As far as Mattie could tell, Headmaster Rooney liked to collect things in his spare time. The headmaster’s office was filled with everything adults enjoyed: heavy wooden furniture, lots of thick carpeting, and pictures of Headmaster Rooney with other people.
Lots of other people.
Mattie peered closely at the nearest photograph and thought Headmaster Rooney looked much happier than the guy he was hugging. In fact, as far as Mattie could tell, Headmaster Rooney looked happier than the person he was hugging in all the pictures.
“Should we sit down?” Mattie asked his brother. There were two plushy chairs in front of the big desk just like in their dad’s office.
“Not if you want to live,” Carter said.
Mattie spun around. “What?”
Bang!
The office door flew open and smacked into the wall. Both boys jumped as Headmaster Rooney charged into the room. He was much taller and thinner and redder than he looked in the pictures. The headmaster’s head seemed to be only inches from the ceiling, or maybe it was just all his hair. It was pouffed and red. Very, very red.
“Boys!” Headmaster Rooney shouted. “It’s the first day of school and you’re already in my office? Unacceptable.”
Mattie felt a bolt of alarm. This was not the way he wanted this first meeting to go. Not at all. “But—but Miss Maple told us—”
Carter kicked him. Hard. Mattie gaped at his brother and then at Headmaster Rooney. Surely the headmaster saw that and would do something.
Apparently not. The headmaster didn’t even seem to have heard Mattie’s protest, much less noticed how Carter had used Mattie’s shin as a kickball.
Headmaster Rooney stomped around his desk, his feet making shushing noises on the fluffy carpet. “And do you know why you’re here at Munchem? Because you’re bad! Because you’ve disappointed your poor parents!”
Headmaster Rooney put both fists on his desk and leaned forward with such force that the picture frames on the desk teetered. “And do you know why you’re bad?”
Mattie didn’t, but he did want to know why Headmaster Rooney answered all of his own questions.
“Because you lack discipline!” Headmaster Rooney shouted. His eyes bugged out, and his face went purple. Mattie didn’t mean to, but he took a step back. And then another.
Headmaster Rooney’s head snapped toward Carter. “And now you’ve dragged your brother into it, haven’t you, Carter?”
Mattie cringed. It was bad enough he’d gotten himself into trouble, but now Headmaster Rooney was mad at Carter too? If this bothered Carter, however, Carter didn’t show it.
He squinted at the headmaster. “I didn’t make Mattie steal that train.”
“But did you inspire him to do better? To be better?” Headmaster Rooney demanded, his voice climbing in pitch and volume until he sounded like one of the preachers at Mrs. Larimore’s favorite church. “Of course you didn’t!”
If Carter was supposed to say something here, he didn’t, and, for a very long moment, no one said anything. The only sound was the ticking of the headmaster’s wall clock and someone yelling in the distance.
Headmaster Rooney narrowed his eyes at the boys. “Now,” he said, “on to the reason for our discussion: in addition to your regular studies, you will be attending regular video conference sessions with your father.”
There was a very small, very pitiful whimper to Mattie’s left. He glanced at Carter, but the noise couldn’t have come from his brother. Carter was staring at Headmaster Rooney like he was sleeping with his eyes open. Plus, Carter wouldn’t have whimpered. Carter didn’t know how to. Carter—
“Am I boring you, Mattie?” Headmaster Rooney asked in a voice that slithered like a snake.
Mattie snapped his attention back to the headmaster. “No, sir.”
“Good.” Headmaster Rooney crossed his arms and glared at the brothers. Or perhaps it wasn’t a glare. Perhaps it was the only way he knew how to look. Mattie couldn’t decide. He did know Headmaster Rooney’s expression made Mattie feel squishable, like a bug about to be stomped by a boot.
“Now,” Headmaster Rooney continued, one hand reaching into a desk drawer and pulling out a basket. He waved it under Carter’s nose. “You know the drill.”
Carter sighed and dropped his cell phone into the basket.
“And you?” The headmaster shook the basket at Mattie.
“I don’t have one.”
“Good,” the headmaster said as he returned the basket to the drawer and locked it. “As you both know, no electronics are allowed at Munchem Academy, so using my computer for your video conferences with your father is a very special privilege. It is important to him that you take over his business when you grow up. And anything that is important to your parents is important to us at Munchem. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!” both boys said.
Headmaster Rooney smiled, his teeth very perfect and very white. “That’s right. So, in order for you to fulfill your father’s expectations, you will both attend your weekly sessions with him in my office.”
The headmaster patted the computer monitor at his desk and gave both boys an even wider smile. “Consider it an independent study.”
Headmaster Rooney said “independent study” the same way someone else might say “Happy birthday!” or “You’ve got snakes!” Mattie was pretty sure it sounded more like “extra classwork,” but he wasn’t going to complain. Bottom line: even though the headmaster made the whole thing sound exciting, Mattie knew anything involving his father was likely to be long, tedious, and possibly his best opportunity for demonstrating that he had learned his lesson and needed to come home. Immediately.
“That’s a great idea!” Mattie said.
Headmaster Rooney put one hand on Mattie’s head. “Yes, it is, son. Yes, it is.” The headmaster’s eyes cut to Carter, who might have been making a gagging motion, but Mattie couldn’t be sure. “You could learn a lot from your brother here, Carter.”
“Definitely, sir,” Carter said.
