The Academy (13 page)

“Tell her I had a…spiritual moment in the chapel. Please.” Steel faced a Sixth Form girl who served as floor monitor for Kaileigh’s dorm. The girl had a severe face, a long chin, and attitude. She represented the only way for Steel to get a message through to Kaileigh. For this reason, he was determined to win her help.

“You heard me. I spoke to her,” the girl reminded. “She said she didn’t want to talk to you, didn’t want to see you. Remember? That’s pretty clear to me. I’m not a relationship counselor. Better luck next time.”

“Just once more, please? ‘A spiritual moment in the chapel.’ That exact wording.”

“Pass.”

Steel’s memories jumped like photographs at high speed.
Visions
, his mother called them. But they weren’t visions; they were what had happened.
Exactly
what had happened. He could no more dismiss them as worthless and random than he could change them. But he was able to ignore those he found unimportant, and to hold on to, or focus and study, those he deemed worthy. He searched for…

“Let me see the back of your head, please,” he said.

She looked at him indignantly. “As if.”

“Just turn around, please. I’m not going to do anything. For one thing, there’s a desk between us.”

Perhaps her curiosity won out, or maybe she just wanted to be rid of him, but she did it.

“Monday’s school assembly,” he said, the memory now locked. “You sat in the…eighth row, four seats into the center section from the right aisle….”

Her brow furrowed. He didn’t know if she doubted him or was simply impressed by his powers of recollection. He didn’t want her thinking he was some kind of stalker. He spoke without a break, to keep her from interrupting.

“There was this guy one row behind you—couldn’t stop looking at you. His friend caught him staring at you and punched him in the arm. You never turned around or anything.”

“Who?” She was blushing. “Who was it?”

“I’m new here. Brown hair. A jock. Pretty tall.”

“Did he have zits? Zits on his forehead?”

Steel shrugged. “I mostly saw him from the back.”

“You’re making it up.”

“Am not.”

“You saw all that?”

“I see all sorts of things.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“He plays soccer. Varsity soccer. Midfielder.”

“Mike Darling? No way!”

“Number seventeen. His jersey.”

She gasped. “You…are…bizarre.” She looked around haphazardly. “This is some kind of prank, right? Some kind of hazing ritual or something? Who put you up to this? Did Danny Lightyear put you up to this?”

“Please. I’ve got curfew coming up. You’ve got to call her back for me.”

“Mike Darling? Seriously?”

“I don’t know his name. But he couldn’t stop looking at you.”

She picked up the phone. “If this is a prank, if you’re pulling something on me, you’re going to regret it. I’m talking
big time
!”

“A spiritual—”

“Yeah, yeah! I’ve got it.”

A few minutes later, Kaileigh’s face appeared in the safety glass of the door, the last barrier between her and him.

Steel made no effort to encourage her through to meet him, but every fiber of his body wanted it. Finally she swung open the door and walked out. Her eyes were red—had she been crying? Just the thought of that confused him.

“Will you come outside for a minute?”

Kaileigh pouted and shrugged, made a face like she didn’t care what she did.

He held the door for her. She moved with the speed of a slug.

Alone with her in the chill of the night air, he sensed that the rules between them had changed. He hadn’t known there were any rules to begin with, but that was the way it felt, and his first reaction was to want to figure out what the rules were and where they’d come from. But first they had business to discuss.

He spoke faintly, in a whisper, a voice designed to draw her close to him, and it worked.

“That wasn’t what it looked like.”

“It’s none of my business. It’s not like…I don’t know.”

“You got it all wrong.”

“It was Nell Campbell. Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly.

“As in Fifth Form hottie?”

“It was about Mandarin class. She’s the student aide to Mrs. Jian.”

“Mandarin class. So you’re telling me she pulled you into a dark corner under the post office stairs to talk about Mandarin class?” She crossed her arms tightly in front of her. “I don’t know why I’m even here. Talking to you. At this school. I think I made a big mistake.”

“Listen, it was
nothing
. She wanted to warn me that Zeke cheats and that I could get in serious trouble.”

“So she’s protecting you. She cares about you. Good for you.”

“Kai…she said something about how if I blow it I won’t get invited. Not by her, but other people. Wouldn’t tell me what she was talking about. Made it all this big secret. Said I couldn’t tell anyone, and I’m telling you.”

