Secret of the Sevens (13 page)

“Yes, sir,” I say through gritted teeth.

Boyle nudges Jack between the shoulder blades and he takes a couple tentative steps toward me.

“Good luck, Jack,” he says before leaving the two of us alone, staring at each other.

“Well, come on then,” I tell the kid.

Clutching Woody in one hand, Jack drags his beat-up cowboy suitcase in the other. When he nears me, I notice his lower lip quivering.

“Here, let me get that, buddy.” I reach down and grab the luggage. “By the way, I'm Talan.”

I give him my hand to shake, but he just stands there, clutching Woody to his chest and staring at my fingers. His sad puppy eyes are welling up.

Damn you, Headmaster Boyle.

The way he tries to blink his tears away makes my shoulders slump. I reach my hand down and gently take hold of his. “Is this okay?” I ask him. “I like to hold hands with my new friends.”

He nods, clenching his trembling lips.

“C'mon. Don't do that, kid. You'll be okay.” I tug him forward by the hand.

Struggling in his boots, he takes three steps for every one of mine. I walk super slow, watching his eyes survey the streets like he's landed on an alien planet. We make it to the corner and he tucks his chin down. I can't hear a peep, but I know he's crying by the way his tiny shoulders bob up and down.

Awww, geez.

He pulls his arm away and hides his face in his hands. I kneel down and reach for him, unsure what to do next. I pat his back with awkward little taps, feeling useless until he falls weeping into my chest. His skinny arms wrap around my ribs and his shaking body melts onto mine. My arms bundle him while he sobs into my shoulder. Snot and tears soak my hoodie, but I couldn't give a damn. I'd give anything to make him feel better right now.

At this moment, I understand why the Shanahans do what they do. And why William and Mary Singer founded this school. Why Coach Gaspari pumps up even the suckiest players and why my counselor refuses to give up on me. People gotta look out for one another.

I'm clearly hanging with Laney too much.

Jack's breathing settles after a couple minutes, and he lifts his head.

“You feeling better, little man?”

He wipes his runny nose with his sleeve and nods.

“Here, hop up.” I turn my back to him. “I'm gonna give you a real Talan Michaels horseyback ride all the way to your new house.”

He climbs up and once I have him good, I grab the luggage and gallop all the way down Mill Street to Homestead Drive. When we get to his house, I set the suitcase down and slide him off carefully.

I crouch next to him and point at Hampton House. “This is your new home, Jack.”

He looks at it the same way I look at a dark, cramped closet. His hand slips back into mine and holds on for
dear life.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I whisper. “Mr. and Mrs. Foster are the nicest, coolest houseparents here. I promise. You're going to have so much fun, so don't be scared. Okay?”

He nods and I walk him to the porch. The door opens and Mrs. Foster steps out. “Hi Talan, thanks for bringing him.” She bends down with a huge smile. “Hi Jack. We've been waiting for you. All the kids are so excited to meet you.” She holds out her hand for him, but he cowers behind my leg.

He looks up at me and squeezes my fingers even tighter.

I kneel beside him. “It'll be okay. I promised, didn't I? You're gonna like it here.” I point across the street. “Now, you see that house with the bright red door?”

Jack leans around me.

“That's where I live. We're brothers now, so if you ask your housemother, you can come over whenever you want and hang with me. Okay?”

He nods.

“Anytime you feel scared or lonely, you get your butt over and ring my bell. Got it?” He giggles at the word
butt
.

Jack finally lets go of my hand and takes Mrs. Foster's. She grabs the suitcase from me, and Jack steps through the doorway with big clunky steps.

“Hey, Jack?” I say. He looks over his shoulder at me. “Your past won't dictate your future.” His forehead grows lines like I said it in Chinese. “It means you're gonna be happy here. Just give it a chance and let people help you.”

Twenty-three

As I walk in the front door, Dad breezes by with a bucket of tools in his hand. “Talan, your friends are waiting for you in your room.”

“Who?” I ask, yanking my hoodie over my head.

As he heads for the garage, he calls back, “Zack Hunter and Cameron Something-or-other.”

The hairs on my neck stand up. I turn, and Laney is watching me from the family room. She frowns and lifts her palms in a
what's up
gesture. I shrug, trudge to my room, and slowly open the door.

