by Marilyn Kaye
Jenna nodded. ‘Only I didn’t earn them.’
Tracey was shocked to hear the story about the assistant who was blackmailing residents. Can’t you tell someone about him?
‘He’ll only deny it. And how am I going to explain why I know about all the other kids he’s using?’
But this has to stop! He’ll keep making up stories about you, you’ll get more demerits, and, and . . .
Jenna finished the thought for her. ‘And I’ll never get out of here.’
Just as she’d never heard Jenna sound as fierce as she had moments earlier, she’d never heard her sound so flat and resigned. She preferred the fierce Jenna. Maybe now Jenna needed Tracey as a friend even more than Tracey needed Jenna.
That’s not going to happen. I’ll get the proof we need, I’ll get you out of here. I promise, Jenna.
There was a knock on the door, and then it opened. A young woman poked her head in.
‘It’s time for your group session, Jenna.’
Jenna groaned. ‘Can’t I skip it today?’
‘Sure,’ the woman said, ‘if you don’t mind getting another demerit. Oh, and Doctor Paley wants to see you tomorrow.’
‘I just saw him this morning!’ Jenna exclaimed.
The woman shrugged. ‘Well, he wants to see you again tomorrow.’
‘Boy, Peter works fast,’ Jenna murmured.
The woman’s brow furrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing.’ Jenna got up and went to the door. Tracey followed her.
You want me to stick around?
Jenna shook her head. The woman looked at her curiously. ‘Are you all right, Jenna?’
Jenna almost smiled. ‘No. But I will be.’
Yes, Tracey thought fervently. Yes, you will, Jenna.
Outside Harmony House, she went to wait at the bus stop. Looking back at the building, she had the same thought she’d had when she arrived.
No, it didn’t look like a prison. But a place didn’t have to look like a prison to be a prison. A prison didn’t even have to be a place. A secret was like a prison – it could keep a person trapped in the same way. Jenna, Tracey, Emily . . . all of Madame’s students were imprisoned by their secret gifts.
Somehow, Tracey was going to get Jenna out of Harmony House. She’d find the real spy, and the spy would lead her to the proof about Mr Jackson and the knife. Jenna would be released, she’d be free. But could any of them ever feel completely, really and truly free, free to do whatever they wanted, free to be themselves?
No one else came to wait at the bus stop, and the bus was approaching. Tracey could only hope that someone was getting off at this stop so she could get on. No, she wasn’t free to do whatever she wanted.
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN TRACEY ARRIVED HOME, she could hear the Devon Seven and her mother in the kitchen.
‘Where’s Tracey, Mommy?’ one of them asked. Tracey was pretty sure it was Brandie. The others chimed in.
‘Where is she?’
‘I want Tracey to play with us!’
‘We can’t find her, Mommy!’
Mrs Devon looked frazzled. ‘She’s – she’s out, girls, she’s busy. Go outside and play, Tracey’s coming home soon.’
As soon as the kitchen was vacant, the woman sank down into a chair. ‘Tracey?’ she called out weakly. ‘Are you in here?’
Her mother looked really upset.
‘Tracey . . . I’m sure you’re fine, you’re just being invisible, but . . . I’m worried! What if you’re hurt? Maybe you’ve run away from home . . .’ She gasped as another thought must have occurred to her. ‘Maybe you’ve been kidnapped! Oh Tracey, sweetheart, if you’re here . . . I know I wouldn’t be able to hear you if you speak, and I know you can’t write me a message, but . . . could you just give me a sign, so I know you’re all right? You’re not usually invisible for this long.’
Once again, Tracey marvelled at the irony of it all. Not so long ago she could have disappeared for a lot longer than a couple of days and her mother wouldn’t have even noticed. Now she was worried . . . Tracey wasn’t sure which feeling was stronger, her pity for her mother or her satisfaction at the change in family relationships.
