The Boy Who Knew Too Much

by Commander S. T. Bolivar, III

  Carter started laughing, but Mattie ignored him. He concentrated on his father and tried to squish his smile into the same smile Mr. Larimore used when speaking to customers. It seemed to make customers happy, so it should make his father happy too.

  Mr. Larimore shook his head. “You two need real-life school! School’s important, right?”

  “Right!” the boys said, because they knew that if they didn’t, their father would yell some more. Mattie kind of agreed anyway. Or, at least he knew he was supposed to agree. School was important. But it was also boring.

  And filled with kids who didn’t like Mattie. As his father often said, Mattie was still trying to “grow into that market,” which mostly meant “find someone to sit with at lunch.” But however Mattie looked at it, he still ate alone.

  “You’re going to Munchem Academy with your brother from now on,” Mr. Larimore continued. “It’s done wonders for Carter. He hasn’t peed on any people in ages.”

  Carter smiled.

  Mrs. Larimore started crying again. “But Michael, you can’t! What about Mattie’s school here? What about his friends?”

  “He doesn’t have friends,” Carter said.

  “I do too!” Mattie snapped.

  Carter shook his head. “Manfred and Mom don’t count.”

  They did too. Their mom was their mom so of course she counted, and Manfred was the Larimores’ butler. He had taught Mattie how to tie his shoes, how to fly a kite in the park, and how to polish silver. Honestly, Mattie had been a bit confused about the silver-polishing part, but Manfred had been quite adamant this was the sort of thing friends did. And Mattie believed him. Sort of. Mostly.

  But all of that was too much to say. Mattie knew he needed a proper answer here, but he couldn’t think of one, and it didn’t matter anyway because the sound of Mrs. Larimore’s crying had become piercing.

  “He’s so small!” she howled. “He’s too young!”

  “Dad,” Mattie said and, because it was now or never, he put his hand on his father’s shoulder just as he had seen his father do with his employees—usually when the employee was crying and holding a box of his stuff. Mattie thought it made his father look gentle, and the employee usually thought so too because he would always cry harder.

  “It was one mistake,” Mattie said.

  Mr. Larimore snorted. “That’s how it always starts. Pack your bags. I’m calling the headmaster tonight.”

  MANY YEARS LATER, BIOGRAPHERS WOULD SAY, “It was no wonder Mattie Larimore grew up to be so horrible. His parents were terrible, terrible people.”

  And those biographers would be right.

  Others would say, “In many ways, Munchem Academy was just the ticket for Mattie Larimore. It was the perfect place for a pint-sized criminal.”

  And they would be right too. Munchem Academy was the perfect place for a pint-sized criminal. The world’s greatest reform school ended up being Mattie Larimore’s great beginning.

  Which, in this case, meant he learned how not to get caught.

  But, at the moment, Mattie had no idea he was speeding toward his destiny. Three weeks after “the train incident,” he was trapped in the back of the long black car their father had reserved to take them to Munchem.

  “Stop looking like you’re going to pass out,” Carter said to Mattie. Carter had one hand on his schoolbag, fingers drumming like he was singing along with a tune in his head. “This is your fault, Astro.”

  “Stop calling me dogs’ names.”

  “They’re not just any dogs’ names,” Carter said. “They’re famous dogs’ names. You should be proud.”

  Mattie wasn’t proud. Mattie felt sick. His stomach was starting to squeeze, and his armpits were wet. He was nervous. He was scared. And in that moment, he kind of hated Carter, who didn’t look like he was feeling either of those things.

  The long black car sped up the gravel drive, and the boys watched the school’s brick towers draw closer and closer. Once upon a time, Munchem Academy was called Munchem House, and it had been very, very grand.

  Now, Munchem looked more like a place ghosts would vacation or where zombies would have family reunions. Vampires would definitely like it, Mattie thought with a shudder. Munchem Academy had three and a half towers, four stories, two huge gardens, and more chimneys than he could count.

  Luckily, however, Mattie had spent most of the night before researching the school’s Web site. So he didn’t have to count the chimneys. He already knew how many there were.