Zack stretches back on my bed, while Cameron stares at a poster on my wall. When he notices me, Cam says, “I didn't know you liked the Broken Popes. I can get you tickets and an off-campus pass for their April concert if you're interested.”

I toss my hoodie on my bed. “What do you want, Cameron?”

“Why don't you close the door so we can talk?”

When I go to shut the door, I notice Laney standing in the hall outside, listening. I keep it open just a crack.

“Mind getting up?” I ask Zack. “That's my only comforter. I'd hate to have to burn it.”

His lip snarls and he starts to say something when Cameron waves him to stop. Zack stands up and I notice something. “Nice penny loafers.”

“They're Cole Haans,” he says, all cocky.

“Well, you should give them back. She might need them for the sock hop.”

Zack lunges forward, but Cameron's arm flies up to stop him. “It's a designer, Tal.”

I interrupt him. “I know who he is. I was making fun of Zack.” I look them both up and down. “New North Face
jackets too? Did you rob the Executive Building?”

“They were a gift,” Cameron says. “From Mr. Kane.”

“Oh. A gift. Is that what you call selling out for money?” I get comfortable on my bed, lying back and bending my arms behind my neck. “Why don't you tell me what you want so I can get back to sleep.”

“Mr. Kane has a message: If you can't beat us, join us.”

I sit up. “I can beat you? Awesome. Let me grab my bat.”

Cameron's dying to let me have it, but he can't. I can see it in his eyes. It's not self-control that's holding him back. It's Stephen Kane. “Let me ask you something,” he says. “Have you heard about the damage the Sevens did around campus?”

“The Sevens didn't do that,” I snap.

“How would you know?” Zack says.

“I don't. It's just a hunch, but it seems more like something a group of six douchebags might do.”

Zack clenches his fist. “You really should be more afraid.”

“Afraid of what? You?” I laugh. “You're the ones who should be scared.”

“We don't have a thing to worry about.”

“Oh, I think you have a few things. Seven, to be exact.”

“So there is a Society of Seven,” Zack says.

“I have no idea what you're talking about. You keep talking about it, not me.”

“If you tell us what you know, we can make your life very easy. You might as well reap the benefits of Mr. Kane's friendship. You'll never be able to stop us.”

“If you don't think we can stop you, then why are you here?”

“
We?
So you
are
working with others.”

Damn
. “I didn't say that.”

“You did,” Cam says. “Tell us what you know, Michaels. What have you found and who's helping you?”

“Hmm. Well, I found a new friend today. A little kid named Jack. Just moved in across the street.”

“No one is going to want to be friends with you when we're done with you.”

I need to shut my mouth before I say anything else.

Hopping up, I stare down at Cameron. “You know what the best part of having ADHD is? I'll forget all about you and this stupid conversation the moment something more interesting comes to mind.” I stare off at the ceiling. “I wonder if there's any Cocoa Puffs left?”

I walk to the door and open it. My heart skips a couple thumps when I see Laney just outside. She spins around and dashes down the hall. I look back over my shoulder, relieved that they couldn't have seen her from where they're standing.

“Oh, are you two still here?” I tell them. “You know your way out, right?”

I open the door wide and they take the hint. When they pass me, Cameron pauses to whisper, “We can make things very bad for your friends.”

“I know,” I say through gritted teeth. “That's exactly why we're going to stop you.”

His eyes narrow as he hustles out, and I follow them down the hall. They reach the front door just as Josh, Jake and Marcus walk in.

Marcus' stare moves from them to me. When the door slams, he says, “What? Did you feel like slumming it today, Tal?”

I stall because I can't think of a reason I'd be talking with those two. “What do you mean?”

Marcus crosses his arms and gives me a look he usually reserves for offensive linemen.
What the hell?

“We were supposed to practice drills with Marcus this morning, remember?” Jake explains.

Shoot. That's right. Marcus is gunning for a scholarship and Coach mentioned some colleges were coming out to scout this month. We were gonna practice with him at 7:30.

“Sorry. I had detention.”

Jake nods at the door. “What were those two assholes doing here?”

“They … they heard I had weed and came to buy some.”

Marcus' head jerks back. “Weed? Where would you get weed?”

“Got me.
That's what I told them.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but stops when we hear Mom coming around the corner. She eyes them and says, “You boys get those muddy clothes off right now. I won't have you messing up this clean house.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Josh says.

Mom corrals them toward the showers, leaving me standing there alone.

