How to Lead a Life of Crime

by Kirsten Miller

  “It was the little boy. The one who died. He made me think about you. Is that why you put his pictures on that phone?”

  When Peter Pan grins, I realize how stupid the question must have sounded. “You know I don’t have that kind of power,” he reminds me. “Even if I did, all that matters is that you knew what the pictures meant.”

  “I saw that kid, and all I could think about was how much I miss you and how much I lost when I let you go. I couldn’t do that to someone else. I couldn’t take away what little was left of his one good thing.”

  “You figured out that he wasn’t just an assignment or a means to an end. He was real.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s all real, you know,” Jude tells me. “All the bodies left behind in their war games. All the people they poison and rob. They’re human beings.”

  “I know. That’s why I called Dad and told him to come get me. He’s bad, but Mandel is a million times worse.”

  “You don’t need Dad’s help. You’ve found Mandel’s blind spot. He doesn’t know there’s a third option. Remember what you told Dad? He asked what you would do if you were given the choice to kill or die. You said you’d do ‘something else.’ Well, you’re going to face another choice soon enough, I’ll bet. And whatever you do—make it spectacular.”

  I laugh. “Any ideas?”

  “Nope, but you’ll figure it out.”

  “I’m glad to have you back, Jude.”

  “I never went anywhere,” he says. “There’s nowhere to go.”

  • • •

  I’m in the infirmary and a machine by my head is beeping insistently. A nurse peeks into the room and sees I’m awake. A few minutes later a doctor arrives. He shines a penlight into each of my eyes.

  “Can you feel your limbs?” he asks.

  “Yes.” Everything hurts. My throat is painfully dry. And I’m pretty sure there’s a catheter stuck where no plastic tubing should ever be forced to go.

  “Do you know where you are?”

  “The seventh circle of hell?”

  “I heard you had a sense of humor,” he replies dryly as he slides a blood pressure cuff up my arm.

  “How long was I out?”

  “Thirteen days.”

  Damn! Mr. Wilson really knows how to swing a set of nunchaku.

  “Any serious damage?”

  The doctor glances at my face. “You’re not as cute anymore.”

  “Is that supposed to be funny?” I really don’t know.

  “You’ll be fine,” the doctor says on his way out of the room. “By the way, you have a visitor waiting outside.”

  It’s not Mandel. It’s Gwendolyn. And I’m glad to see that she isn’t pretending to be concerned. She just glides in, wearing a black dress with a strange, white image that stretches from the collar to the hem. It looks like an x-ray of a bird in flight. She takes a seat in the chair at my bedside and stares at me.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” I croak.

  “He’s right. You’re not as cute anymore,” she informs me.

  “Well, if you get sick of looking at me, you can always cut off my head.”

  “Maybe someday I will,” Gwendolyn replies. “It’s definitely something to look forward to. But for now Mr. Mandel says we’re still a couple. He made me come down to offer my congratulations.”

  “For what? Getting my ass handed to me?”

  “For being named one of the academy’s Duxes.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  She picks up a section of my IV tube and rolls it between her thumb and index finger. She’s probably itching to give it a yank. “I wish. I thought you were out of the game when you fell to fifteenth place in the Art of Persuasion. But I guess your other grades were pretty amazing. We’re tied.”

  “Tied? We’re both Dux?” It sounds great—until I realize that Mandel has made Gwendolyn my chaperone.

  “Yes, which means you better get your ass out of bed. The new semester starts in four days. We have work to do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  * * *

  FRESH MEAT

  When I get to my room, I strip and stand in front of the mirror. My skin is a patchwork of purple, yellow, and brown—the colors of death and decay. If zombies ever invade the Mandel Academy, they’ll probably accept me as one of their own. Still, as bad as my carcass looks now, it must have been twice as gruesome while the bruises were fresh. My right leg doesn’t appear to be seriously injured, but it can’t bear much weight. The doctor didn’t give me crutches or a cane, so I hop whenever I can. When I can’t, I walk with an old man’s limp. My left arm was in a sling when I left the infirmary. I slipped that off before stepping into the elevator. The arm may be useless for now, but I’d rather no one else know it.