  “Munchem Academy has twenty-two fireplaces,” Mattie told his brother. The long black car hit a pothole and both boys bounced. “And before it was a school, it belonged to the Munchem family. Then they lost all their money and they had to sell everything to the first headmaster.”

  Carter, who was still drumming his fingers, stared at his brother. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t call Mattie a girl’s name or a dog’s name, so Mattie considered that a win. Mattie had read all about the school’s success rates and activities and happy parents. It was all part of his Get Out of Munchem Plan. Mattie had wanted to know everything he could about the school. But right now, all he could think about was how Munchem didn’t seem so big on the site. Looking at it now, he didn’t know how he would find his way around.

  All that ivy on the walls? On the Internet, it looked trim and tidy. Now that they were here, it kind of looked like a jungle was eating the buildings, and the stone statues were watching. And laughing.

  In the pictures, the students were smiling and leaning toward each other as if sharing their favorite jokes. But none of the passing students was smiling. They didn’t look like they wanted to share jokes. They looked like they wanted to shove someone to the ground.

  If Mattie were being honest (which he mostly was), the whole place looked rather terrifying. Mattie sneaked a glance at his brother. Carter was staring at the school’s tallest tower and punching the seat ahead of him. Mattie swallowed and looked straight ahead. He could do this. He could. He just had to do as he was told and get good grades and then the teachers would call his parents. He would get to go home.

  Although, if he squinted hard enough, Munchem almost looked like home: it was just as big as Mattie’s house, and had the same prickly, black iron fencing surrounding it. But no matter how hard he pretended, Mattie knew he would be staying here tonight, not in his own bed on his own floor at home, and no matter how hard he squinted, he couldn’t make his mom or Manfred appear.

  It wasn’t the same, and the reminder was like a punch to Mattie’s gut. Until now, he hadn’t realized missing someone could be a terrible weight, so heavy that he felt pasted to his seat.

  “So what’d you read about the cemetery?” Carter asked, his dark eyes bright.

  “The cemetery?” Mattie squirmed as they passed the spiny wrought iron fence that surrounded a few dozen uneven headstones. “Um, you know, the usual. It’s where they buried all the Munchem family.”

  “And the students who didn’t work out. You should think about that, Snoopy.”

  The car pulled to a stop in front of a wide sweep of granite steps. Above the steps was a pair of heavy oak doors and above the doors was a shiny plaque, but Mattie couldn’t read it because Carter shoved him out of the car. Mattie hit the gravel and skinned his hands.

  “Hello, Carter,” said a pleasant voice. Both boys turned in time to see a youngish woman not much taller than they were walking toward them. Two girls in red Munchem uniforms passed her, and she waved at them like they were old friends.

  “Hello, Miss Maple,” Carter said gruffly.

  Mattie picked a bit of gravel from his palm as he watched his brother’s ears go pink. “Why do you sound so stuffy?” Mattie asked.

  “Are you getting sick, Carter?” the woman asked. She had bright yellow hair and brighter blue eyes.

  “No, Miss Maple,” Carter said. He bent to pick up his schoolbag, which had fallen from the car when he kicked Mattie out. “I have no idea what you’re t
alking about, Mattie.”

  Carter’s eyes were very wide, and he kept blinking them as he stared at Miss Maple.

  “Do you have something in your eye?” Mattie asked even though he was pretty sure Carter didn’t. Carter glared at him. Mattie smiled back. Carter looked like he wanted to kill him, but Mattie was pretty sure Miss Maple would intervene. There was something about her smile that made him think of having your hair brushed back from your sweaty forehead or being given a piece of candy after a bad day.

  “And you must be Mattie,” Miss Maple said. She shook Mattie’s hand, squeezing it like she was very glad to meet him. “I heard you were a very-last-minute enrollment.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mattie said.

  Crash!

  Mattie jumped. To his right, a piece of slate had fallen from the roof and shattered on the ground, splintering into a million pieces. Mattie stared, openmouthed—that could’ve been his head!—but Miss Maple and Carter didn’t seem to notice.

  The driver of the long black car noticed. When he came around the car with Mattie’s suitcase in one hand and Carter’s in the other, he eyed the broken slate, looked up at the sloped roof, and took a big step back.