Behind me, Laney whispers, “This is one weird day.”

I turn to see her leaning against the door frame. “You're telling me.”

“First, you get up early on a Sunday,” she says softly. “Then, we find a secret message in Founders Hall. And now, two Pillars try to bribe you to keep your mouth shut about information you don't have. Not to mention I watched you skipping all the way down Mill Street with a kid on your back.”

I throw my shoulders back. “I wasn't skipping. I was galloping. Girls skip. Guys gallop.”

“Where do you get these weird gender hang-ups?” she says. “I can gallop if I want. You can even skip if you want.”

“But I don't want to. 'Cause I'm a guy. Guys don't skip.”

“Forget I said anything.” She crosses her arms and comes over. “So what'd you make of Cameron and Zack's little visit?”

“Did you hear all of it?”

She nods, and I squeeze the back of my neck. “I'm afraid I said too much again.”

“I don't think you told them anything new. They already suspect someone's resurrecting the Sevens and that you're involved.”

“Yeah, but I confirmed there are other Sevens. You heard them. More than ever, we need to be sure we're never seen in public together.”

“And we can't be alone together at home because of Mom,” she reminds me. “This isn't going to be easy.”

That night, Dad walks into dinner late. “I just got off the phone with Headmaster Boyle,” he announces. “In light of the grave robbing and recent vandalism around campus, he's enforcing a 9:30 curfew for everyone.” He pans each of our faces. “If any of you know who was involved in this, I suggest you start talking. In the meantime, say goodbye to your social lives.”

There's a chorus of groans. Except for Marcus, who mumbles under his breath, “Damn Sevens.”

Twenty-four

Monday morning, I'm standing at my locker before first bell, so tired that I almost miss the black envelope taped inside the door. I rip it down and slide out a hall pass stapled to a note that says:

In case you didn't notice, there's a lesson there for you.

Marcus appears over my shoulder and says, “What's that about?”

“Nothing.” My hands fumble with the note and I almost drop it. “I have an appointment with my counselor today.”

“Uh oh. Did Boyle figure out it was you that put the
I HOPE YOU'RE AS HOT WHEN I'M SOBER
bumper sticker on his Prius?”

“No. Not yet anyhow.” I'm not sure what to say; I hate lying to my friends. It's not the same as BS-ing a teacher or whatever. I settle for a half-truth. “Ms. Bennett is still hounding me about my college plans. I guess they're in a hurry to get rid of me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Laney strolling down the hall. When she opens her locker, her widening eyes tell me that she found an envelope too.

“What are you looking at?” Marcus says. “Talan?” He checks over his shoulder and then back to me. His eyes get all squinty. “Is there something going on between you and Laney?”

“Shanahan? No.” I grab my math book and fake-shudder. “Definitely not.”

“Why? She's cute enough.” The way his gaze returns to her, roaming all over her body, bugs the shit out of me.

“She's going out with LeDouche. And quit looking at her like that. She's practically your sister.”

“She's clearly not my sister. I'm black, if you haven't noticed. She's my housemate.” He elbows me and wiggles his eyebrows. “A housemate with great boobs.”

I shove him hard without realizing it, and he drops his folder. “What, Tal? Don't tell me you never thought about her like that. You saw her in that dress.”

“It's Laney.” I glare at him. “Knock it off already. I don't like you talking about her like that.”

“Okay, okay. She's your sister, I get it.” Marcus bends down to pick up his folder and I lift my eyes and catch Laney watching me. She looks around before sliding her black envelope from behind the book she's holding. I nod that I got one too.

Marcus stands up and I slam my locker shut.

“Think you can stay out of detention long enough to work on drills this week?” he says. “Scouts are coming to the Hershey game and I want be ready.”

Ah, man. I keep forgetting I promised Marcus I'd practice with him. He has a lot riding on the next few games if he wants that D2 scholarship.

“Sure. How about tonight? After dinner.”

“Sounds good.” He slaps me on the back and leaves for class. “Catch you later.”

The minute I get to English, I flash the hall pass at Professor Gaytan and she dismisses me. I bundle up in my hoodie. The frozen grass crunches under my feet as I cross the courtyard. Between the cold morning air and anxiety over this next clue, I'm practically sprinting across campus to Founders Hall. The blue pass directs me to room number seven, otherwise known as the Singer Museum of School History.

