Malcolm Under the Stars

by Brian Lies

  Dear Clearwater of the Future,

  They asked me to write something to add to this time capsule. But I’m not sure what to say. All I’ve ever done is inherit money, nothing truly important.

  So I will tell you a secret instead. A story.

  Over my lifetime, I’ve enjoyed giving my money away. Building important things, like the library, the courthouse, and this addition to the school. But nothing has given me as much satisfaction as what I did with my money last week.

  Malcolm’s whiskers twanged. Here it was! Finally.

  It began with a traveler, a hobo. Being so close to the train tracks, we were used to having them stop in, asking for food, looking for odd jobs. This one was no different. Except that he showed up with a blue jay on his shoulder and said he was an artist—he even offered a carved nickel in exchange for bread and said that he could whittle or paint—anything we liked.

  Well, my daughter was enchanted with the nickel—it was a miniature portrait of the traveler’s dog. So my wife put him to work painting the fence. It probably wasn’t what he had in mind, but he did it without complaining. He stayed with us for a week. On the night that he was set to go, I heard a noise in the yard. At first I thought it was the dogs. But then I saw there was someone back there near the fence line. Well, I don’t know how things are for you in the future, but right now, if you put your money in a bank, there is a chance you’ll never see it again. That’s one of the reasons I stayed comfortable through the troubles. My money was in many places. And none of them was a bank.

  But one of my places was under a fence post in the backyard. I hurried out. Imagine my surprise when I caught the traveler red-handed: the fence post dug up and my Mason jar full of money in his hand. He was so startled, he dropped it, smashing the glass on the ground.

  At first, anger flared up in me. I had trusted him. We had chatted all week as I went to and from work. I had learned about his younger brother in Milwaukee, how he had saved his bird’s life, how he and his dog first met. How dare he!

  His dog ran to greet me, then nudging my hand with his nose. I opened my mouth—to yell, to call the police, to holler for the missus, but I couldn’t do it. Because I saw the man’s feet. And I saw how, even though he had spent a week sleeping in my shed, painting my fence, carving my daughter’s guinea pig on a nickel, his boots had holes in them. And his pants—they were held up with twine! How could I have missed this?

  Here I was, building these big important things. Things with my name on them, with money I didn’t even earn. And I didn’t see the obvious.

  So I handed him the money. All of it. I tucked it in his shirt pocket. He was so surprised that he ran, his big goofy dog loping after him.

  I know how he spent part of the money—I saw him the next day enjoying a hearty meal, with new boots on his feet and bright red suspenders over his shoulders. And I knew I had done the right thing, because I watched him as he took that money and bought a comic book for a boy who had just been kicked out of the newsstand for reading without paying.

  So I leave you with this thought, future Clearwater students: Sometimes you have to give people not what they’re asking for, but what they need. And it’s up to you to notice it. And do something about it.

  Sincerely,

  Mr. Walton McKenna

  Malcolm sat for a long time after reading that note, thinking. This “traveler” had to be—could only be—Ernie Bowman. All the parts of the story were there—the dog on the silver coin, the rescued bird, the suspenders, the money. Malcolm smiled. Even the granting of wishes! He’d bet anything that part came from buying a boy a comic book.

  So Malcolm had found the time capsule. And he had found Ernie Bowman. Malcolm thought back to the story they had read of Clearwater High School’s mascot, of the blue jay who lived in the library. Could it be the same bird? That bird had been rescued by a handyman. Had Ernie Bowman stayed in Clearwater? Could the yearbook have gotten his name wrong? Malcolm pondered it. It was possible. Maybe they didn’t have someone like Amelia to check the details.

  What was still out there, though, was the Loaded Stash. Because if the time capsule was “under the stars,” then surely, either “beneath the oak” and “behind McKenna” had to be this money of McKenna’s. The Loaded Stash.

  Malcolm grinned. So they weren’t too late. If money was what ran the humans’ world, maybe it was what would save their school after all.

