by Kurt Dinan
But in his right hand, Wheeler’s still holding his cell phone.
So two phones?
Malone and I understand at the same time.
She grabs Wheeler’s left hand before he can pull it from his pocket.
“Hey, wait,” he says.
Malone goes into attack mode, practically climbing onto Wheeler to get at his jacket pocket. He struggles, pinning his hand against the opening, but Malone pinches his earlobe between two fingernails. Wheeler lets out a shriek that would make a six-year-old girl proud and jerks his hand from his pocket to cover his ear.
Malone thrusts her hand into his pocket, and a second later she’s holding up the hidden phone.
Stranko’s phone.
“You idiot,” Malone says.
“Look, I know it looks bad, but there were too many teachers around, and I got to thinking about the damage we could do, so…” Wheeler trails off.
“So you kept it,” Malone finishes, pissed.
“We’re screwed,” Adleta says.
“Look, it wasn’t my plan to keep the phone, but I couldn’t get it back to the table and thought about leaving it in the bathroom or something, but then I got to thinking—”
“Which is never a good sign,” I say.
“—that everything’s on here,” Wheeler says. “Malone’s right—there’s nothing about the Chaos Club on the phone, but his contact list is a gold mine. It’s all here—Stranko’s home phone number, address, teacher’s numbers, people he emails, everything.”
“I downloaded all that too,” Malone says.
“Yeah, but this is his phone. We can call from it or send texts; they’ll all look like they’re coming from Stranko.”
“Until he has his service discontinued,” I say.
“But until then, think of the havoc we could unleash. You don’t blow an opportunity like this. That guy’s been a pain in the ass for years. We have an obligation to every kid he’s terrorized. His balls are ours now. We need to squeeze them until they explode.”
“Ewww,” Ellie says.
“You have to get rid of that,” I say. “If you get caught with it, you’ll get expelled. And once he figures out how you got it, we’ll be expelled too.”
“Dude, he’s not going to find out. I disabled Find My Phone and turned off the location services. I’m not dumb enough to bring it to school either.”
“But you are dumb enough to walk around with it,” Malone says.
“That was just for tonight. I was going to show all of you that I had it. Seriously, I’m going to hide it in my house tonight. Come on, trust me. We might need it later. Besides, he uses a cloud app for storage. If he discovers anything new about the Chaos Club, it’ll upload into the cloud. It’s like having access to his brain.”
“And if he changes the password?” Adleta asks.
“Then the phone is useless and I get rid of it. But that’s a big if. I doubt Stranko thinks someone stole his phone. He probably just thinks he left it somewhere.”
“He’s not stupid,” Adleta warns. “An asshole, yes, but not stupid. I’ve known him too long. We can’t underestimate him.”
“Tim’s right,” Malone says. “We need to be careful with Stranko. Ever since this started, I’ve been thinking a lot about him. I don’t think he knows how awful he is. In his mind, I’ll bet he believes he’s helping the school by being such a tight ass that discipline keeps things under control. It’s like when we read The Lord of the Flies our freshman year; none of those kids thought they were doing the wrong thing, even though they were. I think Stranko’s just doing what he thinks is best for the school.”
“Like that’s an excuse for being a prick,” Wheeler says.
“It’s not, but it explains him maybe.”
Ellie looks up from my laptop which she’s been reading something on and says, “Did you see this other subfolder hidden in Pictures? It has all the school’s information. It has the administrative handbook, security codes, emergency procedures, even an insanely detailed map. This could come in handy.”
“I’ll take a handy,” Wheeler says.
“Again, ewww.”
I look over Ellie’s shoulder at the file she’s talking about. She’s right—it has everything you could want to know about the inner workings of Asheville High School. And to think we didn’t even have to break into an architect’s office to steal the original blueprints. God bless technology.
“Holy shit!” Wheeler says, leaping to his feet a couple minutes later. “You’re not going to believe this one. History, 1989. Oh man.”
“That’s when my parents graduated,” I say.
“Well, wait till you see.”
My fingers fly over the screen until I come across the 1989 folder. The print is so small I have to squint:
Friday, May 19th
Senior Picnic Bird Attack
During tug-of-war on the all-purpose field, a whistle sounded and a flock of birds flew out of Johnson's Woods and descended on the picnic, flying everywhere and relieving themselves on everyone.
“Yuck,” Ellie says.
“No, it’s get better,” Wheeler says. “Open the picture.”
Thirty seconds later, all of us are laughing as hard as Wheeler. A blur of birds fills the screen, their white bird shit streaking down the kids’ shirts and matting their hair. Students run around as if caught in the middle of a bombing run. But it’s the guy standing in the middle of the photo with his head shit splattered as he swings at passing birds that make this the single greatest photo in the history of mankind.
Stranko.
“T-shirts,” Wheeler says, borderline hyperventilating. “We need to make T-shirts.”
“And rent a billboard,” Adleta adds.
It’s not a bad idea. What I really want to know though is how they pulled off a prank like that. And I have a good idea who to ask. Uncle Boyd.
