Watch Your Step (34 page)

E
nough!”

Lying flat on my back, I blink.

“Do you see yourselves?”

I can't see anything.

“You're all acting like children! And half of you are grown-ups!”

I wipe my eyes. My fingers come away wet.

“How is it raining inside?” a woman yells.

“When it's sunny outside?” a man shouts.

I smell smoke. Where there's smoke, there's fire. And once upon a time, where there was fire . . . there was usually Lemon.

Moving carefully to keep from slipping on the slick floor again, I climb to my feet. I take a plastic cafeteria tray from the table behind me and hold it over my head. Now protected from the water falling from the ceiling, I wipe my eyes dry and look up.

Lemon is here. He's standing on a table and holding a fistful of long, large matches toward the ceiling. The matches aren't lit now, but they were. The heat and smoke from their flames must've set off the sprinklers, which are still dousing—and confusing—parents, Troublemakers, and Incriminators.

“What is going on?” Lemon asks.

“Yes.” Annika steps onto a chair, hops onto the table next to Lemon, and pushes him aside. “That's exactly what I'd like to know! Who's going to fill me in?”

The room falls silent. All I can hear is water dripping from wet furniture, hair, and clothes.

“Nobody?” Annika asks. “Really?”

Abe's standing ten feet away. I catch his eye. He shakes his head.

Personally, I don't want to confess to planning this attack in
front of the entire camp. In addition to our families, Annika, Mystery, and the cafeteria staff, the Good Samaritans, Nurse Marla, and our teachers are here. They must've heard the noise and come running. I want to tell Annika everything, but not like this. I assume my fellow Troublemakers stay silent because they're trained not to tattle. As for our parents, they seem embarrassed, although I'm not sure if that's because of their behavior, or because they were caught. They may also have been trained not to tattle on Mystery.

Now Annika's trying to break our silence. And she seems to have her work cut out for her.

Or maybe not.

“Abe,” she says. “Spill the beans and I'll give you a thousand Kommissary credits. You'll need them, since after that episode, when it was impossible to keep track of who was doing what, I have no choice but to reset your current demerit and gold-star tallies to zero.”

“Two thousand credits,” Abe says.

“Done,” she says.

“We were teaching our parents an important lesson!” Abe declares.

I look at him. Gabby gasps.

“And what lesson would that be?” Annika asks.

“That Angel Makers are no match for Troublemakers.”

Annika pauses. “Angel Makers?”

“That's a secret club,” Abe explains. “For our parents. It teaches them tricks and pranks so that they can give us a taste of our own medicine, which is what they've been trying to do since we got here.”

Annika's eyes narrow. “Every club needs a leader.”

“That'd be Mr. Tempest,” Abe says. “Or Mystery, as we call him.”

“Stop right there!” Annika's arm flies forward, her pointer finger aiming at the back of the room.

We all turn around—just as GS George steps in front of the exit, blocking Mystery's escape. When Mystery tries to push past him, the tall Good Samaritan grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him down into a chair. Then he picks up the pig that's still roaming around the room, snacking on fallen food, and places it in Mystery's lap, locking him in place.

Annika frowns at Mystery, then at Abe. “How do you know about this club?”

“We spied on one of their meetings,” Abe says.

“In a cool cave!” Gabby chimes in from across the cafeteria. “With a real secret passage!”

“When?” Annika asks.

Abe shrugs. “A few days ago?”

“And you're just bringing it to my attention now?”

Abe's mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

“We wanted to learn more first,” I offer, heart thudding. “So we could tell you as much as possible.”

Annika's head snaps toward me. “You knew about this too?”

I gulp. Nod.

“You did?” a familiar voice whispers.

Dad. He's standing somewhere behind me. I'm afraid to look away from Annika to look at him, so I nod again.

“Is this what your parents were up to?” Annika asks coolly. “When they were acting so strangely at home?”

“Yup,” Abe says. “Mystery mailed them pamphlets and training materials. Then when you invited everyone to Kamp Kilter, he jumped at the chance to work with them in person. Whatever they learned during their secret meetings, they tried out on us when we were cleaning their cabins.”

“And why would they do that?” Annika asks.

“To weird us out,” Abe says. “So we'd stop acting up. And maybe even think we need them again. That's our best guess, anyway.”

“You
do
need us!” Mrs. Hansen exclaims.

“
All
children need their parents!” Mr. Ryan adds.

“Not true!” Annika shouts. Then, as if realizing just how loud she was, she lowers her head and is quiet for a second. When she looks up and speaks again, her voice is back to its normal volume. “Well. I have much to discuss with many different people—you know who you are, and I'll get to you all. But for now, I must say I'm extremely disappointed. This is the thanks I get? For giving your families a fun-filled, free, luxurious vacation to enjoy while we continued working with your terrible kids—”

“They're not terrible!”

My chin falls.

Mom, who landed somewhere behind me when the sprinklers turned on, now steps forward. She's clutching the big red net she was about to capture me with before the sprinklers turned on.

“Really, Mrs. Hinkle?” Annika asks, now sounding almost amused. “Is that why you sent Seamus to Kilter Academy for Troubled Youth? The most exclusive reform school in the world? That accepts only the worst kids in the world?”

“Our kids aren't the worst!” Mom insists. “They're the best! They just have good days and bad days, like we all do. Seamus, my son  . . .” When she turns and looks at me, she has tears in her eyes. “He's perfect! He doesn't have a bad bone in his body!”

“Mrs. Hinkle,” Annika says, “most of us know why Seamus is here. You announced it yourself months ago, during Parents' Day lunch.”