I tiptoe inside and toss my backpack next to a chair. The vacant room is crowded with tables and a slew of display cases stuffed with school memorabilia and boring historical stuff about Singer Enterprises.

Opposite me is a long wall covered with old photographs, news articles, documents, and artwork. I wander along the bookcases that line the other three walls. The brass plate next to them explains that the books were donated from Mr. Singer's private library. I step back and my eyes follow the shelves all the way to the ceiling. Almost two stories up. No wonder the guy was so smart.

“What a coincidence.” I jump at Laney's voice.

She tucks a lock of hair behind one ear, then plops
her backpack on the table and unzips it. “So, what'd
your
note say?”

I pull the paper from my pocket. “It says, ‘In case you didn't notice, there's a lesson there for you.'” I glance up at her. “Did you get the same one?”

“No. Looks we each got a half-clue again.” She hands hers to me, then leans close while I read it:

If you read between the lines, there's a second one, too.

Laney walks around me and starts scoping out the bookcases.

“What are you doing?”

“It's elementary, Watson,” she says. “The note says, ‘In
case
you didn't notice, there's a message there for you.' It's got to be another riddle. The message must be in a book
case
or some other kind of case we wouldn't notice, like a display case or trophy case or something.”

“Oooh. Well played, you little brainia—” I catch myself before I finish.

Laney's eyebrows scrunch together. “No, you can say it—brainiac. I told you, I don't care what you think. I'm glad I'm smart.”

She walks around the room and her lavender scent pulls me behind her like a leash. “What I think,” I tell her, “is that I wish I was as smart as you.”

Laney spins around and glares at me. “Cut the act, Michaels. I'm so sick of hearing that. You
are
as smart as me. Just at different things.” She says it so casually, I think she might actually mean it.

“Yeah? Like what?”

She taps her fingers on top of a trophy case. “Are you fishing for compliments, Tal?” She slides her hand off the cabinet and crosses her arms. “Okay, I'll say it. Like how you're figuring out these clues faster than me. You've always been able to figure things and people out easily. You just use your learning disability as an excuse to be lazy. That doesn't change the fact that you're smart.”

She does mean it.

I take a deep breath and savor the moment. “No one else has ever called me smart before.”

“Yeah? Well maybe that's because you make fun of smart people. Or because you act like you'd rather be a player and an idiot jock.” She pushes past me. “Listen, I know you better than anyone, and you're as smart as any person I know. Whether you want to admit it or not. And you know I'm not saying that just to flatter you, because I don't even like you most of the time.” Her mouth puckers. “You think I want to admit you're better at this Sevens stuff than me?”

It's the shittiest compliment I ever got. And the best. I turn my head so she doesn't see the smile I can't seem to shake.

My eyes catch on some glass behind the door.

Laney's standing on tiptoes, rummaging through a bookcase. I tug on her sleeve. “Hey, hold up. I think I might have found it.”

She slides a book back onto the shelf and grunts. “Gosh dang it!” She follows me with angry, clunky steps to the opposite corner of the room.

“Check it out. There's a display case behind the door. You know, like a ‘case we wouldn't notice.'”

She quietly shuts the door and the two of us huddle in front of it. “Huh. It's a collection of stuff about William and Mary Singer,” Delaney says.

My eyes travel the line of photos along the back and settle on one of Mary. She looks about seven or eight, smil
ing atop a horse with her parents standing next to her. Wearing a helmet, of course.

In front are some scattered photographs of Mr. Singer as a boy. In the very center, there's a funny one where he's dressed up as a king in a paper crown and a pillowcase cape. Each of his arms is draped around the shoulder of another dirty-faced kid. His smaller sidekicks are dressed like knights, wearing aluminum foil helmets and holding garbage can lids like shields. One waves a toilet plunger as his sword and the other raises a broom handle. The caption underneath says:
William Singer at nine years old, pictured with his foster-brothers and life-long friends, Caesar Solomon and Carmine Rathbone.

“You gotta be kidding.” I squint at the faces, pointing out the younger one. “It's Professor Solomon.”

Laney crouches lower. “Oh my gosh.” The corners of her mouth lift as she studies the snapshot. “Solomon looked like a little troublemaker back then. Hey … that other boy is Carmine Rathbone. You know, the guy who was Chairman of the Board before Kane. They must have grown up together.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with our clue?” I say.