  But first, he’d let the nutters “find” the time capsule. He paused in packing up the letter. The Midnight Academy needed to see this. It was their legend, after all. And if he left the letter with the rest of the time capsule, they wouldn’t get to read it. So Malcolm picked up the pages and tucked them under a chair in the audience (row A, seat 11). The rest of the time capsule, though . . . well, he’d have to leave it all right there—there wasn’t any way he could put the stone back. But, hopefully, the lankies and nutters would figure out what it was. They may wonder how it got out of the wall, but Malcolm guessed they’d skip over that part with the excitement of finally finding it.

  After Malcolm had finished tucking it all away the best he could, he looked up. And flinched. Snip!—watching him from the balcony, her yellow eyes gleaming.

  She spoke first, calling out across the big space. “I’m staying in here. You can’t stop me. But I will say this: I did hate the nutters, the lankies, and the Midnight Academy. But this time, well . . . I’ll stay out of your way, if you stay out of mine.”

  Then she slipped down off the railing and out of sight. Malcolm hadn’t even had time to answer, to ask her again why she would want to come back to where she had been so unhappy. Where no one wanted her.

  And then it was a line from McKenna’s letter echoed in his head.

  Sometimes you have to give people not what they’re asking for, but what they need.

  Malcolm snorted. How would that fit in with the Striped Shadow’s business model? But at the same time, it made him pause. Why had he thought of that just then?

  And then he Knew. He and Snip actually wanted the same thing—for things not to change. Only . . . in Snip’s case, maybe staying wasn’t what she needed.

  And it’s up to you to notice it. And do something about it.

  Malcolm would have to think about that part.

  Chapter 24

  The Code

  Monday morning came. Without Amelia at Malcolm’s table, there was a squabble about who got to sit next to him now. In the end, you drew names, Mr. Binney, and Skylar won. Malcolm quickly noticed that perhaps the reason Skylar so very rarely knew what was going on was because he was constantly reading comics. He hid them in his binder. And if he wasn’t reading them, he was drawing them.

  The class was as glum as Malcolm felt. You had explained, Mr. Binney, that you would send the class’s cards over to Amelia at her new school, so she would get them. Michael raised his hand and asked about the cupcakes you and Ms. Brumble were going to bring as a goodbye treat. “Well,” you said, “Ms. Brumble did bake them. I suppose they’re still in the teachers’ lounge. I guess Amelia wouldn’t mind if we ate them.”

  But if anyone felt as bad as Malcolm, it was Jovahn. He didn’t say a word all morning. Not even when Tianna announced loudly she really had to go. She meant to her locker, but still. Normally, Jovahn could not resist a joke like that. And he didn’t even touch his cupcake, either. It sat on his desk for most of the afternoon, until Skylar bumped into it and it landed—frosting-side down—on Skylar’s shoe.

  Instead, Jovahn spent most of the day staring out the window, twisting something on his wrist. Malcolm finally caught a glimpse of it. It was a green hair elastic. Malcolm’s heart panged. He knew just how Jovahn felt.

  The one bright spot was near the end of the day when Ms. Brumble came in to tell you and the class that they had found the time capsule—in the auditorium, of all places! This even perked up Jovahn for a second. “But the yearbook said it was under the Council Oak,” he protested.

&nb
sp; “I know!” Ms. Brumble said. Then softer, “Trust me, I know. I guess that was the plan, but they had so much rain that week, they moved the ceremony inside. There was newspaper in the capsule that had an article about rescheduling it. I guess the change never made it into the yearbook.” She squeezed Jovahn’s shoulder. “Probably if you All-Stars had had another week, you guys would have figured it out.”

  During quiet work time, you sat down at your computer, Mr. Binney. You smiled at something. And the next thing Malcolm knew, you put a printed-out piece of paper on Malcolm’s table. Skylar looked at it, then at you, Mr. Binney. The recess bell rang and the class headed out the door.

  “Jovahn, Kiera, my All-Stars,” you called out. “Hold on a minute.” Jovahn plodded over. Kiera waved to Tianna, then joined him.

