Unleashed

by Amy McCulloch

  ‘Call Mom again,’ I say.

  >>But . . .

  ‘Call Mom again, Slick,’ I repeat, more sternly. The beetle seems to flinch at my tone, skittering up my arm to hide in the hood of my jacket. But I can’t bring myself to feel concern. All I want is for the baku to follow the orders I’ve given to it.

  How ironic.

  >>I’m afraid I got your mom’s answer service again.

  I groan. Mom always picks up when I call – even if I’m supposed to be in school and she is at work. This isn’t a life-threatening emergency, so I hesitate to use our code – but it is getting close.

  I don’t want to leave the Profectus steps. I don’t want to start school at St Agnes. I left that place behind. Going there would feel like a huge step backward.

  But it’s winter in Toronto, and there’s no way that I can pace outside the school for hours. And there’s always a chance that Slick will alert the authorities to my absentee status from school if I head to a café. He’s such a goody-two-shoes. Jinx would never do something like that to me.

  The pang of sadness hits me again. Where is Jinx? If he’s not with Eric Smith or with me . . . I wish I knew how to get in contact with him. I feel like I need him more than ever. I wonder what he’s doing now. He might have had a solution to this, one that didn’t involve me sitting outside in the cold.

  My next fear springs to life.

  >>I’m afraid if we don’t start moving towards St Agnes, I’m going to have to report you to the police as an absentee student.

  I roll my eyes, and if he wasn’t my only connection to the online world I might have squished that little bug in my hands. I don’t want to get into any more trouble, so reluctantly I make my way down the steps and towards the school that I thought I’d left behind.

  I wonder what they will make of my return.

  The only saving grace is that Zora, my best friend, is a student there. Ultimately, she’s the reason I get moving. At least she is someone I can explain the situation too – and with any luck, she’ll have an idea for how I can get a level 3 baku again.

  So far, Mom’s prediction that everything will be all right today is not going to plan. I steel myself. One day at St Agnes. It won’t be that bad.

  As I pace towards my old high school, we leave the confines of Monchaville. It’s a shift I can sense – as if it’s something real and tangible. Even the air seems to smell different in the part of the city that is not under the control of Moncha Corp. A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold. Is it still Monchaville if Monica Chan is missing? Or is it now Eric-Smith-ville?

  It’s not fair that my biggest rival, Carter Smith, has been living his life as normal for the past month after he tried to ruin mine. He tried, and maybe he succeeded. I don’t have Jinx, I don’t have a place at Profectus, my dreams of working for Moncha are shattered . . .

  It’s two bus journeys and a short walk before I arrive at the St Agnes school gates. It looks so drab compared to Profectus Academy. There’s no grandeur about the building design: it’s a single-storey concrete block, wide and squat, with window frames painted in garish orange. There are no special classes here, no sense of ambition for their students. I feel a wave of revulsion as I walk down towards the entrance, even though I spent seven years passing through these gates. Seven years that I’d dedicated to finding a way out.

  The doors to this school open without a single hesitation, and Slick chirps up as soon as we pass through.

  >>We’re a few minutes late but your schedule is downloading on to my system now.

  These hallways are as familiar to me as the stairwells of my condo building, but I pause in the lobby to see where I’m supposed to head first. I feel so conspicuous in my Profectus uniform. Why didn’t I think about going home to change?

  Because you didn’t think this was really going to happen, I remind myself.

  I make a vow not to take off my coat, even though I know the overactive heating inside the building means I’m going to boil in about ten minutes. Better to boil than to advertise to the entire school that I’ve been booted out from the elite academy I’d given up everything to attend.

  >>Your first class is Maths with Mrs Pendle, in classroom 24A.

  I grimace. I don’t know that teacher – so there’s no hope of a friendly face up front. Still, I know where the classroom is, and without thinking about it, my feet take me exactly where I need to go. I follow the bland hallways lined with lime-green lockers until I reach 24A, staring down at the strange speckled linoleum floor. Why do they make schools so hideously ugly? I wonder. Is there some reason, some thought-process behind it all? If we were in Monchaville, I know that everything would have been thought out down to the tiniest detail. But here’s it’s just proof that students are not the main priority.