  “You can leave those here,” Miss Maple said to him, sounding very clipped and sharp for a woman who was so pillowy and round. “I’ll have the cases sent up to the boys’ rooms.”

  The driver nodded and dropped the suitcases on the ground. Maybe with a bit more force than necessary because they landed with a mighty whump, and Miss Maple’s pale eyebrows drew together like caterpillars.

  “Marcus? Jay?” she called and, for the first time, Mattie noticed two older students watching them. Marcus and Jay joined Miss Maple by the long black car. Miss Maple smiled like she was on television and had just won a washing machine. “Could you take these suitcases to Carter’s and Mattie’s rooms?”

  “Yes, Miss Maple!” Marcus and Jay chimed in unison. Miss Maple smiled even wider. She leaned close to the Larimore brothers and whispered, “See how good they are? One day you’ll be that good too and your father will be so proud.”

  Mattie nodded and smiled back. He hoped it implied he was taking Miss Maple’s words to heart. Carter made a honking noise deep in his chest.

  Miss Maple straightened. “Are you sure you’re not getting sick, Carter? Let me feel your forehead.”

  While Miss Maple checked Carter for a fever, Marcus and Jay picked up the Larimore brothers’ suitcases…and that’s when something rather funny happened. Perhaps it wasn’t funny, perhaps it was just weird. Marcus bent down to take Carter’s suitcase and jerked. His shoulders snapped back like they were pulled with invisible strings, and his floppy dark hair fell in his eyes. He stared into the distance as if something was there.

  All Mattie could see was trees and grass and the teeny-tiniest glimpse of the cemetery.

  “Yobbo,” Marcus whispered.

  Mattie swallowed. Was this a Munchem thing? A way to say hello to new students? “Uh, yobbo to you too?”

  The bigger boy’s eyes focused on Mattie and narrowed.

  Jay shouldered in between them. “What did you say?” he asked in a tone that suggested Mattie better not have said anything.

  “Nothing,” Mattie assured him. “Nothing at all.”

  Jay nodded. “That’s right,” he said, and he and Marcus walked off with the suitcases. Mattie stared after them. What was “yobbo”?

  “Thank you, Marcus. Thank you, Jay.” Miss Maple smiled as the two boys passed her. Then she smiled at Carter and Mattie. Maybe she just kept smiling. Mattie was starting to think Miss Maple might take the same vitamins Mrs. Larimore got from the pharmacist.

  “Follow me, boys,” she said, and the boys did. They followed Miss Maple up the granite steps and through the heavy oak doors and under the plaque. It said THE BEST YOU IS A NEW YOU! but Mattie didn’t get to think on it for long because Carter tripped him and he nearly fell on his face.

  “Carter,” Mattie whispered. “What’s ‘yobbo’?”

  “Toe fungus,” Carter muttered without looking at him.

  Somehow Mattie doubted this, but he didn’t get to doubt it for long because Miss Maple turned to him.

  “Mattie,” she said, her heels click-clicking on the shiny hardwood floors. “This is the main hall. Most of your classes will be on this side of the house and the boys’ dorms are that way.” She pointed down a long hallway to their right. Mattie’s feet slowed…and slowed…until he stopped.

  Mattie stared. He couldn’t stop staring. The long hallway to their right was hazy with dust. Spiderwebs clung to the chandeliers. Wallpaper dangled in faded ribbons.

  Mattie’s home might be as old as Munchem, and it might be just as big, but Manfred would never let their house look like this. Ever.

  Crash!

  Another piece of slate hurtled past the windows. Mattie cringed. Miss Maple and Carter continued walking.

  “The administrative offices are this way,” Miss Maple said as they turned a corner. Mattie dashed after them and they walked down another set of stairs to another long hallway. This one was cleaner. Much cleaner. The windows left squares of silvery sunlight on the floorboards, and the gold-framed portraits glinted as if they’d been polished recently. Everyone in the portraits was old or bald or, in the case of someone named Olga Higgins, old and bald.

  “If you ever need me,” Miss Maple said, “you can find me here.” She waved one hand toward a simple wooden desk, stacked with folders and files. She smiled at the boys before pulling an orange folder from one of the piles, flipping through a few pages before passing each of them a printed schedule. “These are your classes for the semester.”