  “I wanted to let you know that I heard from Amelia’s new teacher today. She’s doing okay. She misses you, but she’s fitting in. Her teacher was wondering something, though. She said that Amelia insisted on her sending me this link. In an email. Today. Quite honestly, her new teacher also had some questions about Amelia’s bossiness. I told her just to work with it.” You grinned, and that even made Jovahn crack a smile, remembering all the things Amelia had been in charge of in Room 11. “Anyway, I clicked through to the webpage, and it didn’t make any sense to me. So I printed it out.” You pointed to the piece of paper in front of Skylar. “I’m thinking it’s really for you.”

  “It’s a code,” Skylar said.

  The group leaned in to peer at the paper. Malcolm couldn’t see! He climbed to the top of his exercise wheel, but it kept spinning around. Finally, he wedged himself between the side of the cage and the wheel and looked over Jovahn’s shoulder.

  But it was more than a code—it was Marks. The page was a printout of the Midnight Academy Marks. Malcolm recognized the ones he knew: “Get out—fast!” “Safe here.” Even some of the old ones like “dwell here,” and the triangles, which turned out to mean “tell a good story.” Some of the Shadow Signs were there too, like “this is the place.” And ones he had never even seen before.

  But how could this be? It was a strange-enough coincidence that the Midnight Academy and the Striped Shadow used the same symbols, but that they were all on the Internet was, as Kiera would say, freaky.

  Kiera read the top of the page: “‘The Hobo Code. This code was a way that hoboes—homeless people who traveled—communicated to one another. They would leave this code on fence posts or street corners to warn or advise other hoboes. It was most widely used in the 1930s, when many people were out of work and traveling around the country.’ But why would Amelia send us this?” she asked. “Wouldn’t it be more normal to send a message like ‘Having a good time, but the fifth-graders here smell funny. Miss you.’”

  You smiled, Mr. Binney. “Well, that doesn’t really sound like Amelia’s style. But as for why she sent it, I don’t know.” Just then, the phone rang. “What do you think?” you asked as you left to answer it.

  Once you were out of earshot, the nutters burst into furious whispers. “Hoboes again!” Jovahn said. “First the coins, now this.”

  “But what do hobo men from the 1930s and a bunch of classroom pets today have in common?” wailed Kiera. “No offense, Jovahn. But this is nuts!”

  “Well, maybe . . .” Jovahn started. Then he shook his head. “Naw, I got nothing.”

  He and Kiera turned to Skylar, who had been quiet this whole time. “What?” Skylar said. He was picking frosting off his shoelaces.

  “Well, usually this is where you say something brilliant or point out the obvious,” Kiera said grumpily.

  Skylar stared at the page. “It’s kind of cool,” he offered. “I love codes. It’s like a secret story or a message, in plain sight. You only see it, really, if you speak the language.”

  A secret story. Skylar was right. It was a secret story. That was exactly how the Midnight Academy used them. Messages in plain sight of lankies and nutters, but only readable to critters because they knew the language.

  Malcolm watched them talk, a warm feeling growing in the empty, cut-out space in his chest. His nutters were close, but he had a piece of the puzzle they didn’t: McKenna’s letter. And with this email—which Malcolm Knew with a capital K was actually meant for him—Amelia cemented what Malcolm had concluded the night before: The hobo’s blue jay was Blue, the bird in the library. And Malcolm would bet anything it was Blue who had bought the Hobo Code, learned in his travels with Ernie Bowman, the hobo man, to the Academy.

  Wait a minute . . . Malcolm said that again in his head. Ernie Bowman, the hobo man. Bowman . . . hobo man.

  Malcolm remembered then a time when Tianna and Kiera had gotten so mad at each other over a misunderstanding. Kiera had said “turn,” Tianna heard “earn” and then told Susan “worm,” and the whole story had gotten out of whack. Malcolm remembered, too, Aggy telling them, so long ago, how the Academy records used to be passed on, critter to critter.

  Well, what if that had happened in the Academy? What if, through the years of critters telling this story over and over again, “hobo man” became “Bowman”? Could that be why there wasn’t an “Ernie Bowman” mentioned with the blue jay in the yearbook? Maybe the hobo had been the handyman . . . what was his name? Randall Carson. Malcolm’s whiskers twanged. If he was right, that could mean the hobo man, with his suspenders, had become . . . the original Elastic Order of Suspenders?

