Nightmare Academy (14 page)

“Same old backpack!” Charlie wheezed with laughter. “Does God answer prayer or what?”

The brochure was in color, one sheet triple-folded, and looked like it had been left in a backpack for three years. On the front were the words “Knight-Moore Academy.” Inside were photographs of a simple campus in a forested setting, classrooms full of bright, cheery students with their hands raised—apparently, all of them had the answer—and catchy claims such as, “Get a head start on your educational future,” “Learn as you've never learned before,” and “We don't just teach history; we make history!” On the back was Suzanne Dorning's phone number and the address of the academy.

“Let's call the number,” said Nate.

“I already did,” said Tyler. “It's 'disconnected or no longer in service.'”

“But we have an address,” said Sarah, studying the brochure and copying it down. It wasn't much, just the name of the academy followed by Borland, Colorado. “Wonder if Borland, Colorado, is still there?”

“We're about to find out,” said Nate.

6

RULES AND POWER

T
HE ACADEMY OFFERED A CLASS in reading and English, 1 with a choice of morning or afternoon sessions. Well, it was afternoon, and the class turned out to be mandatory, so Elijah signed up for the 3:00 P.M. session. Happily, Elisha had signed up for the same class for the same reasons, and they managed to meet on the walkway fifteen minutes before class started.

“Let's take that bench,” Elijah suggested, and they quickly moved to a small, concrete bench in the shade of the library, opening their binders and leafing through their materials for the benefit of anyone watching.

“How're you feeling?” Elijah asked.

“I think I'm finally awake,” she replied. “Do you remember the bus ride?”

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

“I think there was something in that soup we ate.”

“I think you're right. I've talked to Marcy and some of the other girls in the dorm. None of them remember the bus ride, either.”

Elijah made an effort to look like he was checking his class schedule and not look perturbed. “Doesn't that bother them?”

She could only wag her head and sigh in frustration. “I think it should, but it doesn't. At least they're
acting
like it doesn't. Elijah, it's a fantasyland. Everybody's pretending. There's a weird mind game going on here.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Do you still have your radio?”

“Yeah.”

“I have mine, too, but the headphones are gone.”

“Oh, so you're sharing.”

“Better keep a close eye on your stuff, what there is of it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I want to call Mom and Dad every night, whether they can hear us or not, whether we can hear from them or not. We could trade off each night to save batteries.”

“Okay You want to go first, tonight?”

“Okay.” She tried to smile and look like they were chatting about any old thing. “So. What are we going to do?”

“Well, we got into this whole thing to investigate, so there's always that.”

“1 want to call Mom and Dad every night,
whether they can hear us or not,
whether we can hear from them or not....”

“Well, yeah, but. .

“But where's the back door?”

“Exactly How do we get out of here if we need to? I haven't seen a road anywhere, and where is this place? They won't tell us.”

“We've got to contact Mom and Dad, that's priority uno. We need a phone. I'll take a pay phone, a cell phone, anything.”

“Haven't seen one. And Bingham said there aren't any.”

“There are. These people aren't going to go without phones, even if they expect us to.”

Other kids were passing by, making a beeline for class. Elisha checked her watch. “We'd better get to class. Marcy says Mr.

Booker is really strict.”

Mr. Booker's reading and English class convened in a classroom—a neat, well-ordered classroom. The chalkboards were recently washed. The bookshelves were neatly arranged, with all the books grouped by title and with heavy iron bookends holding them in place so not one was lying on its side. There were desks for the girls on the right side of the classroom, desks for the boys on the left side, and down the middle, a perfectly straight aisle. Whitman, Hemingway, Thoreau, and Emerson gazed down from perfectly straight portraits on the walls. There was a certain reserve on the part of the students hurriedly taking their seats; they were talking, but not loudly, and every tie, every blazer, every shoe was present and in place.

Elijah found an empty desk about halfway back—on the left side, of course—and settled in.

Elisha found a desk on the girls' side, front row, on the aisle.

“Hey. Sally, right?”

A young man with bristly black hair and holes in his face where rings and studs used to be was smiling at her.

“That's right,” she answered pleasantly. “And you are?”

“Tom Cruise. You know, the movie star?”

She gave him a careful, second look.
"You're
Tom Cruise?”

He tilted his head back and gave her what must have been a Tom Cruise smile. “Pretty impressive, huh?”

“I'm speechless.”

“Yeah, just wanted to introduce myself. I'm—”

He was interrupted by a rather rude backhand to his arm.

It was Alex, with tie straight and every wavy blond hair in place, towering over him with a mean gleam in his eye. “I think you're sitting in my desk, bub.”

Mr. Cruise said not a word, but gathered his books and went elsewhere.

Alex sank into the desk, very proud of himself.

Elisha was hoping there was a mistake. “That's your desk?”

Alex just sniffed a laugh. “If he can be Tom Cruise, this can be my desk. Call it like you want it.” He leaned toward her, giving her a smile she was supposed to like. “So how do you like the place so far?”

She looked him in the eyes. “I'm not sure I've decided. It's different. It's been very interesting.”

He gave her a once-over as he said, “Well, let me tell you, it just got more interesting.”

Suddenly, a loud, clear, booming voice at the back door startled everyone in the room. “Alex! I believe you're sitting in a desk reserved for Mr. Cruise!”

Alex turned his face forward so he could swear.

Hard heels came marching up the aisle as Elisha looked to see—

“Eyes
forward,
young lady!”

She turned forward and froze there.

Mr. Booker, in burgundy suit, a thick novel under his arm, strode mightily to the front of the class. He was middle-aged and professorial in appearance, right down to the little black reading glasses and receding hairline, but there was nothing weak about him. The way he walked, stood, and glared, this guy was scary, and now he was directing his full attention on Alex, who had the gall to glare right back at him. “You will return to your own desk. Now.”

"This
is my desk, Mr. Booker, sir.” Alex had a mocking tone.

The direct challenge made Booker pause, then tilt his head slightly, amused as if by a game. “How? By right of conquest?”

Alex looked around at the other students. “I'm
sharing
it.”

That brought a timid laugh from the others that Booker's glare cut short as if he'd used a pair of scissors.

“So that's your truth for today, is it?” Booker asked.

“Hey,” said Alex with a haughty grin, “that's how things work around here.” He looked at the rest of the class. “Huh? How about it, group? Agreed?”

He saw a whole class, some twenty kids, afraid to express the slightest opinion.

“Well,” said Booker, “this does present a problem, doesn't it? You have your truth, and I have mine. Just what are we going to do about that?”

Alex gave an arrogant shrug. “Play 'both/and,' I guess.”

“You've been listening to Easley.”

Alex just smirked, gave his head a playful, confident little wiggle—

Until Mr. Booker grabbed a fistful of Alex's perfectly combed hair and slammed his head down on the desk. The sound of Alex's skull smacking into the wood made everyone jump.

“Mr. Easley failed to include a vital part of the equation,” Mr. Booker growled in Alex's ear as Alex struggled and winced, his face beet red.
"Power,
Alex.
Power.
Something I have, and you don't.”

As everyone watched, their hearts pounding, some trembling, Mr. Booker yanked Alex out of his desk—Alex's books and papers went flying—and propelled him down the aisle to a desk halfway back. He didn't wait for Alex to sit there; he
put
him there, and then barked at Tom Cruise, who'd found an empty desk near the back, “Mr. Cruise, you will take your assigned seat, please.”