  Mattie quickly read through the list and felt his nerves settle. He had history, math, natural science—all stuff he’d taken at his last school, Wicket Prep. If Mattie tried hard enough, he would do well. Maybe Munchem wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Mattie looked at his brother and realized Carter didn’t seem nearly as excited about his classes. Carter scowled at the paper and then scowled at Mattie and then stuffed his schedule into his pants pocket.

  “Any questions?” Miss Maple asked, her smile as shiny as her hair.

  “Uh, yes,” Mattie said, and Carter sighed. “I’m sorry to be rude, but why was everything back there so dirty?”

  Miss Maple blinked. “It’s dirty so you can clean it.”

  Now Mattie blinked. “What?”

  “Cleaning is good for you,” she said. “Doing something over and over and over again prepares you for life.”

  “It does?”

  Miss Maple nodded so hard her curls bounced. “Any more questions?”

  The boys shook their heads.

  “Okay, then, Carter, can I trust you to show your brother to his room?”

  Carter grunted.

  Miss Maple smiled wider.

  “Does that mean we can go?” Carter asked, hoisting his schoolbag onto his shoulder.

  “Oh, no. I’m afraid not.” Miss Maple frowned and tilted her head so her pale blond hair spilled across her shoulder. “You’ll have to see Headmaster Rooney first.”

  Mattie’s eyes went huge. Miss Maple looked at him and made a clucking noise. “It’s nothing to worry about,” she told Mattie. “Right, Carter?”

  “Wellll,” Carter said, drawing out the word like he really had to think about whether Mattie should worry.

  “Stop it,” Miss Maple said. She sounded mad, but she was still smiling. “I’ll be right here.”

  And, as if to prove her point, Miss Maple sat down at her desk and collected a big blue purse from underneath it. It looked heavy and huge. In Mattie’s experience, women’s purses were always heavy and huge because they were always filled with makeup and gym clothes and—Mattie leaned a little closer—office supplies?

  Miss Maple’s purse was stuffed with boxes of pens and paper clips. Mattie looked at Miss Maple. Miss Maple looked at Mattie.

  Miss Maple closed her purse. “You ca
n wait in the headmaster’s office,” she said.

  Mattie’s stomach screwed tight again. “Why do we have to wait there?” he asked.

  “Because I’m very busy,” Miss Maple said. “And I have to make an important call so you can’t stand here.”

  “Oh,” Mattie said. “And why do we have to see the headmaster?”

  Miss Maple smiled. “Because he’ll want to meet you, of course.”

  She made it sound like a good thing. Mattie liked that. He was used to being a Good Kid. Adults liked him—that probably meant this adult would like him. He would have to make sure of it if he wanted to get out of Munchem Academy and back to after-school snacks with Manfred and Como Pasa El Tiempo marathons with his mom. In fact, the prospect made his chest feel light—the very first time he’d felt happy since he’d arrived.

  Mattie gave Miss Maple his most enthusiastic grin. “Okay!”

  Carter rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Fifi.”

  “Be good, boys!” Miss Maple trilled as she picked up the phone. Mattie turned around to tell her he would try his best, but Carter grabbed his arm and dragged him into the headmaster’s office.

  THIS IS THE PART WHERE OTHER BOOKS claim Mattie Larimore’s life gets much worse—and they’re right—because this is the part where Mattie Larimore meets Headmaster Rooney. Headmaster Rooney enjoys Scrabble, the smell of shoe polish, and stringing students up by their ankles until their little faces look like swollen purple grapes. He’s not allowed to do that anymore, of course, but that doesn’t stop him from remembering those good old days when teachers could throw things at students and schools had dungeons.

  Yes, everyone knows schools never had dungeons—well, there was this one school that…actually, never mind. Best not to even mention it. Anyway, everyone knows schools never had dungeons, but Headmaster Rooney likes to think they did. That’s the funny thing about the past: everyone remembers it differently, and sometimes, they don’t remember the way it was at all.

  Luckily, this book has recorded everything perfectly, so we know that Mattie and Carter Larimore had to wait for Headmaster Rooney to return from stringing up some student by his ankles. Or whatever headmasters do in their spare time.