It was the pity that made her go back into the living room, pick up her mother’s handbag from the coffee table, and bring it into the kitchen. When the bag appeared in front of her mother, Tracey was rewarded with a sigh and smile of gratitude.
‘Thank you, dear,’ her mother said humbly. Tracey left and went up to her room. She had some thinking to do before she made her next move to fulfil her promise to Jenna.
OK, so Jackson was the major bad guy at Meadowbrook, the numero uno villain. But how was he getting his information about the gifted students? Someone was telling him what went on in class.
Tracey refused to even consider the notion that Madame would betray her students. The teacher was beyond any suspicion, and she was sure her classmates would agree with her. So it had to be one of them. From what she knew, and what she’d observed, she could eliminate herself, Jenna, Emily, Amanda, Sarah, Ken, Martin and Charles. Which only left Carter.
But how could Carter be a spy? The boy didn’t speak, he didn’t write, he couldn’t communicate at all. He was practically a zombie.
She searched her memory for what she knew about him. Supposedly, he was found wandering on Carter Street. He carried no identification and the police had no reports of any missing boy who fitted his description. Social Services had taken over his care and he’d been placed in a foster home. That was all she knew.
From her desk drawer, she retrieved the Meadowbrook Middle School Directory, and looked up his name. The foster family was called Granger, and they lived not too far from her own home.
The address turned out to be a medium-sized, very ordinary looking cottage-style house on a tree-lined street. The sun was setting and the lights were on inside. She waited on the front steps for a while, but no one came in or out. Fortunately, the curtains weren’t drawn, so she walked around the house and peeked in at each window.
She found Carter in what was clearly the dining room of the house. He was sitting at a table with two other young boys, a man and a woman. She assumed the adults were the Grangers. The two younger boys didn’t look at all alike, nor did they look like the adults, so she thought they might be foster children too.
The Grangers certainly fed their foster kids well. The table was laden with food – roast beef, bowls of vegetables, a big tossed salad. She couldn’t hear any conversation, but she could see lips moving as the family talked. It seemed to her that they were having a lively conversation. Of course, Carter wasn’t participating in it. He ate, slowly and rhythmically, but he stared straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone else at the table. It was the same way he behaved at school. She saw the woman bend over and speak to him, but Carter didn’t respond.
It dawned on her that she was hungry. Eating while invisible wasn’t easy. Even if she could get herself inside the house without anyone noticing a door opening, she couldn’t very well join them for their meal. There were too many people at the table and someone was bound to notice if food started to disappear.
So she stood there, suffering hunger pangs, and waited for the meal to end. Only, what did she expect to happen after that? The boys would probably watch a little television and go to bed. There wouldn’t be much to see through the windows. She had to find a way to get inside the house and into Carter’s room. Maybe there she’d find something interesting about Carter, some clue as to whether or not Carter had a secret life as a spy.
Fortunately, when dinner was over and the table was being cleared, she observed the woman saying something to Carter again. He got up and left the dining room. Skipping over to the next window, Tracey could see him scraping leftovers from the plates into the trash bin in the kitchen. Then he took out the garbage-packed liner and went to the back door.
Tracey hurried to position herself by the back door and as soon as Cart
er opened it she slipped inside. While Carter took the garbage to the outdoor bin, she did a quick survey of the kitchen. A platter of leftover roast beef slices hadn’t been put away yet.
A benefit of being invisible meant she didn’t have to think about manners. She snatched up a slice of meat and practically crammed the whole piece in her mouth. Then she took a second slice. Mrs Granger came in and picked up the platter. Looking at the remains of the meat, her brow furrowed for a minute, as if she’d realized there was less there than she thought there should be. Finally, she shrugged and wrapped the slices.
Carter returned.
‘Could you help me load the dishwasher, Carter?’ the woman asked.
Carter didn’t say yes or no, but he opened the door of the dishwasher and began loading items. He was just like he was at school, obeying without communicating.