“Goody for me.”

“Earth to Kaileigh!” He was angry at her for not understanding. He could present the facts, could recite them as precisely as they’d happened, but if she chose to misinterpret them, then what could he do?

She must have sensed his frustration. “Okay. So are we good here?”

“No, no, no!” He started telling her about Penny, but jumped over that and moved straight to following DesConte and the three others into the chapel, about seeing Randolph, and how Randolph had almost caught him. “‘We’re going to cancel tonight.’ That’s what he said.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. But then, remembering to whom she was speaking, said, “Never mind. I didn’t mean that.” The spell over her seemed to have broken. “But…what’s the big deal?”

“If a teacher like Randolph wants to meet with four of his students, why all the secrecy? Any teacher could invite any number of students over to his place, or to the chapel, or whatever,
any
time he wanted.”

“How do you know they’re his students?”

“That’s not the point!” Realizing he’d raised his voice, he collected himself and returned to a whisper. “Something is going on, and Randolph doesn’t want to risk being discovered. He’s taking all kinds of precautions.”

“It’s none of our business,” she declared. “You were worried those boys were trying to pull off something dangerous. If a teacher’s involved, then that’s obviously not what’s happening.”

“But
something’s
happening,” he said.

She looked at him impatiently.

“And I’m going to find out what it is.”

She shook her head. It reminded him of the way his mother would too quickly dismiss one of his ideas.

“I have to find out.
We
have to find out.”

“Wrong.
You
found out everything
we
needed to know. There’s a teacher involved. End of story.”

“No story ever ends,” he said. “Someone just decides to stop telling it.”

“Well, I’m done,” she said. “With the tunnels. With DesConte. Mr. Randolph. With—” She stopped abruptly, then lowered her head.

“Me?” he said. He realized his fists were clenched nervously at his side, and he forced himself to relax.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You almost did.”

“No I didn’t. That’s your interpretation. You know what I think? I think we both should focus on our studies, and you on your ga-ga, and we should forget about all the other stuff going on.”

“Then you admit there’s stuff going on?” He’d caught her, and she knew it.

A smile twisted across her lips.

“I got you.”

“Did not,” she said. She was still smiling.

“I…got…you.” He shook his index finger at her, and her smile widened.

They half waved good-byes at each other and headed off through the rattle of fallen leaves. He’d wanted to win her over completely—to convince her to join him. He had to find out what DesConte was up to, if for no other reason than it was DesConte, and he didn’t like the guy.

But he wasn’t going to push it. Not tonight.

Quit while you’re ahead.

He was learning.

Living at the Corinthians was not without its rules, and there was one Mrs. D. was particularly firm about: the boys were expected to return directly from school each day. Mrs. D. would not tolerate their loitering on city street corners, something she believed was the “root of all evil” and a major factor in boys their age having brushes with the law. More to the point, even a single encounter with police could mean expulsion from the Corinthians. None of the boys wanted that.

Taddler stuck to the rules as much as possible, as much as any boy could stick to any set of rules, which meant at least some of the time, but nothing close to
all
of the time. The straight-back-from-school rule was a little fuzzy when an operation was underway. As co-leaders of Project Armstrad, he and Johnny were allowed some leeway.

That was why Taddler was currently riding a city bus down Commonwealth Avenue. For these fifteen minutes he was just another kid in the city, not someone cast out of a state institution. Not a kid all alone. Not hungry and feeling sorry for himself. He was just a regular kid. He enjoyed the ride and the resulting ten-minute walk from the bus stop toward the hotel. The streets were alive with traffic—big beautiful cars spit-polished shiny and clean. He promised himself that someday he would own three, maybe four, such cars; that he’d have a garage big enough to fit all of them, and a house that made the garage look tiny. Everyone in the house would have their own room, and each room its own bathroom, and there would be a kitchen with a refrigerator stuffed full of food—glorious food like mac and cheese and hamburgers and vanilla milk shakes—and a drawer in the kitchen packed with bags of potato chips, another brimming with candy. This was the dream of nearly every boy at the Corinthians, and one they took turns elaborating on. What else might such a house contain? A giant plasma TV? A computer with video games? A foosball table?

