The Academy (19 page)

As school let out on Friday at noon, the campus became frenzied with students heading in every direction. Four chartered buses were waiting in the semicircle out front, as were several dozen cars driven by parents, and more than one town car. The trees were, for the most part, barren of leaves, the lawn covered in golds and browns and the red of maples, the wind stirring as students hurried past, lugging bags and backpacks.

Steel and Kaileigh boarded the bus marked for Boston along with thirty other students. As instructed, they did not sit together. Soon, Steel felt as if he were on the bus alone. He spent most of the ninety-minute ride staring out the window. He counted barns. He tried to see in the windows of people’s houses, and he looked down through car windshields, trying to imagine where each driver was going and what he or she was up to. But mostly he reviewed his instructions and the enormous volume of scientific data he had committed to memory. To him the evening assignment was simple enough, the burden of the job on Kaileigh. It was the job this afternoon that troubled him: finding, identifying, and following some woman. One thing was certain: nothing would be the same after this weekend.

The city loomed big in his mind, perhaps because of his weeks on a windblown campus far from anywhere, perhaps because of the assignment that was etched into his formidable memory, and his sense of being so small in a place so vast. He took a moment to glance back at Kaileigh, who, like him, was staring out the window. He caught sight of Penny staring at him from three rows back. The sight of Penny surprised him, though he tried not to show it. Penny lived in Boston—he and Kaileigh should have thought of that, should have prepared to have to deal with him.

The bus charged on, giving Steel views of outlying neighborhoods with their laundry lines, old cars, and muffler shops. Billboards streamed past, offering white-toothed smiles, sale items, and political candidates. With each mile, Steel felt his gut twist a little tighter, his skin prickle with perspiration.

Finally they were in the city proper, driving the city streets, and the walls closed in around him, the buildings blocking sunlight, the sidewalks suddenly alive with people. At the stoplights he saw the poor and the rich, the old and the young, the healthy and the not-so healthy, the cops, the shoppers, the smokers, the joggers, the bike riders, the happy, the sad, and a street musician playing a harmonica with a scruffy dog on a leash tied to his ankle. He saw himself trying to fit into the mix, trying to blend in, trying to look right. He studied and memorized things of importance: the way a street bum hunched his back like he was carrying an enormous weight, the way the less fortunate seemed to walk slower, the way hunger could show in a person’s face, and how bitterness and despair could be worn like a coat, or disguise a face like a veil.

He’d been warned by Randolph that taking on an alias was not simply a matter of “changing clothes.” He’d practiced things like speaking less properly—difficult at first but easier as he went along; eating without table manners—more fun than he could have imagined; frequently complaining and blaming others—something he found repugnant.

Since a very early age, he’d learned to control his uncanny memory, to hold it back, to stop the flood of thought that often threatened him. He lived with a database of images in his head that would have crashed a supercomputer. “Steel?”

He jumped.

Kaileigh had sneaked into the seat next to him.

“What do we do about you-know-who?” she said, screening her hand and pointing to the back, where Penny sat.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Steel said. “When in doubt, try the truth.”

“What?!”

“My mother says that all the time.”

“But we’re sworn to—”

“Our secret society,” Steel said, cutting her off, “is hazing us this weekend. We have to dress up and do weird things, and if we pass, then we’re in.”

“Ah…” she said, nodding. “That works for me.”

“And no one can know about it, or we’re out, so he’s got to promise to leave us alone. ’Cause you know, the way he spies on everyone, I don’t trust him.”

“Who’s going to tell him?” she whispered.

“Both of us. Right now.”

“Okay. We’re almost there. I agree.”

The explanation to Penny went smoothly enough. Kaileigh stepped on Steel’s attempt and took over and made Penny see how cool it was, and Penny nodded a lot and looked back and forth between the two of them.

“Well, I brought all my stuff along,” Penny said, holding up a bulging backpack. “GPS. Radio-tracking. Listening devices. Video. I never go anywhere without this stuff, so if you need a hand…?”

“Actually, I think that would disqualify us,” Steel said.

“We shouldn’t even be talking to you,” Kaileigh said, glancing around. “We weren’t supposed to talk to anyone on the ride.”

“My lips are sealed.” Penny pretended to zip his mouth shut.

“See you Sunday night, back on the bus,” Steel said.

“Roger, that,” Penny said. “I can’t wait to hear what’s up.”

Steel and Kaileigh split up and returned to their seats. He thought that had gone quite well.

The bus pulled into the terminal. Everyone stood at once, fighting to get off first. Steel hung back, knowing his and Kaileigh’s first stop was the public restrooms, where they would change their identities.