  I’m procrastinating. I take a deep breath before opening the door.

  The first face I see is Zora’s. She’s sitting in the front row, Linus on the desk in front of her projecting some pages from a Maths textbook. Her dark brown eyes open wide as she sees me.

  ‘Lacey, what are you doing here?’ asks Zora, standing up from her chair. Of course, everyone turns to look at me – which makes me want to turn around and run away.

  Mrs Pendle looks up from her desk. ‘Oh, Lacey Chu, is it? I wasn’t expecting you quite this soon, I just got the notification . . .’ She looks down at her baku, a hare model, who is tapping his foot impatiently. She gestures at a pile of chairs in the corner of the room. ‘Grab a seat for now and set up at someone’s desk. You can catch up on what you’ve missed after class.’

  My cheeks burn as I’m forced to cross the classroom to the pile of chairs, convinced that everyone’s eyes are trained on my back. There’s an awkward moment as the metal legs catch and clatter together, and I almost find myself buried under the toppling chairs. I just about manage to stop them from falling, but so much for being cool and inconspicuous. I think back to my first day at Profectus, when Jinx had been the one drawing all the attention. I much preferred that to this option.

  I drop the hard plastic chair next to Zora’s desk as she scoots over to make room for me. Thankfully, everyone except Zora seems to drop their concentration back down to their work. She stares at me, and I stare back.

  I know we’re both thinking the exact same thing:

  What on earth is going on?

  MY TIME IN MRS PENDLE’S class disappears in a flash of quadratic equations and formulae that I barely pay attention to. Thankfully this is one class that I could take in my sleep. We covered most of this in my first few weeks at Profectus, and Maths has always been one of my favourites amongst the ‘normal’ subjects. I think about how at Profectus I would be learning how to code battle strategies in Moncha’s unique programming language – and then moving on to Industrial Design class, where we were going to use the Academy’s own wind tunnel to test the aerodynamics of new baku prototypes.

  St Agnes doesn’t have a wind tunnel.

  There’s no state-of-the-art programming lab.

  The gym is an ordinary gym, not a secret baku battling arena.

  My heart rate rises as I think of all I’m losing out on if this expulsion is permanent. It can’t be. I have to find a way back to Profectus.

  I keep my head down, dodging looks from other students.

  But I can’t escape them completely. Slick crawls on my knee and projects a message on to my black Profectus-uniform trousers. Bakus aren’t technically supposed to be active during class, but an enterprising St Agnes student had found a way around the block on external messaging in class. To get around it, messages are sent from baku to baku on a group school message board, rather than using names and profiles. A simple fix that the school’s security should have picked up . . . but didn’t. A loophole in the code.

  If there’s anything teens are good at finding, it’s loopholes.

  And messages are being sent to Slick already. There are lots of my former classmates here, people
who have known me for a long time. Slick sends a steady stream of messages my way from those dying with curiosity about what must have happened to me.

  They start out fairly normal:

  Lacey, are you back permanently?

  Has something happened to Profectus?

  What the heck are you doing here?

  But the longer I leave them unanswered, the more extreme they become.

  Has Profectus burned to the ground? That’s the only reason I can think of that you’ve come back here.

  OMG. You’ve been expelled!

  LACEY CHU WAS EXPELLED FROM PROFECTUS.

  I let out a groan that makes Mrs Pendle almost drop her electronic chalk. I snap my mouth shut and keep my eyes glued to the top of the desk. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her glaring around the room but thankfully she doesn’t settle on me. I swipe my hand over the top of Slick’s wings, indicating that I don’t want to read any more messages. My stomach churns, knowing that the gossip is going to spread around the school like wildfire. No chance of my flying under the radar.

  When the bell rings, I’m the first out of the door. I have absolutely no worries about catching up with what’s going on at St Agnes and far more about what I’m missing out on at Profectus. I need this school day to end so I can text Ashley and find out exactly what’s happening.

