the indigo uniforms of the Surety.

Nobody breathes. Trembling, we crouch amid the scratchy branches as the beams sweep over us. The tension is like a fog surrounding us. I recognize one of the Purples' faces—Screaming Mimi. And the other—I squint to see past the brightness of the bulb—Alexander the Grape.

What difference does it make which ones they are? If they catch us, it's the end of the world!

In my mind, we're impossible to overlook—three clumsy bodies trying to disappear behind a few brambles.

And then the flashlights move on past. The patrol continues to parallel the wall and disappears around the far end of the complex.

It's only when the sound of the cart's motor has completely faded that we muster the courage to emerge from
the bush, one figure at a time—one . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .