Masterminds (21 page)

Naturally, my mother thinks Amber is the cat's
pajamas. “
Such a lovely girl,
” she always says. Trust me, the night my toe got so swollen that the nail came off and Dad made me soak my foot in salt water for an hour and a half, I wasn't thinking
Such a lovely girl.
But the main reason it drives me nuts that Mom is Laska's number one fan is that the “lovely girl” is just about the polar opposite of me in this place. She takes ballet and piano and volunteers for everything under the sun. For me, it's a point of personal pride to work as little as humanly possible—and even then, I try to con Hector into doing most of it for me. She gets great grades and is a model student, while I just barely squeak by.

The biggest difference between Amber and me is that she's Serenity's biggest fan—a whole cheerleading squad all by herself.

Until now.

On the long day after that very long night, she makes the quickest U-turn in town history. When she reads the web page on Project Osiris, she looks like she's about to eat Eli's iPad in sheer rage.

“Quiet!” Tori advises nervously. “We don't want the Purples on our necks.”

So Amber calmly clamps her hands on to the factory fence and squeezes until blood from her fingers begins
to trickle along the chain links. Some girls can't handle learning they're clones, I guess. And that other stuff, like your parents being strangers and your entire life being a lie.

It takes all four of us to pull her off the fence. When we let go of her, she sinks into a cross-legged position on the grass. “I want to—” Instead of finishing the sentence, she lashes out a sneakered foot and crushes a grasshopper, twisting it into the ground.

And
I'm
the toxic element? I wonder if anybody ever thought about weeding out Laska.

“How about we just bounce instead?” I suggest.

“Our ‘parents'!” she seethes. “They're not going to get away with this!”

The amazing part is that her cheerleading doesn't stop. What's new is that instead of being
for
the town, now she's against it. Suddenly, she hates Happy Valley as much as she loved it before. It almost doesn't matter
how
she feels, just how much.

Hey, I'm not complaining. I'm with her 100 percent. This might be the first thing we've agreed on in thirteen years. Seriously, though, I sympathize with her. The stuff that we've been gradually learning about ourselves over weeks is hitting her all at once. Talk about a shock to the
system—especially since a good chunk of it makes about as much sense as “
ARTH
  
OM W G EN
.” In a matter of hours, her entire world has been turned upside down, and most of the details are still a mystery.

“I know you're angry,” Eli pleads. “We were just as upset when we found out. But you have to act
normal
. If you start accusing your parents, you'll be giving up the one advantage we have—they don't know that we know.”

She's quiet again, but still stubborn. “I don't care.”

“The point is,” I insist, “here in town, our folks call the shots. Our only chance of having real lives is by busting out. That's what we have to work toward. There's no other way to fight this.” The toxic element trying to reason with the ball of fury.

She clenches her jaw. “How about we heave a brick through every window in town? Think they'll get the message then?”

We stare at her in shock. It's so obvious—you're upset, and you lash out and break something. I wonder who she's cloned from. Whoever it is must be someone whose bad side you want to stay away from.

“It's easy to fix a few windows,” Hector notes.

Laska's eyes narrow. “How about a whole factory?”

Come to think of it, I'm starting to like her style.

Eli shakes his head. “It doesn't make sense. It would just tip our hand that we're onto them. Then they'd have the five of us on happy pills, not just me. Who knows how long it would take us to figure all this out again, assuming we ever do.”

Even Amber has to accept that. She's starting to calm down. I can almost feel her fury morphing into grim determination. “Fine, we escape,” she agrees. “But we come back later to get justice for everything that's been done to us.”

“If I get out of here,” says Hector earnestly, “I'm never coming back. Not even to wreck the place.”

“Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves?” I ask. “We're not going anywhere until we figure out a way through that invisible fence. Excuse me for taking that a little more personally than the rest of you guys. You know, with Serenity Day coming, and probably Weeding Day right after that.”

That shuts everybody up in a hurry. Nothing commands attention like being first on the chopping block. We can't be sure exactly what Project Osiris has in mind for me, but it's hard to imagine it being anything good.

“Well,” Tori muses. “What is it about us that we get so sick when we come up against the barrier? Randy didn't.
Our parents don't. And workmen from outside have to pass through it when they come and go. Why aren't they affected?”

“Regular people aren't made in a lab,” Eli explains darkly. “When we were born, the scientists must have put something inside us—some kind of antenna or receiver—that reacts to a signal in the barrier. If you don't have the chip or whatever it is, you don't even know the obstacle is there. But if you do—well, just think back to last night.”

“Like an invisible dog fence for clones,” I put in.

“How can you joke about this?” Amber challenges. “There's something inside us—like a spider crawling around our heads and we can't reach in and get it!”

“It's not alive,” Tori soothes.

“It might as well be! It's controlling us, putting a giant wall between us and everywhere else!”

“We're getting too emotional about this,” warns Eli. “We have to think like scientists—those are the people who set all this up. The barrier must be some kind of wireless signal—”

“And a wireless signal can be turned off,” I finish his thought. “So the trick is to figure out what's generating it.”

That becomes Job 1: identifying the source of the
barrier that's keeping us in Happy Valley.

I'm actually kind of optimistic. When the whole town is the size of the average cow pie, there isn't much ground to cover—especially when you consider we're looking for something like an antenna or a transmitter, probably high up. Serenity isn't much
higher
than a cow pie either.

The highest points in town are:

1) The antenna on the roof of the Plastics Works.

2) The clock tower in front of the town hall.

3) The aerial on top of the flagpole in the park.

Using his iPad, Eli takes a picture of all three, and we start checking our photos against similar images online. Turns out that the one on the factory—which I was betting on—is purely a receiver. That must be where the real internet comes from. The web we're allowed to have, plus our TV and radio, all come from Serenity Cable.