  Zora scrambles out moments later to meet me. She grabs my hand and grips it tight. Without saying a word (neither of us want to talk about it with others in listening distance), we march our way around to the one place that we know we won’t be overheard: the school library.

  When we settle into one of the study booths, Zora immediately grabs me into a hug. I embrace her back. I don’t want to let her go.

  ‘You’re okay!’ she says into my hair. ‘I’ve been so worried about you. Sorry I didn’t come and see you straight away last night but I was out with my parents and then they said you’d probably want to rest. How are you feeling? Are you totally better now?’

  ‘I feel okay . . .’ I say, with a shrug. ‘Tired, but I don’t know if that’s from whatever kept me in hospital or what happened today . . .’

  ‘They didn’t let you back into Profectus,’ Zora says matter-of-factly.

  I blink rapidly. ‘How did you know?’

  Zora shrugs. ‘I wondered about it when your mom didn’t bring Jinx home. Without Jinx you don’t have a level 3 baku any more. And isn’t that one of the requirements?’

  I nod. ‘The doors wouldn’t even open for me without a level 3. I thought they’d give me a pass since I was already enrolled . . . or maybe give me some financial aid . . . but nothing. I feel so helpless.’

  ‘And you don’t remember why you were passed out in the street? Or anything about where Jinx is?’

  I shake my head. ‘No,’ I say, ‘Slick doesn’t have anything recorded in his memory either – it’s like there was a glitch or something.’

  ‘So what do you do now? Go to the press? The police?’ Even though she’s suggesting these things, I can see her fidgeting with the silver rings on her fingers – a sure sign that she is nervous about my response.

  ‘Until I can remember more, there’s not enough evidence to go to the authorities. Mom promised to talk to Eric Smith about Carter stealing Jinx. So, honestly? Now all I want to do is be able to go back to my proper school.’

  Zora blinks at me, and I bite my lower lip, realizing how insensitive I’m being. St Agnes might not be my proper school, but it is Zora’s. ‘Oh my god, sorry, Z.’

  She blinks again. ‘For what?’

  ‘I don’t mean that St Agnes isn’t a proper school . . .’

  To my relief, she laughs. ‘Don’t be a dummy. Come on, I was almost as invested in you getting into Profectus as you were! It’s always been your dream, not mine. I was just thinking . . . maybe there’s a way for you to get a level 3 baku after all.’

  I frown. ‘What do you mean? There’s no way that I can afford to buy another baku – let alone a level 3. Not unless you know a way to hack the lottery.’

  ‘Ha, no. But you already turned a broken pile of smouldering metal into a fully functioning level 3 cat baku. Why don’t you work on turning Slick into a level 3 over the Christmas holidays? We’ve only got another couple of days left at school, so you won’t miss much. Then you can restart at Profectus in the New Year.’ She lowers her voice. ‘I know you don’t want to replace Jinx . . .’

  ‘I let him go,’ I say, before I can stop myself.

  ‘What?’ Zora gasps.

  Even as the words leave my mouth, I know them to be true. The memory is suddenly clear as day.

  After leaving Moncha HQ, Jinx and I had run down twisting alleys, until we’d come to the gate of a local park, known for being filled with real, live, feral cats. I’d given Jinx a choice: to stay with me, or to go and be with his own kind.

  He chose his own kind.

  Emotions flood through me, a mixture of relief and sadness. At least now I know that Jinx is safe. Hopefully, he’s happy too. He’s found his place.

  ‘I have to trust the old me that it was the right decision,’ I say to Zora’s still shocked face. ‘But I like your plan for me to work on Slick.’ The more I think about it, the better the idea becomes. The differences between level 1s and level 3s are mostly mechanical – with a bit of imagination and creativity, I might be able to turn Slick into some kind of super beetle.

  My words bring Zora back to reality. ‘I don’t see why it wouldn’t work,’ she says, tentatively. ‘Are you sure you’re okay about Jinx?’