His plan was simple. He would walk fully around the Armstrad, as he’d already done more than ten times, each lap on a different day of the week, always with a pad and pencil close by so that he could duck into a coffee shop and write down anything special he’d seen. (He also happened to like the shortcake cookies at the Coffee House.) With Project Armstrad so important to Mrs. D., and the promise of leaving Corinthians in the offing, Taddler intended to do this right. Johnny was supposed to be doing much the same as Taddler, but he tended to procrastinate. His assignment was to watch the front door for how the bellmen handled the arrival of children, to identify the house detectives, to find out which kitchen workers took cigarette breaks and when, and if possible, to identify the kind of radios used by the staff. This last bit was the most important. Mrs. D. could then buy them two of the same make and model, allowing them to listen in on everything said between the staff. This would give them a leg up when it came time to execute Project Armstrad, and might even keep them from being caught.

He reached his stop and got off the bus. Just then Taddler spotted Johnny on the opposite sidewalk, also walking in the direction of the hotel. He was pleased to see him because it meant that Johnny was actually holding up his side of the assignment. He considered calling across the street, but the point of any operation was to remain independent, to not be seen with other members of the team, to limit the carnage if one or more boys should ever be caught.

Taddler watched from across the street as Johnny slowed and headed up the steps toward a tiny storefront. A giant playing card hung in the window of the store, bearing the image of an airbrushed half-naked Medieval woman with a tangle of blond curls. She wore a leather blindfold and held two swords, one in either hand.
Swords
it read at the bottom. This turned out to be the name of the store as well.
Tarot Readings
it read in blue neon in the same window.

Johnny went inside without hesitation, suggesting to Taddler that he’d been there before.

Taddler’s assignment was surveillance, so he stopped and stood with his shoulder against a building’s warm brick and studied the storefront while pedestrians walked past.

Johnny’s visiting a fortune-teller wasn’t part of the assignment. Contact outside the boathouse was forbidden, everybody knew that. One slip of the tongue might lead authorities to the discovery of the Corinthians, sending its inhabitants back onto the streets as runaways, or into juvenile detention facilities—jail. Johnny was violating Mrs. D.’s no-contact rule, putting everyone at risk.

Taddler waited for a break in traffic and darted across the street. He didn’t climb the stairs immediately, but instead hung around in front of the entrance to The Rocking Horse, a store with a purple door that, judging by the window display, sold children’s books and plush stuffed animals. He climbed the steps to The Rocking Horse’s front door and tried to get a look inside Swords. The angle was wrong. All he could see was the small shop’s far wall. But the wall held a dozen or more mirrors with frames of every kind—gilded, carved, painted, decorated—and in several of these mirrors Taddler could make out Johnny in profile, sitting at a table and talking to a beautiful woman who, he realized after a moment, was the same woman on the card in the window—the only difference being that she was fully clothed.

Taddler spied on his friend in rapt fascination, for it appeared the two were deep in conversation. What if Johnny was asking the fortune-teller to predict how the Armstrad operation would go? That would threaten everything! Presently, Johnny reached into his back pocket and produced a piece of paper that the woman unfolded and studied carefully. From time to time she looked up from the letter to Johnny, and then back to the letter. She nodded, refolded the page, and slipped it away so quickly and cleverly that Taddler couldn’t see what she’d done with it. The ease with which she made the paper disappear sent a shiver up Taddler’s spine—she was a clever one, this beauty, and perhaps she had Johnny under some kind of spell. Maybe Johnny wasn’t to blame at all.

Two things happened then: the purple door to The Rocking Horse swung open, bumping Taddler and pinning him between the open door and a wrought-iron railing as a mother and daughter left the store without so much as seeing him; and, unseen in Taddler’s confusion, Johnny stood up from the tarot table. By the time Taddler next looked into the wall of mirrors, Johnny was gone. A moment later the door to Swords opened and out came Johnny.

Taddler spun around, caught the door to the bookstore as it was closing, and slipped around it, using it as a screen. He ducked inside the store.

“May I help you?” The proprietor was a woman older than time, with a face like a crumpled paper bag. Taddler nearly yelped with surprise.

“Just looking,” he said, edging to the store window in time to catch sight of Johnny. The boy turned to the right,
away
from the Armstrad Hotel. He seemed to carry a lightness to his step. It was almost as if he were…happy.

Something was definitely up.

None of the boys living at the Corinthians were ever anything close to happy.