  After I woke from the coma, I spent two days strapped to a hospital bed. Aside from a few delightful chats with Gwendolyn, my only entertainment was a series of sponge baths that didn’t live up to my expectations. Mandel never once paid me a visit. But now that I’ve been released, I see he’s left me a homecoming gift. My computer is running and there’s a new folder sitting on the desktop. I laugh out loud when I see the label he’s given it: when you’re ready. Who knew a psychopath could be so corny? It sounds like the title of a 1970s sex-ed pamphlet for girls. But I doubt Mandel wants to warn me about the dangers of teenage fornication. The folder must contain information about my father. It may even be the proof he killed Jude. As curious as I am, I won’t open the file. If I’m lucky, I’ll have a chance to make use of it later. But I finally know who I want to be. I want to be the person who destroys the Mandel Academy.

  The question that’s been eating away at me for forty-eight hours is, how? When I wasn’t being probed by the infirmary’s doctors, I sent my mind in search of answers. I tried to relive each day of the last four months—and replay every conversation I’ve ever had with Mandel. I must have seen or heard something that would help me blow this whole place sky-high. But I still don’t know what it was. All I have is a single clue. Jude was right—Mandel does have a blind spot. My thoughts kept returning to the night Lucas and I tried to escape. Mandel assumed I’d been running for my life. It never even dawned on him that I had been trying to save Lucas. He called my actions illogical. He couldn’t understand them. I guess risking your ass to help someone else makes no sense to a man who fantasizes about murdering millions.

  So the academy’s leader is a nut job with a limited understanding of human psychology. It’s an interesting piece of data, but I have no idea how to make use of it. Unfortunately, a lack of inspiration is hardly my biggest problem. I’m crippled, outnumbered, and there’s a computer chip in my head. And there’s always a chance that my own DNA could turn against me. All I can do is hope that Mandel is wrong about the predator gene. Because if I stay in control, I know I’ll make the right choices. I’ll die before I fight like my father did. But I’d rather do something spectacular. And I’m stuck here until I figure out what that’s going to be.

  I’m not one of Mandel’s predators, but I am a Dux, and my new duties must be addressed immediately. Gwendolyn keeps complaining that we’re far behind schedule. The next semester begins in two days. The Beauty Pageant will take place tomorrow night, and I still haven’t had my sneak peek at the newbies. Gwendolyn said she’d give me a debrief over lunch. It’s just past noon, and I’m eager to get to the cafeteria before the Wolves arrive. I don’t want to parade my new limp in front of them. But showering isn’t the simple operation it once was. I clean only the parts that are already reeking. While I mow through two weeks of stubble, I check my new battery-powered, cordless alarm clock and see that I’m running late.

  Gwendolyn is sitting on her own, her face lit by the glow of the tablet computer in her hands. She’s chosen a table in the far corner of the cafeteria so I’ll have to hobble past every student at the academy. Gwendolyn wants them all to get a good look at me. I’m wounded and vulnerable. I start to expect an ambush the second I s
et foot in the lunchroom. The Wolves have gathered at two tables near the jumbo-sized screen that displays the new rankings. Ella is wedged between Caleb and Leila. I scan the rankings list and see that she’s taken Ivan’s place at number 12. My own name is all the way at the top. The Wolves watch as I limp across the room. I give them the finger with my good hand. No one snarls or growls. All but one of them glance back down at their trays. Ella keeps her eyes on me. It must be my imagination, but it almost looks like she’s smiling.