“I know. But I was wrong. I lied! Seamus didn't do it. His substitute teacher? She's alive! The apple he threw left a bump, and that was it! Just like I told you in an e-mail last—”

“She's right!” I chime in. Mom was about to tell Annika about the e-mail she sent her last semester—the one I deleted from Annika's K-Pak before she could read it, because I didn't want her to know the truth then. It's hard enough telling her the truth now, let alone the lengths I went to to keep it from her. “I didn't do what you thought I did. I know I should've told you way sooner, but—”

Annika holds up her hand. Everyone is silent. Feeling dozens of curious eyes on me, I'm tempted to crawl under Mom's big red net.

But then I feel a little better. Because Elinor weaves through the crowd and stands next to me. Her fingers find mine. Our arms brush together, and I feel the braided rope around her wrist.

She's wearing her friendship bracelet again.

“It's our fault!” Mom cries out, shattering the silence.

“Mrs. Hinkle,” Annika says, “you'll need to—”

“No! I won't be quiet. I can't! Because it's my fault that Seamus is here. He didn't start down the wrong path on his own. I pushed him there!”

“Judith,”
Dad hisses. “This isn't the time to—”

“Yes! It is!” Mom faces me and turns me so I face her. Then she drops to her knees and holds my face between her palms. “It's my fault, Seamus. All my fault.”

Still seated under a pig at the back of the room, Mystery snorts. Mom ignores him and continues.

“You see, when I was a little girl, I was painfully shy. Kids picked on me. I never stood up for myself. My parents, fearing
I'd break under the negative attention, were incredibly overprotective. They never taught me how to fight back and be strong. So when you were really little, and Bartholomew John walked all over you, and you came to me instead of defending yourself . . . well, I panicked. I didn't want you to live in fear the way I always had. So I pushed you to become harder. Tougher. So you could take care of yourself. And I admit, when you threw that apple in the school cafeteria—I was overjoyed! I thought finally,
finally
, my son has proven that he has that confidence, that
fire
, to take a stand and hold his own against whatever and whoever comes at him! I really believed I was doing my job the way it was meant to be done.” Her eyes water more. She blinks quickly, sending tears down her face. “But then everything got so . . . messy. And you went away to Kilter, and I missed you. At first I was so proud to send you to a place that would nurture your natural troublemaking—”

“Who's cold?” Annika shouts suddenly.

Parents exchange looks. Shivering, most raise their hands.

“Let's towel off and warm up in the sun. Staff members, please escort our families and other guests”—she shoots a look at Shepherd Bull, who stands with a dozen Incriminators—“to
the beach. We'll resume our group discussion shortly.”

Scattered throughout the room, Houdini, Fern, Lizzie and my other teachers lead everyone toward the nearest exits. Still on her knees, Mom watches them go. Dad continues staring straight ahead. My friends and I exchange waves as they leave.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hinkle,” Annika says, “you may join the others.”

“But—” Mom and Dad say at the same time.

“I'd like a word with your son. Alone.”

Mom looks at me. Dad looks at her, then at me. I'm about to reassure them that it's fine—even though I have no idea if it is—when Dad drops to his knees too. They both throw their arms around me and squeeze tighter than they ever have.

“I'm sorry, Seamus,” Dad whispers near my ear. “I was just trying to help. I wanted everything to go back to normal. So when Mr. Tempest sent the Angel Makers information, I thought it was worth a shot. I know I went overboard, but—”

“Mr. Hinkle!” Annika barks. “We'll have plenty of time for heart-to-hearts later. Please join the others. Now.”

As Annika picks up her K-Pak and starts typing—probably an e-mail to our teachers to make sure they don't lose sight of
Mystery—my parents' arms tighten around me even more. Then Mom kisses my right cheek. Dad kisses my left cheek. They both stand and start to leave.

Annika and I are having a staring contest that I'm about to let her win when Mom spins around and sprints back to me. She pulls me into another hug and talks fast.

“We won't go back to normal. Okay? When we get home, I won't push you to do anything you don't want to do. I'll cancel my Kommissary subscription so they never send another weapon. I've been nice to Bartholomew John because I thought he was helping toughen you up, but I won't talk to him again. And you never have to be tough again. If you feel like crying, cry. If you're scared, don't try to be brave. If you want me to sit next to you until you fall asleep every night, the way you asked me to when you were just a little boy, I will. And I'll tuck you in every night with this.” She opens up the red net she's been carrying, then shakes it out and holds it up for me to see. Different images are sewn into the fabric, which isn't a net, after all. It's a blanket.

“Is that our house?” I ask.

“Yes. And you, Daddy, and me. One happy family.” She
pauses, sniffs. “I started making this quilt for you when you were a baby . . . but I never finished. My own silliness got in the way. But ever since we got here I've been holed up in the arts and crafts cabin day and night. I wanted to finish it before we went home.” She looks to Annika. “That's why I didn't want to role play. I couldn't bear to hear what Seamus thought I was thinking about the Unfortunate Apple Incident. Not until I finished this, and presented it to him, and told him how much I love him, how much I've
always
loved him.” She looks at me again, her eyes watering. “I can't change the past, but—”

“Mrs. Hinkle!”

Mom jumps. So do I.

“You need to join the others!” Annika yells into her megaphone. “Immediately!”

Now
I
hug
Mom
. “It's okay. Neither of us has been on our best behavior, but it's not too late. We can fix it. As soon as we're home.”

She kisses my head and hurries away. When she's gone, Annika climbs down from the table she's been standing on, then leans against it.