Alice in Wonderland High (24 page)

“It's . . . amazing.” A soothing melody wafted through the room, classical music. I felt like I'd entered another country. Or planet.

Whitney shrugged, then stalked to the far end of the room. Lamps hung from the ceiling, illuminating some areas with dim light, while shadows darkened others to dungeon levels. White signs were stuck in front of the plants, with their species names and various details scribbled below in her cryptic handwriting. “So what's the self-destructing message?”

While I told her about the hospital and Lorina forcing Chess to go to his aunt's, she showed me where she kept the pig: happy in a back room with an unlimited supply of feed and water. And life. “Chess hasn't contacted me yet. I'm worried.” And, oh, I missed him so much.
No, Alice, focus—you have to get him back, not freak out.
“Have you heard from him?”

“Cliffhanger alert. My mom confiscated the computer and cell phone. So you'll have to wait until I get to school tomorrow.”

“We have to figure out how to help him.”

“We're at half-mast with our members.” Whitney lifted a watering can from a shelf and quenched the thirst of a plant that sagged too far toward the ground. “And your sister knows it's us.” She set the can back down and stomped away from me without saying another word.

I rushed to catch up. “No, she's only suspicious of us releasing the animals. She hasn't connected anything else.”

“She will. As soon as she connects Chess's name to Katz Farms, she'll figure out the motivation, too.”

“She hasn't turned us in yet.”

“And we shouldn't give her reason to.” She led me to the far back corner of the basement, where she pushed aside several plants and revealed another wooden door that had been entirely concealed by leaves. “Trust me, I don't like it either.”

Inside, a miniature model of the town rested on top of a long table. Pushpins stuck all around, with strings attached to them like a cat's-cradle game. A place carpeted mostly in green farmlands was dotted with houses and apartment buildings. Each of the buildings was modeled out of clay, artistic and delicate. Sculptures as detailed as Michelangelo's.

She leaned back against the table and crossed her feet at her ankles. “This is where I keep all my plans, past and future.”

“What about the one in your room?”

“That's where I keep my notes for current missions, not my plans. Sometimes I put up false information there. And anyway, I paint over it constantly.”

She trusted me enough to say this. “So the part about flooding the school to cut off the power supply was fake?”

She smirked. “No, that was real, and apparently Kingston carried it out on his own without informing me.”

“What do you mean? He flooded the school a second time?” I ran my fingers over the sharp edges of one of the houses, painted with a red X on top, miniscule trees covering the front like enclosing vines. This must be the house I'd nearly fallen off of.

She opened a file cabinet and extracted a newspaper clipping. “
Town Hall workers are baffled by a break-in last night
, blah blah. Here we go:
At press time, power still wasn't restored and emergency workers are . . .
” She put the clipping back in the cabinet. “Some files also went missing so it had to be Kingston. When you failed at cutting off the power to the school, he must have taken it upon himself to do this instead. It certainly got notice.”

Huh. Was that what happened when the heat suddenly shut off? Great, I didn't just burglarize Town Hall and vandalize it; now I was an accomplice to private-property damage. “Why did you want to shut off the power?”

“To remind Town Hall that the plant is still closed, yet nothing's in its place.” She waved her hand over a replica of what I assumed was the parking lot that had replaced the power plant. “No new energy solution, no farm.”

I fought back a smile. “So this town replica is why you wanted to keep me away from here?”

“That, and Kingston's marijuana closet is a few doors away. Was, I mean.”

I perked up. “He got rid of them?”

“No, I did. Early Christmas present.”

My body grew hot. “Why?”

“I was arrested. They might link me to the other crimes. Might go all fancy with a search warrant. I saved his butt.”

I swallowed hard. “What did he say?”

“He doesn't know yet. That should be fun.” She swept her hand over the mini-houses. “Hope you have a photographic memory, because after today I'm making sand art out of these.”

I snatched my hand back from the table. “What?”