  At first I’m baffled. I’ve given Austin, Leila, Caleb, and Julian every reason to kill me. The four of them could rip me to shreds before the lunch on their plates has time to cool. It’s possible that Mandel ordered his pets not to pounce. But I’m starting to think that there might be another reason they haven’t attacked. Before I was Dux, the whole pack would have benefited if I’d been eliminated. Now that I have the title, one of the Wolves stands to gain much more from my death. Caleb is number 2 in the rankings. He’ll still be seventeen in September—too young to graduate—which means he’s here for another year. If I die and Gwendolyn heads to Harvard, he’ll be named the school’s Dux. But his friends won’t help him because they all want the top place for themselves. Not a single Wolf will sacrifice for the sake of the pack. They’d rather suffer under a leader they despise. That means even though I’m at my weakest, I’m safer here than I’ve ever been.

  I always thought the tracking chips were what kept the Wolves in their cage. Now I can see I was wrong. Even the most advanced technology couldn’t stop a pack of twelve brilliant beasts. Together, they could find a way to beat the chips. But Wolves aren’t team players. None of them could escape on their own—and they won’t work together. They’re each too busy trying to win the big prize. They’ll never stop playing Mandel’s game. And they’ll never realize that they’re nothing but pawns.

  When Gwendolyn spots me approaching, she hops up and kisses my cheek. “How do you like being a gimp?” she whispers sweetly in my ear.

  My grin becomes a wince as I lower my aching body onto the stool opposite hers. “Look, Fang, why don’t we put an end to this bullshit. You don’t want to be with me. And I’m not interested in cuddling up with a bitch that bites. Now that we’re both Dux, I don’t see any reason to keep putting on a show for the underachievers.”

  “We can’t stop.” She says it through her teeth.

  “Sure we can. Just tell Mandel that you gave me the boot. He’s probably figured out that you hate me. You haven’t been doing a very good job of hiding it lately.”

  Gwendolyn leans forward, her hands pressed flat against the table like she’s about to spring across it and eat me alive. “Let me explain something to you, Flick. Mr. Mandel knows exactly how much I loathe you, but it doesn’t make any difference. You’re my big project this semester. Lucas was my last assignment. I was supposed to help the little wuss grow a pair of balls, but I failed. This is my last chance to graduate. If you screw up, I’m never getting out of this building.”

  I’m almost disappointed in Gwendolyn. I thought she was savvier than this. “Mandel is full of shit. . . .”

  Gwendolyn grabs the wrist of my injured arm. Shut up! she mouths as her nails puncture my skin.

  I pull her painted claws out of my flesh. “You think I care if he’s listening? You didn’t fail your last project. You were set up. Mandel never expected Lucas to kill that airline CEO. You were given an assignment you couldn’t complete so you’d be desperate to prove yourself the next time around. Mandel knew I was going to be your project this semester, and he wanted you to be willing to do whatever he asked.”

  Gwendolyn sticks out her lower lip like she’s mocking a child. “What difference does it make if he tricked me? Are you trying to tell me that life isn’t fair? Are you really that pathetic?”

  It seems like a good time to test my new theory, so I reach for the tablet computer and type out a note.

  Why should we have to play Mandel’s little games? You and I are the best of the best. We could take over this place if we put our heads together.

  “And what if we did?” Gwendolyn asks. She’s choosing her words carefully. As much as she despises me, she won’t say anything that might condemn me. “You want me to believe that we’d live happily ever after? I’m not stupid. I know you’d find some way to get rid of me. If I didn’t get to you first.” She thinks my proposal was nothing more than a ploy—and an incredibly lame one at that.

  I decide to give it another shot, just to be sure. “Why would I want to get rid of you, Gwendolyn? We could be invincible together. Even Mandel thinks we make a great team. He’s letting us share the Dux title, isn’t he?”

  She replies in a whisper so soft that the words dissolve into the air. “Yes, and I’d kill you right now if I could. I didn’t work my ass off for three years to share. And if you keep talking like this, we’ll both end up dead. Do you understand? So shut your mouth and smile for the idiots.”

  I give her my toothiest grin.

  “Good. Now let’s get down to business.” She shoves the tablet computer back across the table. I catch it just before it flies over the edge.