“So where do we go from here?” Malone soon asks. “How does this help us find the Chaos Club?”
“Because it’s information. And yeah, the Chaos Club is anonymous. We know that. But what if we make them find us instead?” I say.
“I think they already did that, dude,” Wheeler says.
“That’s not what I mean. What’s cool about the Chaos Club is you never know when they’re going to strike next. That’s probably why they’ve never been caught. They’re usually good for a few pranks a year and always one at the end of the year, but what if they suddenly started doing more?”
“Why would they do that?” Adleta said.
“They wouldn’t.”
“So then what’s your point?”
“The five of us pretend to be the Chaos Club,” Malone says, sitting up. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it? You want us to pull pranks too.”
“That’s the idea.”
“What will pulling pranks help?” Wheeler asks. “The goal is to find out who they are and destroy them, not do their work for them. Why make them even bigger heroes than they already are?”
Adleta gets it now too.
“Oh, you don’t want us to just pull pranks—you want us to pull bad pranks, ones that would make the administration have to act. Is that it?”
“Yeah, I got the idea in Watson’s class the other day when he said sometimes it’s good for symbols to be torn down. I started thinking, what if we hijack the Chaos Club—their ideas, their websites, even their cards—until they finally have to show themselves? They’ve lived in the shadows for almost forty years. There’s no way they’re going to sit by and let us pretend we are the Chaos Club. They’ll be forced to respond too, like the administration. Either way, it’ll make things happen.”
Everyone goes quiet thinking this over. I’ll admit the plan’s not foolproof—the Chaos Club could just ignore us and then we’re putting ourselves at risk for n
o reason—but it’s not an awful plan either.
“I like it,” Wheeler says. “Destruction for a good cause. I’m in.”
“What sort of pranks do you have in mind?” Adleta asks.
“Whatever gets their attention, especially anything dumb, elaborate, or over the top. The Chaos Club prides itself on quality. I’m sure the five of us can come up with some stupid pranks to draw them out or pranks where the administration would have to act.”
Adleta says, “Count me in.”
“And if we get caught?” Malone asks.
We all just look dumbly at each other.
“I don’t need an answer,” she says. “I’m just trying to see all the angles. But I’m in too.”
“Good,” I say, “because I need you to use your art skills to make imitations of the Chaos Club business cards. Can you do that?”
“That should be easy enough. Design wise, their cards are pretty basic.”
Leaving only one person—Ellie.
“I’ll do it on one condition,” she says. “We make it a contest. Best prank wins. That’ll make it a lot more fun.”
“I like it,” Malone says. “A prank off.”
“Great idea,” I say, and Ellie grins with her whole face.
“What’s the prize?” Wheeler asks.
“Bragging rights,” Malone says.
“No,” Ellie says, “even better, the winner gets a guaranteed yes.”
“A what?” Adleta says.
“Whoever we decides wins gets to ask for something from us and we have to say yes. It’ll be fun.”
“I am one hundred percent in favor of this prize,” Wheeler says.
“Why am I imagining your request would include some sort of nudity…or worse?” Malone says.
“Because you know me so well, Kate, duh.”
“Don’t worry,” Ellie says to Malone. “He won’t win. Girls are a lot more creative than boys.”
“If there’s a winner, does that mean there’s a loser too?” I ask.
“Oh, you don’t want to be the loser,” Ellie says, twisting an invisible mustache. “There will be dire consequences for the loser.”
“How do we determine who has the best prank?” Adleta says.
“Everyone gets a vote,” Malone says, “but I think we’ll know the winner when we see it.”
“Is there a time limit?” Ellie asks.
“Well, it obviously has to be before we expose the Chaos Club,” Malone says.
“And before the last day of school,” Wheeler adds.
“But no outside help,” I say. “I don’t want this extending outside this room.”
“Good idea,” Malone says.
“Can we work in pairs?” Ellie asks.
“If someone wants to, then yeah,” Adleta says.
“Good.” Ellie smiles my way, making my stomach twinge. “So we’re all in agreement on the rules?”
I run down my mental checklist and say, “Wheeler, what about a copycat website? Could we make it look just like theirs, steal all their pictures and stuff, but make the Chaos Club look ridiculous? I think that would get their attention.”
“Dude, you want me to be irritating? That’s right up my alley.”
Exactly, it’s Heist Rule #11: Play to your crew’s strengths.
Because pranks are really nothing but heists for beginners. Same concepts, same rules, only without the federal offense aspect involved—at least hopefully without.
“What can I do?” Ellie asks.
“How about being available to anyone who may need student or teacher info? You can get all that as an office aide, right?”
“Not just that, but the principal’s schedules, keys to any place on school grounds, you name it.”
“They let you at that stuff?” Malone says.
“Well, let’s just say the office is a busy place,” Ellie says. “So yeah, I can do that.”
“And me?” Adleta says.
“You’re the inside man with Stranko,” I say. “I need you to stay close to him—closer than you’d normally be probably—and report back on anything you hear.”
Adleta thinks it over and says, “That means I’m going to have to apologize.”