Tracey left the kitchen and went down a hall which she presumed would lead to bedrooms. One bedroom held a big double bed, and she assumed that was the master bedroom. Another bedroom had bunk beds and toys strewn on the floor.
She decided that the third bedroom must be Carter’s. It held one single bed, a desk, a bureau and a bookshelf. Everything was impeccably neat and tidy.
With no one else in there, she had the freedom to open drawers. All she found there were clothes. Desk drawers contained pencils, a ruler, ordinary school stuff. She couldn’t find any notes or letters.
Next, she checked the books on the shelves. She tried to remember if she’d ever seen Carter reading, but no image came to mind. Actually, the books all looked pretty new and untouched. She opened a few in the half-hearted hope she might find a note tucked inside, but she had no luck.
It was frustrating. There had to be something in this room but she couldn’t tear it apart and make a mess. She’d have to wait until Carter came in and hope he would reveal something to her. To pass the time, she took one of the books from the shelf, a biography of Helen Keller. Maybe the Grangers had given it to him in the hope that he might find something in common with a person who overcame disabilities. She sat at Carter’s desk, and started to read.
Once she sat down, she realized how exhausted she was. It had been a long day. The life of Helen Keller was intriguing but Tracey was too tired to get caught up in it. She put her head on the desk and closed her eyes.
It was amazing how easily she fell asleep in such an uncomfortable position. When she opened her eyes the room was completely dark. Rising from the chair, she saw Carter in bed, sound asleep.
The whole house was silent – everyone must be asleep, she thought. The bedside clock told her it was midnight. Well, at least she could get out without anyone seeing a door open by itself. She just hoped there was no alarm system.
Suddenly, making barely a sound, Carter sat up in bed. For a second, Tracey thought he was looking straight at her and that maybe she’d become visible. A glance at the mirror over the bureau told her that this hadn’t happened.
Carter got out of bed and gathered up the clothes he’d been wearing earlier. Politely, Tracey averted her eyes while he dressed. He then walked out of the room.
Was he sleepwalking? Tracey wondered. She followed him down the hall and into the living room. Silently, he opened the front door.
On the street in front of the house, a black car was waiting. A man stepped out from the driver’s side, and without speaking, he opened the back door. Carter got in, with Tracey close behind.
The driver took off. He said nothing to Carter and he seemed to know where he was going. The ride took about twenty minutes and brought them to a residential area on the other side of town. The car pulled up in front of a house on a tree-lined street. Again, the driver got out and opened the door.
Carter walked to the front door. Tracey hung back for a moment, to get a good look at the house so she could identify it later. It was white, smaller than Charles’s home, but well kept and nice looking.
She’d expected Carter to knock or ring a bell but someone must have seen him approach from inside. The door opened and Carter went in. Tracey raced forward but she was too late – the door had closed by the time she reached it.
Furious at herself, she raced around the house, looking for another way to get inside. There was a back door, but it was locked.
So she was in the same position she’d been in back at Carter’s home, and she was forced to do what she’d done there – look for a window that would give her a view of what was going on inside. Again, the people were in the dining room and sitting around a dining room table. But they weren’t eating.
She could identify all of them. Clare, the woman who’d been in charge of the bank robbery. Serena, the fake student teacher and medium. The man who called himself Stuart Kelley and claimed to be Jenna’s father. And Mr Jackson.
Carter was offered the chair at the head of the table. Serena seemed to be talking to him – at least, she was looking at him and her lips were moving. And then Tracey saw something she’d never seen before.
Carter’s lips were moving. With the window closed, Tracey couldn’t hear anything, but it was obvious that Carter was speaking. And whatever he was saying had the full attention of the others.
Clare was taking notes. Mr Jackson was nodding. Stuart Kelley appeared to interrupt at some point to ask a question. Carter responded.