  The form on the screen contains a few fascinating facts about a kid named Max. He’s six foot four, 218 pounds. He just turned sixteen, and he’s spent the last two years in juvie. It says he was convicted of four counts of aggravated assault, but it doesn’t elaborate. There’s no photograph of Max, but the description almost makes me nostalgic. He sounds just like dear, departed, decapitated Ivan. At the bottom of Max’s profile, there’s a little box labeled type. It contains a plus mark.

  “Scroll down. There’s information on all six new students,” Gwendolyn says.

  “What does this mean?” I ask, pointing to the type box. It must mean Max is a member of the 1 percent. A psychopath, a born predator. But I’m curious to find out if Gwendolyn knows.

  My question was perfectly reasonable, and yet Gwendolyn snorts as if it’s proof I’m an imbecile. “It means Max has the kind of blood you can donate to anyone. If he dies, the school will store his blood in case another student needs a transfusion. There’s usually a kid in each class who has the right type. I have it too.”

  “Interesting. But why the plus mark? The ‘universal donor’ blood type is O negative.”

  “Why are you asking me?” Gwendolyn demands.

  “Just making conversation,” I reply as I scroll through the files. There are three females—Flora, Violet, and June—and two more males—Orson and Hugo. Of the six, only Max has a plus sign in the type box. “When do we get to inspect the fresh meat?”

  “After lunch. Mr. Mandel has arranged an exhibition.”

  First we get bread, then a circus. Mandel knows how to keep his top people happy. “You mean a fight? Like the time I kicked Ivan’s ass for your viewing pleasure?”

  “Yes. But today it’s not just for fun. Mr. Mandel told us to pay close attention. There’s something strange going on with this Incubation Group. He wants to see what we think.”

  “Strange? In what way?”

  “He didn’t say, and I’m not a mind reader,” Gwendolyn snaps. “Why do you keep asking all these retarded questions?”

  She’s really starting to piss me off. “You know, darling, you might try being more pleasant,” I warn her. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure you flunk out of school. And I’ve seen what Mandel does to the kids who don’t graduate. I bet he’d love to take a cranial saw to your pretty little skull.”

  • • •

  The elevator gates open, and we enter the Incubation Suites. The name finally makes sense to me now. I was imagining babies and birds when I should have been thinking tenth-grade biology. The incubation period starts when you catch a disease. It ends when you begin to show the first symptoms.

  Gwendolyn uses a card key to unlock one of the two Employee-Only doors that I remember from my own stay in the Suites. Just as I suspected, behind the first door is a set of stairs leading up to the glass-encl
osed catwalk.

  “What’s behind door number two?” I ask, pointing down the hall. “A lady or a tiger?”

  “Storage, you dolt,” my tour guide responds. “That’s where they keep all the furniture they’re always moving around.” I can’t even tell if she got my joke. A month ago, Gwendolyn would have laughed just to humor me. Now she only has two settings—silent and snarling.

  When we reach the top of the stairs, she grabs a remote control from its cradle on the wall. The device has a single red button, and Gwendolyn keeps her thumb on it as we stride toward our destination. She must be worried I’ll snatch her precious remote away, but I’m too entertained by this rare behind-the-scenes glimpse of the Mandel Academy. Walking down the catwalk is like floating through the open air. You’re so high up you can’t help but feel like a god.

  Gwendolyn clicks the red button before we enter the gym. The stretch of catwalk in front of us shimmers. The glass looks a shade milkier, but we’ll have a perfectly clear view of Mandel’s “exhibition.”

  “Max, June. On the mat!” I recognize the voice of my former self-defense instructor.

  Far below, seven people assume their positions. Two of them will be facing each other in battle. But it doesn’t appear to be a fair match. One of the combatants is a beast of a boy. The other is a tall, willowy girl with jet-black hair pulled up in a bun.

  I take a step toward the glass, and my own ghostly reflection comes into view. My mouth is open, and my good hand is preparing to wave. My teeth almost touch, and my tongue presses against the top of my mouth, but Joi’s name never makes it past my lips. I watch my hand fall to my side. The only thing I hear is the sound of my heart trying to break free from my chest.