“I don't think so. This photo doesn't give me any kind of ‘message between the lines' unless it's trying to say something about Solomon.”

“Yeah, that's not enough to go on. Let's keep looking.”

We're squatting shoulder to shoulder on the floor when Laney's gaze hones in on a large photo at her end of the cabinet. In it, William Singer is addressing an auditorium full of Singer graduates decked out in their caps and gowns.

A smile grows on her face as her eyes dart from side to side over a quote that's next to the picture. The moment she looks at me, I know she's figured something out.

She scoots aside so I can read it:

“I want you to know that there's a secret
to being successful—follow your heart. Like a
map, it will lead you where you need to go.
Never get discouraged by life's struggles.
Just focus on the big picture and push aside
your doubts. Let hard work and character be
the framework, and you'll find what you need
to be successful and happy.”—William Singer

I don't get it right away, but I don't want to tell Laney that. She thinks I'm smart and I'm not about to prove her wrong. I reread the clue:
In case you didn't notice, there's a message there for you. If you read between the lines, there's a second one, too.

Laney's grinning at me, and clearly she can't wait. “Talan
, read between the lines
. Just skip every other line—”

“Okay!” I cut her off because I just figured it out myself:

“I want you to know that there's a secret
map, it will lead you where you need to go.
Just focus on the big picture and push aside
the framework, and you'll find what you need.”

“So there's a map! A secret map to what?”

Laney straightens up. “I guess the first thing we need to do is find the big picture he's referring to.”

I spin around toward the wall that's full of pictures. “That's easy enough.” I walk toward a humongous painting hanging in the very center—a collage made by Singer students who were asked to paint what they wanted to be when they grew up. It's a bright, mosaic mess of shapes and images, like someone ripped a painting into pieces and glued it back together all wrong.

“This is definitely the big picture,” I tell her. “Pull some chairs over and we'll check it out.”

After staring into the canvas a few minutes, I surrender. “I got nothing.”

“Me either.” She sighs. “If this is supposed to be a map that shows us where we need to go, we're screwed.”

I tap my finger on my lip. “Wait a minute. We're supposed to ‘push aside the framework.' Maybe the map isn't in the painting, maybe it's behind it. Watch the door and I'll try to take the picture down.”

Laney climbs down to stand guard, and I move my chair closer to the painting. I grab onto the frame and try to lift it, but the corners are screwed into the wall. It's not going anywhere.

Next, I push the frame from the right side, and—

Click.

The entire canvas pops forward and slides left on some kind of hinge mechanism.

“You did it!” Laney whisper-yells from the doorway.

From where she's standing, she can't see what's behind the picture—a map with a note stapled to it:

Fourth Test
-
Justice: The truth will set you free.

Time: This Evening, 7:00 P.M.

2 get N the tunnel
U must use the key,
4 an entrance like this is legendary.
F U
R reading this note,
U can solve this next clue.
O, UR founder was YS, ND.
R U?

I slide the papers out from under the flat clips that hold it there. After gliding the picture back in place, I spread everything out on the table.

Laney locks the door and comes over. We lean over the blueprint, studying the buildings and landmarks.

I run my fingers along the dark double lines that run between three buildings. “I don't remember these roads.”

Laney surveys the drawing. “They're not roads. They're tunnels, I think.” She points out the larger shapes at the ends. “Look. These are all the newer buildings. The ones Singer would have been constructing in Phase I. The double lines can't be roads. They stretch from building to building and travel right through things like the graveyard and softball fields.”

She's right. The lines cross campus in perfectly straight paths that would have to be below ground.

“That son of a gun.” Laney grins as her gaze skims the paper. “Singer must have gotten the idea from the steam tunnels in the older buildings. But how did he pull this off without being discovered?”

“William Singer was one of the richest men in America when he died. Money makes things like this a lot easier.” My finger navigates one path to a square on the paper labeled
Singer Res.
“What's this?”

Laney leans closer and inspects it. “That must be Mr. Singer's residence. According to the map, this is the northwest corner of campus. His house is the only building that far north.”

“You mean Headmaster Boyle's house?”

“Yep. Mr. Singer built a home on campus to live in while he oversaw the construction. When he died, the school decided to use it as the headmaster's residence.”

“You mean there's a secret tunnel that leads to Boyle's house? Oh man, this could be great.”

Laney points to another tunnel that dead ends in the cemetery. “Where do you think this one goes?”