  I pause for a moment, picturing his face – his shining dark eyes and pointed ears. But then I remember the flick of his tail as he ran to join the other cats. And I nod. ‘I’m okay. But Z, I’m going to need your help if this plan is to work.’

  Zora grins. ‘I’ve tweaked Slick’s code once before, so I have no problem with doing it one more time. And if this doesn’t prove that you belong at your school, then nothing will.’

  ‘I think it proves that you belong at the school too.’

  Zora puts her hand on my arm. ‘That’s not what I want, and you know it.’

  I stare down at Slick, ideas already crowding my mind for how to change him to bring him up to a level 3. My brain itches to research it, my fingers twitching as if they have little minds of their own.

  It’s not Profectus, it’s not Jinx, but it’s something.

  I can’t wait to get started.

  FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE waking up in my hospital bed – maybe even for the first time since entering Moncha HQ for the final round of the Baku Battles – I feel back in control. I have a plan to get back into Profectus, Mom is going to talk to Eric Smith about leaving me alone, Zora and my Profectus friends are on my side and I think that Jinx is safe.

  While I can’t seem to control my memory, the fact that the Profectus plan includes companioneering makes me feel at ease.

  Confronting authority figures with fierce security panther bakus? Not my style.

  But building new features for a baku to take it from a basic level 1 to a kick-ass level 3? Now that’s a project I can really dig my teeth into. I already feel the adrenaline coursing around my system, and I spend the rest of my class time at St Agnes daydreaming about exactly how I’m going to turn Slick into a level 3 baku. My mind is running through all the spare parts that I have collected from my time clearing up the arena and salvaging for Jinx. There’s plenty that I can use.

  As soon as classes end, I meet Zora and we race out of the school gates together and jump on the bus that takes us home.

  Slick buzzes with incoming messages, so fiercely that I worry he’s going to shake loose some of his connections.

  I’m flooded with voice recordings and emojis and texts from Team Tobias. Ashley’s are filled with urgency, starting from the moment that Dr Grant pulled me away.

  ASHLEY at 8:28: What did Dr Grant want?

  ASHLEY at 8:35: When are you coming to Gathering?

 
ASHLEY at 8:41: I’m really worried about you.

  TOBIAS at 8:42: Just spoke with Ashley, said you didn’t sign in. Hoping everything’s OK.

  RIVER at 9:09: WTF? What was their explanation about the doors?

  KAI at 9:10: You OK dude?

  TOBIAS at 12:49: The team just met for lunch. No one’s seen you, the teachers won’t tell us where you are, please text us when you can?!

  TOBIAS at 1:13: We’ve been to Dr Grant and she said you’ve had to transfer schools? Let us know when you can. Missing you. Hope you’re okay.

  TOBIAS at 1:15: We’ll get you back to Profectus, don’t worry.

  Tobias’s final message brings the ghost of a smile to my face. I tell Slick to send back a message to my friends letting them know I’ve been forced to spend the last few days of term at St Agnes, but that I have a plan to get back as soon as possible.

  Ashley is the first to reply:

  Anything we can do to help?

  I tell Slick to get Jupiter to give Ashley a big nuzzle as a thanks. Then I get a message through from Tobias.

  TOBIAS: Hey – it was supposed to be a celebration of you coming back, but we’re all meeting at Top’s at 7. Please come . . . I’d really like to see you. We all would.

  My heart leaps at the text. Zora notices and quirks her eyebrow at me. ‘Is that Hot Guy?’

  ‘You know his name is Tobias,’ I say, nudging her shoulder.

  ‘Yeah, but I prefer to call him Hot Guy.’ She winks. ‘What’s happening with you two?’

  I shrug. ‘I dunno. He’s my friend . . .’

  ‘A friend who visited you every day in hospital for a month. Sounds like more than a friend to me.’

  A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. ‘It’s all so confusing. We kissed . . .’

  Zora shrieks. ‘Wait, what? When did that happen? Why didn’t you tell me? You have to tell me everything now.’