  And if all that was the really case, then there was still one part left: Where did the name “Ernie” come from?

  Chapter 25

  Noticing

  Malcolm waited nervously at the top of the stairwell near the auditorium’s balcony entrance. It was four o’clock. A time he shouldn’t be out of his cage. But that was the least of his worries.

  Ms. Brumble rounded the corner with her cart. She paused at the bathroom, checking it for paper towels and toilet paper. She was almost to the steps where Malcolm was. Malcolm glanced up the stairs.

  “What’s going on?” a voice hissed from the darkness of the floor above. “Why did that owl tell the Striped Shadow to send me here?” Snip stepped out of the shadows on the landing.

  It had taken all of Malcolm’s skills and favors to get Beert to fly a message to the Striped Shadow for him. When Malcolm had told him it was for Snip, Beert almost wouldn’t do it; there are some things that are harder to forgive. But eventually, for Malcolm’s sake, he agreed to pass it along to the Striped Shadow to give to Snip.

  Malcolm ducked under the radiator. He reached a paw out to touch the fuzzy object he had brought up from the Dictionary Niche. Yes, he should do this. McKenna would.

  Snip strolled about the landing. “Hiding already?” She sniffed. “School still smells the same.”

  Ms. Brumble moved her cart again, and the noise made Snip freeze. Her tail straightened out like a fuzzy drumstick. “Who’s that?” She crouched so she was on the same level as Malcolm under the radiator. “What is going on?”

  Malcolm nodded out at the hallway below. Ms. Brumble and her cart were in sight now. “I’m giving you what you need,” Malcolm finally said. “That’s Ms. Brumble.”

  “I know that.” Snip swiveled her head to follow Malcolm’s gaze. Her whiskers quivered as she sucked in a breath.

  Malcolm whispered fast. “What I told you in the boiler room last fall was true. She is your nutter, all grown up. Veronica Brumble. The one who lost you.”

  “I know!” Snip said in a voice so low that it was almost a moan. “I already know all that. What was the other thing you said . . .” Her voice trailed and her tail twitched as Ms. Brumble banged her broom on the edge of the cart.

  “The other part’s true too,” Malcolm said. “She didn’t mean to leave you that day. To lose you. She broke her ankle, and in the confusion, you got left behind. It was just a terrible, terrible accident . . . for both of you.”

  Malcolm reached back for it and opened his mouth to say more—with dignity and decorum—but su
ddenly three nutters burst into the hallway below. Snip flinched and retreated to the dark corner of the stairwell.

  “Ms. Brumble!” Jovahn called. “We’ve been waiting for you all day!” Malcolm’s nutters! What were they doing here? After school?

  “Well, not all day, obviously,” Kiera said, a little out of breath from her run down the hall. “But Mr. Binney said—well . . . we are wondering if we could look upstairs? We decided we’re not giving up. After finding the time capsule, we want to find that portrait of McKenna for the next listening session. And I know you looked up there, but we thought, well, the of us—”

  “Slow down, Kiera!” Ms. Brumble laughed. “Geez, I work the night shift because I like the quiet. I’m not used to all this commotion. Now, what’s going on?”

  Kiera took a deep breath and smoothed her hair. “We are still looking for that portrait of Walton McKenna. The one Skylar knocked down. We were thinking in class that if we could find it, we could show it at the next school board meeting like Amelia wanted. And Mr. Binney said that if we asked nicely, you might take us up to the third and fourth floors to look for it?”

  Ms. Brumble’s mouth raised in a half smile. “Mr. Binney said that, did he?” She looked around. “I notice he’s not here.”

  “He had a meeting with Skylar’s Gram,” Jovahn added. “She’s giving us a ride home.”

  At his name, Skylar snapped to attention. Then he pointed up the stairs. “There’s a cat.”

  What?! Oh, gristle! Malcolm darted. But he was hiding under the shadows of the radiator, so the people couldn’t see him. Snip, however, was out in the open. In the shadowy corner but exposed, nonetheless. Malcolm sensed her stiffen. Please don’t freak out, Malcolm thought. Please don’t freak out.