“I don't need them anymore. I'm done with the missions.” She bent beneath the desk and opened a drawer.

My mouth went dry. “What about Chess? He needs us!”

On the table, she fanned out five sets of manila envelopes, each labeled with cryptic phrases. “This isn't a riddle. You have the answers.”

“We have to get Chess back. He needs a house. And . . . ” I couldn't believe I was about to suggest this. “Kingston needs us, too. I want to help him.”

She scooped up the file folders and tore them in half, papers separating like broken hearts. “Kingston seems fully capable of doing things on his own. And Chess, well, he has a house now. Not his own, but . . . ” She started to tear the folders into fourths, but I yanked them out of her hands. Shrugging, she plucked a house from her town model and chucked it at the wall, shattering it and everything we had built into pieces.

“Then let's do this my way,” I said out of desperation, my voice rushed. “We'll start an eco club at school.”

She paused, another miniature house clutched in her fist. “An advertisement in school would be evidence.”

“We'll do things that are completely legal, like . . . I don't know. Start a petition or something. Things that even the township can't get us in trouble for.” Except for possibly murdering us to shut us up, but I still had hope that speculation was false. The only negative thing a petition might bring was unpopularity, something I'd gladly take over death. Or juvie.

“Petitions are worthless. So is a club with only two members.”

“We'll recruit more.”

“Have you met the other students at school?”

I let out a huff. “Maybe . . . maybe we don't need anyone else to join.” I nodded like my words made sense. “If we make a big campaign to get people involved, it could get notice, even if no one actually signs up.”

Whitney set the figurine down. “That's an interesting idea.”

“What?” A moment ago she'd hated it. But hey, I wasn't complaining. I surrendered the papers to the table as a peace offering.

“Using the start of an eco club to voice our opinion might work.”

The smile wouldn't leave my lips. “We can make signs and stand outside the school and—”

She shook her head. “No, people won't care if we do that. We need to make them pay attention. Intrigue them. Tout this as the coolest new thing to hit the school so everyone wonders why. That would get notice. Maybe if it turned out to be popular, people would actually join.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“Leave that part to me. You just set up a table outside the school tomorrow morning. I'll try not to be late.”

I couldn't think of anything that would change the students' minds, but I'd be there tomorrow. Even if it didn't work, we still had to try. Doing something open and in public might be the craziest idea of all . . . if it worked.

After Whitney assured me the coast was clear and her parents were safely occupied with some new and highly dangerous art-installation project in the kitchen, I tiptoed back up the stairs but paused by the front door. “Is Kingston home?”

She cocked her head to me. “No idea. He won't let me put a GPS tag on him.”

“Can I just check his room real quick? I have to talk to him.” Truthfully, I hoped he wasn't home. It would make it easier to snoop. My powers of persuasion weren't nearly as honed as my powers of investigation.

“Why?”

“I want to . . . thank him. For his help with the pig.”

“I'll deliver the message.”

“It will mean more coming from me.”

She studied me for a moment, obviously suspicious. “Fine, but if my parents catch you, I'm claiming you're a burglar.”

“Striking while the family's home and wearing jeans is the perfect cover.”

Whitney went into the kitchen to distract her parents with loud complaints about her unfair grounding—because wasn't getting arrested punishment enough? I tried not to giggle and instead padded through the foyer and up the stairs.

I pressed my ear against Kingston's door to listen over the loud sounds coming from downstairs. I knocked softly. No answer. I twisted the knob carefully and eased the door open.

Kingston sat cross-legged on his bed, huge earphones covering his ears. His alarm clock looked like it had been smashed in with a hammer. A large manila envelope rested next to him, and he was sliding photographs mounted on black, matte board into it. Other photographs littered his bed. One depicted a rose at the peak of bloom, crushed beneath a sneaker. Next to it, one of a gorgeous sunset taken through a streaky glass window, the vivid colors subdued by fingerprints. His eyes rose to meet mine. My stomach flipped, and I slammed the door shut.