The flagpole seems to be a classic cell phone transmitter/receiver, with a very limited range—probably town only. The clock tower is the biggest bust of all. There's nothing up there but clock.

Amber has a brainstorm. “Do you think it could be the Serenity Cup—or maybe the case or the pedestal it stands on?”

I think she might be onto something. Seriously, what other purpose could that hunk of junk serve? It certainly didn't come from Roosevelt, who was dead half a century before Felix Hammerstrom and that billionaire lady got the bright idea to invent Happy Valley.

So the next stop is the park to investigate the Serenity Cup. This is not as easy as it sounds, since Rump L. Stiltskin or some other Purple is sitting in the factory staring at a bunch of video screens, one of which is a live feed from a camera trained right on this wonderful trophy of ours.

Tori comes up with the idea to play Monkey in the Middle so we can fall all over it for a closer look. The Purples may not get a very high opinion of our Frisbee skills, but with any kind of luck, they won't notice that we're searching for hidden antennae and electric wiring, or listening for a power sound.

But here's the thing: turns out the Serenity Cup is about as electric as a loaf of bread. No vibration, no heat, no hum. It's the deadest thing in town, which is saying something when you're talking about Happy Valley.

I channel my disappointment into a vicious tackle on Hector, driving him into the grass with my full weight. I
can tell he's really worried about me, because he swallows any word of complaint as he lies there, gasping to regain his breath.

I can't believe it's come to this: I'm being pitied by Hector Amani.

He's limping as we straggle out of the park. “So it's just a trophy?”

“I've got a theory about that,” Eli muses. “I think it's kind of an early warning system. The whole purpose of Osiris is to see if we go bad because we're clones of terrible people. So they leave that big silver cup totally unprotected to see which one of us is going to be first to steal it.”

“Like I want it,” I say sarcastically.

Hector brings us back to earth. “So what do we do? We've eliminated a bunch of things that
aren't
the transmitter, but we still don't know what is.”

We hear a familiar roar, and a cone truck drives by on Harmony Street. It's not the one with Hector's blood—I've learned to pick out the crusty brown stains from halfway across town.

And then I see it. I'm pretty sure it's always been there, but there's so much to question about the cargo that we never bothered to look at the truck itself. There is a
small rotating satellite dish about two feet in diameter on the roof of the cab.

I pinch Eli hard. “Ow!”

“Do the other trucks have those?”

He rubs his arm, scowling. “I don't think so.”

“The one I bled on definitely doesn't,” puts in Hector.

Amber speaks up. “I always figured it was, like, a GPS or something.”

“Why would you need a GPS on a truck that rides around in circles and never leaves town?” asks Eli.

I grin. “You wouldn't. Unless your GPS isn't a GPS.”

Of the four cars ahead of me, the blue one is the problem. It's weaving into the gap every time I try to pass. I yank on the wheel in an attempt to sneak through on the inside, but my tire scrapes against the curb and I have to veer off.

Suddenly, the blue car spins out on the straightaway. I jump into the empty space, threading the needle between the green SUV and the yellow taxi. A victorious cry of “Yes!” escapes me. I'm in second place.

My father appears in the doorway. “Eli, isn't it about time you started your homework?”

Who can think about homework now? I've only got one more racer to beat!

My foot presses down where the gas pedal would be
if this was a real car. I jump past the red convertible into the lead.

“Eli?” Louder this time. “You've been at this for a couple of hours already. There's nothing wrong with a little gaming, but when did you become such a ‘vidiot'?”

There's an answer to that question, but not one I can give to Dad.

I'm teaching myself how to drive.

Sure, I know that there's a big difference between
Street Racers 2014
and actually being behind the wheel of a motor vehicle. But this is the closest I'm going to get, and it'll have to do. At least the steering part is kind of similar, and the way the road comes at you. I'll have to get the hang of the gas and brake pedals on the fly. Malik is doing the same thing on his own game system.

I pause the Xbox. “You're right, Dad. I'll get to it.”

I've been very obedient lately. We all have. Our obedience is part of the plan to pave the way for the colossal act of disobedience that's coming up soon.

“Good work habits take a lifetime to develop,” Dad lectures. “Poor ones take barely a heartbeat.”

More life lessons from the guy who cloned criminals just to see what would happen.

I try to seem abashed. “Sorry.”

He softens. “Don't be too hard on yourself. Serenity Day is coming up. We all feel the spirit in the air.”

Yeah, Dad, you just said a mouthful.

“I have something to show you, Eli. I thought you might know who this belongs to.”

I recognize it before he even turns over the three-by-five card. He hands it to me. It's Baron Vladimir von Horseteeth, one of everybody's favorites. I can tell by its dog-eared condition that it's changed hands more than a few times around school.

“Where did you get it?” I ask in a small voice.

“Mrs. Laska found it after Meditation today. I recognize Randy's handwriting. And maybe one that's a little more familiar . . .”

My mind whirls. This is the worst possible time for Dad to get suspicious. Better to make a full confession and take my lumps than risk having him think I'm hiding something.

“There's a whole set,” I admit, my ears burning. “The kids trade them. We didn't mean any harm.”

“It's disrespectful of the good work the Surety does for us,” my father says with a disapproving frown.

“I know. We made them as a joke and they just kind of
caught on. I take all the blame.”

“Oh, I'm giving you all the blame,” he says. “Randy isn't here to share any of it with you.” Then he does something completely unexpected. He laughs at his own joke. This blows me away because a) he laughed, and b) he made a joke.

Of course, he does tear up the Baron. “I expect you to do the same with the others as soon as you collect them.” And he walks out of the room. But I can see that he is trying hard not to smile. Unbelievable! Either my father has a sense of humor, or the Purple People Eaters are even more goof-worthy than Randy and I thought.