Masterminds (19 page)

Malik tries to play it cool when I tell him about my parents' conversation. We can tell he's freaked out, though, because he's breathing a little too hard, like he's just come from water polo practice.

“Toxic element, huh?” His usual bored drawl doesn't quite come off. “So what else is new?”

“The Pritels don't understand you like we do!” Hector tries to cheer him up. “The things you say—
we
get that you don't always mean them!”

Malik turns angry. “You think this is only the Pritels? They're just who we heard it from. This is
everybody—
all the adults—” Suddenly, he's deathly quiet. “My own parents. They want this too. They think I should be—
weeded
.”

“We have no way of knowing what ‘weeded' means,” I remind him.

He's bitter. “I doubt your folks were talking about gardening.”

“It doesn't matter what it means,” Eli jumps in. “We
won't be here to find out. Now, let's work on our plan.”

What we come up with is pretty simple. (It has to be, since we know nothing beyond our own borders.) We sneak out after everyone else has gone to sleep, jump on our bikes, and meet at the edge of town on Old County Six just beyond the surveillance cameras.

We're obviously flying by the seat of our pants, hoping that what little information we have is right. Based on a map Eli saw on the factory's internet, we think there's a rail line passing not far to the south of us. The trouble is the rail map had no Serenity on it. So our starting point is just an educated guess, based on the location of Taos and Carson National Forest. We could be just a few miles from the tracks; we could be fifty or sixty.

“It's not a big difference on a map,” Malik observes, “but I bet it's pretty noticeable when you're pedaling.”

The planning meeting is pretty tense, and not just because we're short on details. We're scared to death, and even more scared of what might happen if we stay. Malik is obviously the one in immediate crisis, but we'll all turn fourteen eventually. Eli's birthday comes even a few days before Malik's. We're all in danger of being weeded, whatever that is.

“Can I ask a practical question?” puts in Hector.
“What do we do when the train comes?”

“Simple,” Malik replies. “We throw you onto the tracks, and while they're picking up the pieces with a shrimp fork, the rest of us sneak aboard.”

“Be serious, Malik,” I scold.

“Who's joking? I'm the toxic element, remember?”

“No more than the rest of us,” Hector soothes. “We're cloned from the toxic hall of fame.”

“Then I guess I win,” Malik says with a mixture of acid and pride. “Rah, rah. It's not easy to be worst when you're raised with the scum of the earth.”

Eli steers the conversation back to the plan. “We won't know how to handle the train until we're there and it's actually happening. I'm hoping for a really slow, heavy freight where we can climb onto a flat car. But we'll just have to wait and see.”

“As long as we're away from here,” intones Malik, his expression haunted.

“I wish I could see my parents' reaction,” says Hector with a mixture of relish and dread, “when they wake up and realize their guinea pig is gone.”

That gives me a jolt. “I was kind of thinking of leaving my parents a note—you know, to tell them I still love them in spite of everything.”

Eli practically jumps down my throat. “No way! What if they wake up in the middle of the night and see it? They'll be on the phone with the Purples in a heartbeat.”

My eyes fill with tears. “I just can't stand the thought that this is forever. Maybe someday—I mean, a long time from now—down the line—we can, you know, visit . . .” My voice trails off.

“Yeah, sign me up for that,” Malik drawls. “I can't wait to come back so they can weed me.”

The date is set: tomorrow night. With the clock ticking down on Malik, we have to act fast.

Also, if we delay too long, someone is bound to chicken out. (I'm sure the guys think it'll be me.)

I sleepwalk through school the next day, retreating into my own thoughts because it's the only way to keep from losing it. I register everything as “my last”—my last taste of Mom's scrambled eggs; my last water polo practice; my last Meditation class; my last meal at the kitchen table in our house.

Steve picks up on something. “Is everything okay, Torific? You seem kind of distracted.”

“I was just thinking about art school at the Sorbonne,” I tell him. “Paris has the Louvre, the Musée d'Orsay, and a lot of other great museums.”

It's a surefire way to get him off the topic of why I'm acting weird. Tomorrow, I know, an entire guided tour of the Louvre will be uploaded to my computer—anything to keep me from wanting to go there.

Poor Steve. He has no idea that I'm already on my way.

There's just one thing left undone, and I have to take care of it. After dinner, I climb the stairs to my studio. There, stretched out on the big table, is the Serenity Day mural. Our project—Amber's and mine. It's finished. Not my best work, but I have to admit it looks pretty decent, maybe because it depicts a way of life that I'm never going to have again.

I roll it up and take it over to Amber's house—a walk I've made a million times, although not lately and not feeling the way I do now.

It's a good thing Mr. and Mrs. Laska are home, or Amber probably wouldn't let me in. I'm grateful to her, though. She's kept her promise. She never told anyone about the pictures of the whiteboards. All she did was stop talking to me, which was painful enough.

Eventually we're up in her room, and I unroll our mural. “What do you think?”

“Good,” she says without even looking at it. “Why did you bring it here?”

“So you can take it to Serenity Day.”

“Why can't
you
take it to Serenity Day?”

This is obviously a question I have no answer for. So I just remind her, “It's your project too.”

She rolls it up again, looking exasperated and a little sad. “Fine. I'll bring it in.”

“It was fun working on it together,” I blurt.

“Right. Fun.”

I'm floundering now. After being so close that our lives were practically merged together, it's beyond terrible to leave things like this. “I'm sorry we've been fighting. If you think about it, we've been friends a lot longer than we've been, you know, not.”

She's not answering anymore. She just wants me to go. And anyway, there's no point in rambling on, because the one thing I really want to say is also the one thing I can't:

Good-bye.