“Uh, yeah.”
What’s shocking is that I’m not afraid of Adleta anymore. Or not as much as I used to be. I mean, yeah, he could probably throw me straight up through the ceiling into the family room, but after the Stranko Caper, I trust him.
“Okay, I’ll apologize tomorrow, then start sucking up to him.”
“Cool,” I say. “I know you don’t want to do it, but we need it. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
“How about letting me cage-match Stranko?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The meeting breaks up shortly after that, and we head upstairs, Wheeler leading the way, followed by Adleta and Malone. Ellie pauses at the base of the steps.
“Nice job today, Mongoose.”
My ears begin to burn.
I need to say something clever. Or suave. Or witty. Something.
I know what James Bond would do in this situation—he’d grab Ellie and plant some superspy kiss on her that makes her clothes magically fall from her body. I’m still playing at beginner level though, so Not Max goes for something a little more basic.
“Maybe we should read through the files together?”
“Great idea! This weekend?”
Ugh. Stupid reality.
“I’m grounded for at least a week for being assigned to work crew,” I say. “But maybe the weekend after that?”
Ellie shakes her head. “Let’s make it this Friday.”
“But my parents—”
“Just be ready around seven,” Ellie says. “And act normal, Mongoose. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Chapter 8
Cows greet us at school the next day.
Nine of them.
On the roof.
Somehow during the night they’ve been: (A) paraded? (B) airlifted? (C) thrown? onto the main building, and now: (A) lounge? (B) graze? (C) wait? while we do our daily zombie walk inside. From the edge of the building where the cows stand hangs a sign reading: Chaos Club.
This is what we’re up against.
“Awesome,” the guy next to me says.
I can’t argue with that.
“Hey, you’re one of those Water Tower Five idiots, right?” he says.
I can’t argue with that either.
Fifty yards down the sidewalk, Mrs. B, Stranko, and Officer Hale look up at the distraught cows, probably discussing how to get them down. Mrs. B has a small smile as she assesses the situation. But Stranko looks biblically constipated as he watches, and then unconsciously, pointlessly, reaches to his hip for the cell phone that isn’t there.
Heh, heh, heh.
In Watson’s first-period philosophy class, we have prime seats for the cow show. Having taught since before the wheel was invented, Watson knows we’re useless until the cows are rescued, so he keeps the blinds open so we can watch. Watson’s at his desk, wearing sandals, baggy pants that haven’t been washed since the ’90s, and an untucked short-sleeved shirt with a coffee stain on the stomach. All teachers at Asheville are required to wear dress pants and a shirt with the school mascot on it, but I guess when you’ve taught for more than thirty years, rules don’t mean that much. Talking with Watson is Jeff Benz, Watson’s senior aide. Students go all Hunger Games to become Watson’s aide because it means doing little more than goofing off and joking with Watson.
Everyone watches as two trucks—one hauling a long metal ramp, and the other with an attached trailer—arrive out front. The ramp is extended to the roof, and two agitated men in cowboy boots ascend the ramp.
Watson says, “Jeff, do you know
what it would be called if those cows all suddenly jumped off the roof?”
“Why no, Mr. Watson,” Jeff says. “What would it be called if all the cows jumped?”
“Mooicide.”
Groans fills the room.
“Don’t mind me,” Watson says. “I’m just milking the situation for your entertainment.”
For the next thirty minutes, we witness the Great Cow Rescue until the men finally coax the animals down the ramp. Once on the ground, they’re led past the Zippy the Eagle statue, an Asheville High landmark that the school paper recently reported will be removed for renovation. It’s a good thing too. After years of numerous neon paint jobs and even the welding of a mauled metal squirrel into his beak, Zippy’s just plain trashy looking.
Ellie and Malone are in this class with me, but we’ve all agreed it’s best to play it cool. There’s no reason to give people suspicions about who’s behind the hell we’re hoping to unleash. But speaking of hell, Libby Heckman’s in here too. She sits three rows over from Malone and has spent the year giving her a death glare. But Malone pays Libby zero attention, something that only intensifies Libby’s hate-generated stare. The fact that room is still standing is a miracle.
“Mr. Watson?” Tami Cantor says. “Do you get pissed when things like this happen?”
“You’re asking if I get mad cow disease?” Watson says.
“Come on, I’m being serious. Don’t interruptions like this bother you?”
“Well, if you’ve been paying attention, Ms. Cantor, you’d realize I’m all for the tearing down of symbols and making your mark in the world.”
“Sort of like that right there?”
“Exactly,” Watson says pointing to the Write Your Name in the Wet Cement of the Universe banner over the board. “Learn it. Know it. Live it. The Chaos Club may live up to its name, but I think it’s good for a system to be shaken up at times. Of course, if you repeat that, I’ll deny ever having said it.”
With five minutes remaining in the period, the trailer gate is closed as the last cow disappears inside. Cheers erupt in our classroom and throughout the rest of the building.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve herd that much enthusiasm,” Watson says to Benz, loud enough for all of us to hear. “It’s hard to have a beef with their interest though.”
