Nightmare Academy (23 page)

The kids picked up on that idea quickly. “Yeah! One family!” “King Alex!” “We can get our stuff back!” “No more raids! Cool!”

Easley spoke to Alex, knowing Brett would hear him. “And Brett could be your lieutenant. He was pretty brave to take you on. 1 know he could serve you well. Couldn't you, Brett?”

Brett propped himself up on his elbows and looked to the crowd all around him.

“One world!” they cheered. “One world! One world!”

Brett looked up at Alex, searching his face.

Alex dropped the smirk and actually looked kind. “Hey. You give me respect, then I'll respect you and we'll put everything back together. You get your stuff, we get ours, we stand together. Sound good?”

Brett thought, listened to the crowd, and finally smiled con-cedingly. “Okay.”

Alex helped Brett to his feet, and with their arms around each other's shoulders, they raised their free hands to the crowd.

The cheer from the kids echoed across the campus. The war was over. They were getting better and better.

Alex winked at Elisha. She smiled politely.

He smiled gloatingly at Elijah. Elijah tried to smile but couldn't find a reason to do so.

Ms. Jennifer Whitman, principal of Smithson High School in Denver, had met Kathy Simons. “She's one little ball of energy, let me tell you! I think she covered just about every high school in greater Denver.”

“What did she do?” Sarah asked.

“She was a recruiter. She presented the program to us, we recommended some candidates, and then she did the final screening. Three of our kids qualified, so we're proud of that.”

“So what can you tell us about the academy?” asked Nate. “We have two kids who are interested.”

Ms. Whitman gave them a consoling look. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think the program's been discontinued.”

Sarah didn't have to pretend surprise. “Really?”

“The government gave it a test run, I guess, and decided to scrap it. That's a shame because I think it was definitely time for such a project.”

“Well, what was it?” Nate asked.

Ms. Whitman reached into a desk drawer and pulled out three brochures, all similar in size and style, but different in one strange way: The photographs in each brochure were of a different academy; different buildings, different setting, and different address on the back. “The Knight-Moore Academy was a two-week program offered for four summers in four different locations around the country. We got involved in the academy held in Borland three years ago. It wasn't for everybody. It was experimental, and all the students went into it fully aware of that.”

“What kind of experiment?” Sarah asked.

“A team of educators wanted to explore new techniques in education from a global perspective, and I think it worked. The kids came back with a wider, fresher, well,
global
understanding. I think they came to realize that there is definitely more than one way to look at things. There are many different truths out there.”

Nate read the different locations on the brochures. “So there was one in Illinois two years ago, one in Virginia a year ago, and the one in Colorado three years ago.”

“And the very first one was, I believe, in Southern California. I don't have any information about that.”

“Could we make some photocopies of these brochures?” Nate asked.

“Certainly.”

“And, uh, you don't have any current address or phone number for Kathy Simons, do you?”

“Just the information on the back of the brochure.”

As they drove back to the airport in their rented car, Nate spouted a question bothering him. “If the Knight-Moore Academy is a government project, why doesn't Morgan know about it? Why doesn't the president know about it?”

Sarah leafed through the photocopies of the brochures. “So far we've seen a youth shelter and an entire campus disappear. What if these other campuses aren't there anymore?”

“We'd better hope they are.” She looked at him for a further explanation, and he responded, “Because if they aren't there anymore, then wherever the kids were taken . . .”

“Okay. No need to say it.” She sorted through the photocopies and the scanned photograph of the mysterious redhead. “I'll fax all this stuff to Morgan.”

The music from the Rec Center could be heard anywhere on campus. Elijah could hear the thumping bass notes even from behind the library where he'd returned to his secluded little spot by the lonely fence post. This time, he had a length of thread he'd pulled painstakingly from the edge of his bedsheet, his official KM flashlight, and a small, six-foot tape measure he'd purchased at the Campus Exchange.

It was a clear, beautiful night. The stars were out. Perfect. He immediately found the Big Dipper and, from there, the North Star. Now all he had to do was use the post, the thread, and the tape measure to answer the big question of the evening: Exactly how high in the sky, in degrees, was the North Star?

The Rec Center was hopping again. Everyone was back, feeling safe, having a great time, and actually celebrating having a Student King on Campus. In the lounge area near the vending machines, Alex sat on a picnic table, presiding over the restoration of all stolen—or rather,
shared
—goods, wearing his recently recovered tie around his head like a victor's wreath, a token of the new peace accord. Tonya had her blouse again, Samuel had his white shirt and tie, and Marvin had just received his shoes. Melinda was moping a bit; she'd returned the Walkman she'd taken, but was still “sharing” a Walkman with Charlene, who didn't respect her very much.