They wouldn’t want any classmates hanging around when they came out looking like homeless kids. He was in no hurry.

A few minutes later, Steel was in a stall of the men’s room, changing into the ratty clothes Randolph had provided for him. Kaileigh was doing the same thing on the other side of the cinder block wall. When he emerged from the washroom, his eyes drifted right past her on his first glance: she’d sprayed something into her red hair, making it look more brown and dirty; she wore a tight shirt—ripped at the shoulder—and another shirt beneath that, and still some other piece of clothing beneath the two. The shirts were soiled and torn, just like the tight blue jeans she wore with the knee torn out.

“Jeez!” he said, approaching her.

“You look like a cockroach,” she said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He’d smeared black and brown creams onto his face, arms, and hands, had mussed up his hair and parted it in the opposite direction. He’d smeared his eyebrows as well so they matched the soiled clothes he wore. The pants smelled sour, and the shirt was so foul that he winced as he caught a sniff of himself.

“I don’t know what roaches smell like, but I think I
smell
like one too,” he said.

They both carried backpacks that Randolph had warned might be searched. For this reason they divided fifty dollars between them, keeping it on their persons. Steel slipped thirty between his ankle and sock, and Kaileigh tucked the remaining twenty into the waistband of her pants.

“Your feet stink,” she said.

“Yeah? Well you’re no prize either. Let’s go,” he said. “That is, if you’re ready, Your Highness?”

“Loser,” she said.

He walked quickly, making sure she would follow him, not the other way around. He turned left out the door, able to visualize the map in his head. Kaileigh was about to challenge his sense of direction when she reconsidered. She hurried to catch up to him.

Some things were worth waiting for.

Steel stopped beneath the small sign that read:
THE PA_L REVERE SHE_TER—AL_ WELCO_E.

He glanced over at Kaileigh. A light drizzle had been falling for the past ten minutes. She looked like a wet rat, her hair matted and tangled, her mouth turned down at the corners, her eyes sad. Her shirts were wet at the shoulders, and because of a misstep into a puddle, her sandals squeaked.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Hey, I’m terrific,” she said, laden with sarcasm. “Don’t I look it?”

“Brother and sister,” he said.

“Don’t remind me. I know this stuff so well I’m dreaming it.”

“Okay, then.” He pulled open the door. The first thing that hit him was the smell of the place: a hint of lemon disinfectant mixed with the sweetness of cinnamon rolls and the animal-fat odor of gravy.

“Lovely,” Kaileigh said. “Now I’m going to smell like you.”

The room was big and noisy, with a wood floor and walls with old paint bearing poster art in wooden frames screwed into decaying plaster walls. A stack of folded cots crowded along the left wall while a dozen recycled-plastic picnic tables currently occupied the center of the room. A cafeteria counter had been erected against the far wall. A sad excuse for a television hung high in the corner and was tuned to a soap opera, the sound off.

A few dozen men and women of all ages occupied fiberglass chairs at the picnic tables. Some were reading. Others played cards or board games, or dozed and snored. Not one of them looked up as Steel and Kaileigh entered. A handful of very young kids played with plastic toys under a sign that read,
KIDDIE CORNER
. The floor tiles in front of the men’s and women’s rooms showed signs of wear. It looked as if there was a second room filled with more cots.

“May I help you?” a tall thin man asked. He wore a ratty sweater and his face held kindness and concern, though it struck Steel as a practiced expression.

“Steven,” Steel said.

“Kaileigh.”

The man shook hands with them. “Welcome,” he said. “I’m Gary. Are you hungry?”

“Always,” Steven said.

“Not really,” Kaileigh answered.

Gary motioned Steel toward the counter. “We serve snacks until seven. Dinner’s at seven. We ask that all of our guests wash up before meals. There’s no smoking, no gum chewing, no spitting or swearing or lewd behavior.”

Neither said a thing.

“How old are you?” Gary asked.

Here came the tricky part. Randolph had been adamant about how to answer this. The thing was, Kaileigh could easily pass for several years older; Steel had a boyish face and was less confident about the lie. Randolph had explained that the lie would work in Steel’s favor—the director of the shelter would want to keep the population down.

“Sixteen in February,” he said, exactly as Randolph had told him to do. Boys liked to make themselves older.

“Seventeen,” Kaileigh said. “I’m the older sister.” She smiled. “Though he doesn’t like to admit it.”

The brightness in the man’s face dimmed. “Oh…I see.”

“Is there a problem?” Kaileigh said.

“Well, yes, actually, there is. It’s not my idea, believe me, but I’m afraid the state sets the maximum age limit at city shelters like ours at fifteen.”