At first, Tracey was stunned. Then, when she recovered from her surprise, she was furious. That weasel, that little fake – he was pretending to be a zombie and all the time he was perfectly capable of communicating. He must have an incredible memory too. She’d never seen him write anything down in class, but he was obviously able to remember everything he heard there so he could report to this evil gang. At least, that’s what Tracey assumed he was doing – telling the others what went on in the Gifted class. But what else could intrigue this band of conspirators?
If only she could read lips! What was Carter telling them? How were they going to use the information?
Oh, how she wished she could communicate right then and there. She’d call her classmates, she’d call Madame at home, she wouldn’t care if she woke them all up. She’d tell them where she was, they could join her, and together they could confront these people.
She couldn’t tell them, of course. She wasn’t physically capable of doing that. But maybe she could show them. From her bag, she drew out her mobile phone. In the menu, she clicked on the camera function.
The phone in her hand was invisible. Maybe any picture she took with an invisible camera wouldn’t be seen. But she couldn’t waste time pondering the logistics of invisibility. She manoeuvred the phone until she thought it was in the right position to catch the image of the table and the people around it, and clicked. In this darkness, it wouldn’t be a great picture, and it wouldn’t prove that Carter could talk.
But it would show that Mr Jackson was in league with those other villains. And that was a start.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AT TEN O’CLOCK ON Saturday morning, Jenna found herself facing Dr Paley in his office. Behind the desk, the round-faced man gazed at her steadily. Jenna stared right back at him.
The doctor wasn’t smiling quite as broadly this time. ‘I don’t usually come in to Harmony House on Saturdays,’ he said. ‘But I thought it was important to see you as soon as possible.’
Jenna affected a look of wide-eyed innocence. ‘Why?’
‘I think you know,’ he said.
Of course she knew, but she wanted to hear it from him. She couldn’t defend herself until she knew exactly what that creep Peter had said. So she simply shrugged.
Dr Paley gave in. ‘When I checked my messages this morning, there was a new and urgent report about you. You’ve been observed talking to yourself.’
Jenna said nothing.
‘And your expression indicated that you were listening to another voice. As if someone else was with you.’
Jenna remained silent.
‘You don’t deny it?’ he asked.
Jenna chose her words carefully. ‘I don’t remember doing anything like that.’
Dr Paley looked at his notes. ‘You appeared to be carrying on a conversation in the dining hall, and you were alone.’
Jenna shrugged. ‘I was probably daydreaming.’
Dr Paley studied her thoughtfully. ‘Who were you talking to, Jenna?’
What would he say if she replied ‘my invisible friend’? The thought made her smile.
‘This isn’t a laughing matter,’ he said.
Jenna shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ‘Sorry. I guess I was just daydreaming again.’
‘You don’t strike me as a daydreamer,’ he said. He looked at his notes again. ‘I see you’ve amassed a lot of demerits. Smoking, picking fights . . .’
She tried to stop the fury from rising inside but it was impossible and she knew it came out in her voice. ‘I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my life,’ she declared hotly. ‘And I haven’t picked any fights. Not here, at least.’
‘Then why do you have all these demerits?’
‘It’s all made up, I shouldn’t have those demerits. Someone’s out to get me.’ And then she wanted to kick herself. Now he was going to think she was paranoid.
‘Who’s out to get you? Mrs Landers? Other kids?’
She shook her head.
He looked at the file. ‘I see all these demerits were reported by the same resident assistant.’
She couldn’t stop herself. ‘Peter Blake.’
‘Is that who’s out to get you?’ When she didn’t reply, he asked, ‘Why would he make up these things about you?’
‘Because he’s a slime bucket,’ she muttered.
A brief smile flickered across the doctor’s face. ‘That may well be – I don’t know the young man. But why would he pick on you?’
She was so sick of this, of beating around the bush, avoiding the questions. Of being Peter’s victim. ‘Because I wouldn’t tell my friends to bring me drugs so I could slip them to him. He’s punishing me by giving me demerits, thinking I’ll give in eventually. And it’s not just me.’ She hesitated.