I hustled back down the hallway, heart pounding. I had enough insight to know this wasn't something Kingston would want me seeing. Taking photos of me to use as blackmail? Manly. Taking photos of flowers and sunsets? Lost him a bit of his intimidation cred. The door burst open and Kingston emerged, headphones wrapped around his neck.

“What you saw—” He broke into a coughing fit before he could finish.

“Got into a fight with your alarm clock?”

“It started whispering things to me, mocking me. So I destroyed it.” He pounded one of his fists against the other. “Didn't stop the whispering.” He waited a few seconds. “Is that all you saw?”

I held up my hands. “Hey, I'm not like you. I don't blackmail people or reveal their secrets.”

He stared at me, coughing one last time. “I know.”

“But I
will
secretly laugh at you for taking such girly photos.”

“You thought they were—” He brought his fists to his temples and punched himself several times. After a moment, he dragged his hands down his face. “Never mind.” His fists shook at his sides. “It's not a big deal.” He forced his hands open with struggle, keeping his fingers splayed. “Just this thing that probably doesn't even matter.”

Except to him, I could see. I bit my lip. Now I felt bad for making fun of him when he was obviously insecure about it. If the situation were reversed, I knew he'd use it against me, but I was glad I held the power for once. Because I knew the best way to get people on your side was through kindness, not force.

“Why'd you come to my room, anyway?”

“Ammunition?” I raised an eyebrow for good damage-control measure.

“Didn't you learn anything from our night together?” He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “You can't walk in and steal the files back. If I wasn't here, you think I'd leave the door unlocked? I already have the voices in my head. I don't want them sneaking into my room, too.”

“Huh, and I thought you
could
walk in and steal files. Since that's what we did.” I started for the stairs, knowing defeat when I saw it. I'd have to think harder, think like Kingston instead of like Alice.

“Was what you found useful?” he asked, stopping me. He sounded almost curious, concerned.

“Sort of, but I need the rest of what you took.” At least I hoped I did. “What about yours?”

“Enough to get me started.” The cocky grin on his face returned. “So glad I snatched your folder.”

I ground my teeth together. Gah! I hated him. But more than that, I hated when he was almost nice to me. I wished he would stick with one direction. I liked him better when he was an asshole, because at least it made it easier to stick with my hate. I was an idiot for wanting to be civil to him. He'd used me to get inside Town Hall and then he'd stolen what I needed. He might have been crazy, but he knew exactly what he was doing. All the guilt and connection to him I'd felt a second ago shed from my body like a flaky, dried-up second skin.

I stood straighter, shoulders squared in battle mode, wanting to taste power over him. Experience what it felt like to be lord of the sting. “Have you checked your basement closet recently?”

He tilted his head. “How did you—?” Kingston swung his fist at the wall, punching it so hard his hand went right through the plaster. He yanked it out hard, plaster spraying. “If you did anything to—” He sucked in a deep breath that made his nostrils flare. “I need that.” He rubbed his hand.

“If the township starts investigating . . . goodbye freedom. Whitney was just protecting you.”

He closed his eyes, and his chest expanded and contracted. “She had no right.”

“Hey, I hear there's a vacant job at the Garden Center you can take instead of dealing.” Of course, my stupid words made me think of Chess. A lump grew in my throat. I hated Kingston for that, too.

“That's not why I needed it.” Kingston glanced at the floor. He must have noticed he looked weak because a second later his body went rigid and the venom in his eyes returned. “Just you wait. You'll understand, and then you'll regret what you did.”

“I doubt it. I have no room left for any more regrets.” I challenged him with my eyes. “But I wish you regretted taking files I might need.”

He stared at me, his chest expanding and contracting. I waited for a moment, and that was when I realized the danger of this situation. I was
waiting.
For Kingston. Because I thought he might do the right thing. Do something good. That was the kind of impossible hope that made people give up religion when it didn't pan out, had made
me
give it up, praying for something that could never come true, like my parents coming back from the dead.