“But they’re grown-ups,” Steel said, indicating those at the picnic tables.

“They are. And it’s a bit of a Catch-22,” he said, checking their faces to see if they understood the reference, which neither did. “A contradiction,” he said, “an oxymoron. We accept guests under fifteen when accompanied by a parent or guardian, and over eighteen—anyone over eighteen. But we’re not a shelter for—”

“Teenage runaways,” Steel said.

The man scrunched up his face and looked away from Kaileigh and Steel. “The state views transient adolescents as at-risk juveniles. You’ll find this is true in thirty-eight of the fifty states. You are obviously new to our system, or, quite frankly, you wouldn’t have come in here.”

“What’s it mean?” Steel asked, knowing what Randolph had told him. So far, the teacher had predicted things exactly as they’d happened.

“It means,” Kaileigh said, “that Gary is going to report us.”

“Is that true?” Steven said.

Gary made that adult face that said he was about to lie or exaggerate. Steel had learned to recognize the expression in his mother; his father was more difficult to read.

“It’s a state law that children your age attend school. I’m sure you’re aware of that. The state of Massachusetts has provided institutions to accommodate people your age to ensure that they receive the opportunity to continue their education.”

“Juvenile detention,” Kaileigh said.

“Not exactly.” He was lying.

“You’re going to report us?” Steel said.

“I’m required to file a report—a list of our guests—every forty-eight hours.”

The truth! Steel had been warned to expect anything but.

“So we can spend the night?” Kaileigh asked.

“Certainly. Two nights. And get a few good meals in you.” He viewed Steel. “And a shower.” He eyed them curiously. “We can get you some clean clothes from Goodwill. We can even help you get in touch with your family.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Steel said.

Gary nodded. He’d heard this enough times before. “The offer stands. Free phone calls to anywhere in the country. You just say the word.”

“What does it cost?” Kaileigh asked, sounding as innocent as possible. “To stay here?”

The man’s face glowed. “No, no, no. No charge!”

Kaileigh and Steel did their best to look surprised. Their efforts were convincing. Gary toured them around the shelter, orienting them: the bathrooms had showers, the second room with cots was the women’s dormitory, meal times. He offered a few warnings, including to not try too hard to make conversation with the adult male guests—some could occasionally be violent.

“This is not a country club,” Gary said. “You’ll want to keep to yourselves for the most part, and watch each other’s back. My advice is to trust no one, no matter how nice they may seem. People on the street…well, they learn all sorts of tricks to survive, and the young people, like yourselves, present particularly easy targets. It’s one of the reasons special facilities are provided for our transient teens.”

“Reform schools,” Kaileigh said.

“No, actually,” Gary replied, “not exactly. Minimum security juvenile facilities are designated solely for the criminally prosecuted. They’re not bad at all, our juvie lockups. It’s our transients—runaways—that present the state with a more difficult challenge.”

“State custody,” Kaileigh said.

“Social services,” Steel added.

Gary looked at them gravely. He seemed to be warning them that if they stayed too long they would be swallowed up by a system ill prepared to deal with them.

“Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything or have any questions. You’re welcome here, but do be careful.”

Steel felt a chill. Gary left them by the restrooms. Steel was eager to clean up. An hour of smelling bad and wearing filthy clothes had proved too much.

Kaileigh spoke in a whisper. “Mr. Randolph could have written that guy’s lines. That went about exactly as he said it would.”

“Yeah, kind of creepy.” In fact Steel wondered how Randolph could have possibly gotten it so right. Was Gary some kind of ally of Randolph’s? he wondered.

“Clean-up time?” she asked, indicating her disgusting clothes.

“Yeah, definitely.”

When Steel got out of the shower, he found a pile of clean clothes left for him, presumably by Gary. He tried them on, and they fit surprisingly well. He transferred the thirty dollars from the dirty sock into his pocket—his only belongings—and threw the dirty clothes into the trash.

Kaileigh took longer than he, but eventually came out of the women’s room looking much better. Only the weird hair color remained. He couldn’t believe how it so radically changed her looks.

They kept to themselves, as Gary had suggested. Steel beat her in three straight chess matches—there were few people who could beat him at chess, because he’d committed to memory the strategies and moves of the world’s chess champions. He read a newspaper while she watched one of the soaps. The late day dragged on. They both kept watch for the person Randolph had told them to look for.

The later the day grew, the more convinced they became that they would fail the most important part of the assignment. Randolph had warned them about impatience, had made it clear that this was a big part of the operation, but Steel felt himself edgy and antsy by the time dinner was called.