Mr. Easley happened to be there that night, smiling as broadly as ever, patting backs and giving hugs. “I think it's going to work.”

“We're getting better and better,” said Britney, groping in her pockets. She turned to Madonna. “Can I borrow a KM?”

“Get your own,” said Madonna, in a mood.

“C'mon, I want to buy a Coke.”

“Yeah, and maybe I'm tired of you mooching all my KMs. Try earning a few.”

Easley overheard them and called out, “Hey, we're celebrating!”

They only pouted at him.

“Okay, tell you what.” He went to the pop machine, used a key from his pocket, and swung the machine open. “Nobody owns this pop, anyway We have all things in common. Let's pass the drinks around and celebrate our new unity!”

Now, that drew a crowd! A happy riot gathered instantly and the machine was empty in a matter of minutes.

Alex held his pop can high. “Three cheers for Mr. Easley! Hip hip!”

They all hoorayed the three cheers, cans high in the air.

Easley waved to them all. “Gotta go. Have fun.” He went out the door as they cheered after him.

“Better and better!” Cher, formerly Marcy, cheered, holding her pop can high.

Elisha, sitting on the bench next to Cher, looked glumly at her can of pop and just shook her head.

“Now what's the matter?” Cher asked.

“Better and better. I get so sick of hearing that.”

“What's the matter with better and better?”

“You're not thinking, Marcy—I mean, Cher. If there's no truth, then how can we know we're getting better? Better than what? How can we know the difference?”

“It
feels
better.”

“Just like 'Cher' feels better than 'Marcy.' But can't you see? Both those names are a fantasy. This whole place, this whole
thing
is just one big lie.”

Cher thought about that only a moment, then asked, “So who are
you
really?”

“Sally!” Alex called from his perch on the picnic table. “Hey, Sally!”

Elisha didn't realize he was calling her.

“Hey,” said Britney, “the king's calling you.”

Elisha remembered her assumed name. “Oh. What?”

Alex came striding over, pop can in hand, makeshift tie-crown around his head. “What'd I tell you? I said we were going to even things up. Well, it's starting to look that way.”

She looked up at him, unable to find anything about him that she liked. “Congratulations.”

“Wanna go for a walk?”

“No, thank you.”

Britney was shocked. “Sally, I don't believe you!”

Madonna threw in her two bits. “If he was asking me . . .
whoa!"

“Better listen to 'em,” said Alex, reaching out his hand. “Things are changing and I'm worth knowing.” He took her by her wrist and tugged her to her feet.

“No, please.”

He responded, only half jokingly, “Hey, you don't say no to the king.”

With a quick and simple defensive move, Elisha broke his grip on her wrist.

There was a hush. The party stopped. No one moved.

“Whoooa . . . ,” came a murmur in the crowd.

Elisha stood her ground, looking Alex in the eye, hoping she had made herself clear.

He leaned forward, raised a hand, about to say something—

“Alex.” It was Warren, stepping forward. “Come on. She's

Jerry's girl—”

Alex planted one huge hand in Warren's chest and shoved him violently into the guys behind him. “That's
your
opinion.

But if you think we have two different viewpoints, then maybe you and me better get together and see if we can come up with a new one.”

“Cool,” said Ramon.

But Warren was looking past Alex. Everybody was. Alex looked over his shoulder.

It was Elijah, just inside the door. There was no question he'd heard what Alex said. Now everyone was staring at him, and Alex and everyone's eyes said “Trouble.”

Alex was in a spot. Everyone was watching him, and he had a throne to defend. He turned to face Elijah directly. “You heard what I said. How about it?”

Elijah looked to his sister for any cues. She was visibly upset and shook her head faintly to warn him.

Elijah stood there a moment, looking at the crowd and then at Alex, and then he couldn't help snickering. “So this is how it works now, huh? You win a fight and suddenly you're dictating opinions and looking for more fights so you can dictate
more
opinions.” He said to the crowd, “You see what's happened here?

You throw truth out the window and the next thing you know, guys like him start pushing their way in. And if he's the king, what does that make the rest of you?”

Alex started toward him. “I'm gonna shut that mouth of yours.”

“Alex!” It was Warren.

Alex looked back. In that window of time, Warren went quickly to Elijah's side.

“I owe you one,” he told Elijah.

The sight of them side by side said everything.

Alex had to think about this one.

“Hey, guys, come on,” said Madonna, “we're supposed to be having a party.”

“What's wrong with a rumble?” said Ramon.

“Alex, you're the king,” said Britney. “Don't spoil it. Let's just have fun.”

The murmur rippling through the crowd was beginning to lean heavily toward peace and partying.

Brett, his face still puffy, came alongside Alex. “Save it. You're the king. Enjoy it.”