THINGS TO DO TODAY

           
•
  
?????

I concentrate on the paper, but for some reason, I can't come up with a single item to put on it. All I can think of is Tori.

What's up with her? I mean besides the fact that she's turned on Serenity because of a note from
Randy
.

She's my best friend and all we do is fight. I'm so upset. I don't have
time
to be upset. I'm a busy person!

This is stupid. I get things done by making lists and budgeting my time. Staring at a blank page doesn't fit into my lifestyle.

           
•
  
Ballet Practice (1.5 hours)

           
•
  
Piano Practice (1 hour) . . .

It's not rocket science. These are on the list every day. What else?

A flicker of blue catches my eye. It's the corner of the rolled-up mural leaning against my desk. The sky—
my
sky. I'm the one who colored it in, even if I didn't contribute much else from an artistic standpoint.

You're doing it again,
I check myself.
Concentrate on the list . . .

But it bugs me: Why would she bring the project over to my house when it can just as easily sit in her studio? In my room, it's more likely to get stepped on or tripped over.

Obviously, it was just an excuse to talk to me. But what did she really say?

“I'm sorry we've been fighting . . . We've been friends a lot longer than we've been, you know, not.”

Okay, she wants to make up and be friends again. I want that too. But there's no way I'm going to stand by and listen to her conspiracy theories.

Get back to the list . . .

But what if she isn't trying to make up? If you look at it
another way, her words sound almost like something you'd say to a person you're never going to see again. What if she brought the mural to me because she won't be around to hand it in herself?

My heart begins to race. Could that be what this means? That Tori is planning to run away from home?

Impossible! Who would do something so drastic? Where could she go, and how would she get there?

I sit down on the edge of my bed, my heart racing. This is a crazy thing to do! There's no way she can make it alone. A thought hits me. Could she have others going with her? Eli, maybe? Randy's note was meant for him. Or Malik, who never shuts up for a second about his intention to “blow this Popsicle stand”?

In the end, it doesn't matter. I tell myself, even if they do get away, so what? They'll be kids, living by their wits in some filthy city. The idea of Tori, surrounded by crime and violence like I read about in that
USA Today
, makes my stomach clench.

I can't let Tori make a mistake like this. We were best friends once, even if we aren't anymore. On the other hand, she made me promise not to tell anyone what I saw in her studio. I can't go back on my word.

I take a deep breath and picture a reinvented list:

           
•
  
Catch Tori in the act.

           
•
  
Convince her not to do this.

Even if she's turned on Serenity, surely I can make her see that dying in the desert is a worse option.

Catch her in the act
: We live at the end of Harmony Street, and my bedroom window has a perfect view of her front door. I'll just have to keep watch until she makes her move.

Serenity Day is less than a week away.

Whatever's going to happen will happen soon.

Midnight comes and goes, and there's less than nothing going on.

At first, I read
Little Women
while watching out the window, but my desk lamp casts too much glare onto the glass. I'm bored, tired, and starting to feel dumb. It won't look good if the teacher's daughter falls asleep in class tomorrow. I stay alert by reminding myself that doing the right thing is the Third Rule of Contentment, after 1) being satisfied with what you have and 2) being honest in all ways.

My head snaps up suddenly, and I realize that I must have fallen asleep. Not acceptable. I might only have one
chance to stop Tori. No way am I going to miss it. When I feel myself nodding off again, I dig my fingernails into my wrist until it hurts.

I'm still squeezing when the door of the Pritel house opens and Tori slips out onto the porch, a backpack over her shoulder.

I've already got sneakers on for a quick and quiet exit. There's a moment of panic when I lose her. She was right outside her door just a few seconds ago! How could she disappear so quickly?

And then she flashes into view, passing through the glow of a streetlight. She's farther away than I thought she'd be, and I see why. She's on her
bike
! That's something I never considered—you can't think of everything, even with a to-do list. I race back to the garage and grab my Schwinn, wincing at each bang and bump that puts me in danger of waking Mom and Dad. By the time I maneuver it out the small door—I can't use the automatic one, which shakes the whole house—Tori is completely gone from sight. No, there she is, under another light on Old County Six, at least a half a mile ahead. There are two—no, three—other riders with her. They're heading east out of town.

I pedal off, desperate to catch up, but they're pedaling
hard too. By the time I reach Old County Six, I'm a little closer, but not much. There are no streetlights outside of town, so I'm having trouble keeping them in view. Luckily, the night sky is usually clear over Serenity and the stars hang like grapes, close and brilliant. A half-moon contributes to the general glow.

I turn on the jets. I've got to reach them before we're so far that by the time I can convince them to turn back, someone will notice we're missing.

I go all out. The lights of Serenity fall away behind me and I'm under the canopy of the heavens, too, which makes it easier to keep my quarry in sight. I'm within a quarter mile now, and gaining. They're riding slow and steady, pacing themselves for a long journey, but I'm on a wind sprint. After Tori, I identify Malik first, a big hulking figure. And the smaller silhouette—Hector! Where Malik is, can he be far behind? As for the tall, lean one—

At that moment, Eli turns around, almost as if he can sense my thoughts. Even in the low light, I see his eyes bulge at the sight of someone following them. He says something to the others, and the four of them start pedaling like mad. They're pulling away again, and it's taken most of my strength to get this close. I haven't got another burst of energy in me.

I make a split-second decision. “
Tori!
” I bellow.

She slows down, falling behind the others, but not stopping. “Amber?” she calls in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

My breath is coming out in gasps. I blow all the energy I've got left to pull up to her. “Please stop—”

She bikes on, but I can tell she's pretty shaken. “We're not stopping. Come with us if you want, but we're not turning back.”