“Do you have any questions?” the headmaster asked as he shuffled papers on his desk. He moved some to a pile on the right and some to the left and then moved them back. Mattie did have questions. He had several, actually, but he wasn’t sure if the headmaster wanted to hear any of them.
Mattie took a deep breath. “When do we get to go home?”
“When will you be good?” the headmaster asked.
“Starting now?”
Carter hiccuped like he was swallowing a laugh, but Mattie didn’t look at him. He couldn’t. Carter might be happy here, but Mattie wasn’t. His panic tasted like old pennies in his mouth.
Headmaster Rooney considered both boys for a long moment. “I’m sure your parents will attend the school dinner at the end of first term. Good grades, good behavior…a good report from me—maybe your parents will reconsider.”
Maybe they would! Mattie’s heart double-thumped. If he was perfect, they might let him come home!
“And on a final note,” Headmaster Rooney said, “I will have you know Munchem Academy is the world’s greatest reform school.”
Mattie pictured what it would be like to be back in his own bed and his own room and his own school and said, “Munchem is the greatest!”
“Are you mocking me?” Headmaster Rooney asked. He came out from behind his desk, eating up the space between them with just two strides of his long, long legs. “Are you?”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“No, sir.”
Headmaster Rooney put both hands on his knees and leaned down toward Mattie. Then he realized how short Mattie was and he leaned down some more. “And do you know why Munchem Academy is the greatest reform school ever?”
Mattie waited, but since Headmaster Rooney didn’t answer he whispered, “No, sir.”
“Because we have discipline!” Headmaster Rooney stood up and rubbed his lower back with one hand. “And because I feed vicious rumors about t
he other schools to parents. Now. Are we clear?”
Mattie hesitated. Was he supposed to answer? He was supposed to answer the last question, but the ones before—
“ARE WE CLEAR?!”
“Yes!” both boys said. “Yes, sir!”
“Good,” Headmaster Rooney said and smiled at Mattie. “I have a good feeling about you, son.” Mattie grinned, and the headmaster scowled. “Well? What are you waiting for?” he demanded.
“Um…” Mattie panicked. “I don’t know?”
“Get out!”
IT JUST GETS WORSE AND WORSE for Mattie Larimore. New school plus boring business lessons with Mr. Larimore plus Headmaster Rooney equals…actually, I have no idea what that equals. I never paid enough attention in math. Headmaster Rooney is considered creepy on three continents, and in all Mattie Larimore biographies. In fact, most Mattie Larimore scholars agree that Headmaster Rooney is creepy because of all his yelling and the way spittle collects in the corners of his mouth when he’s yelling and then the way the spittle sprays onto your face when he’s yelling at you.
It’s also the way he chews with his mouth open, splattering food onto anyone unfortunate enough to sit near him, but that isn’t recorded in this book because this book has standards, excellent ones at that, and also because this book has to keep up with Mattie and Carter, who are currently running.
In fact, Mattie and Carter did not stop running from Headmaster Rooney’s bellowing until they reached a sunny courtyard behind the house.
It wasn’t like anything Mattie had seen on the Web site. The stone angel by the pockmarked wall looked pained, the carved benches were fuzzy with moss, and the hedges were unkempt. Their branches stuck up in all directions, like fingers reaching for the sun.
Or for Mattie.
The grass was all overgrown too, tugging at the boys’ sneakers. No matter where Mattie stepped, one or two blades kept reaching up his pant leg, making his shin itch. It was not a nice place to catch your breath, but Mattie really needed to stop. The problem was, Carter kept going.
“Wait!” Mattie grabbed his brother’s arm. “Where are you going?”
“To my room,” Carter said. “To see my friends.”
“But…but…” Mattie shifted from foot to foot. “Miss Maple said you were supposed to show me to my room.”
“It’s that way.” Carter pointed in the opposite direction, toward a stone archway that led back into the mansion. The corners were dusty with shadows. “Go through the back door and take the stairs on your left. You live on the second floor.”
Mattie could hear his voice rising. “But which room?” he squeaked.
“There’s only one suite at the top of those stairs. Look, it’s easy. You’re on the second floor,” Carter said, counting off the arrangements on his fingers. “The girls live on the east wing. Upperclassmen live on the north wing’s third floor. Be glad of that,” Carter added. “It keeps them away from us.”
Mattie squeaked again, but no words came out. He tried to take a steadying breath—just like his mother’s yoga instructor was always doing—but he didn’t feel steadied at all. Mostly, the smell of dead grass made him want to sneeze. His eyes watered.
Carter sighed and pointed toward the stone archway again. “It’s not like you can miss it.”
Mattie leaned in and gripped Carter’s arm a little harder. “But aren’t you going to walk with me?”
“No way.” Carter picked up Mattie’s hand like it was a bug and flicked it away. “Let me give you some advice.”
Mattie straightened up. Carter never gave him advice. Well, there was that one time Carter suggested Mattie brush his teeth with a brick, but Mattie didn’t count that.
“Yes?” Mattie asked his brother eagerly.
“Don’t kiss up to Rooney,” Carter said. “It won’t get you anywhere, and it’ll make the other kids hate you.”
“But…” Mattie didn’t know what to say after “but.” He couldn’t think past the embarrassment heating his face and the anger tightening his chest. He wasn’t kissing up. He wasn’t.
What did Carter know about being a good kid anyway? More importantly, what did Carter know about getting out of Munchem? He was back for his second year, and Mattie wanted to be gone by tomorrow.
Mattie put his fists on his hips. “You can make fun of me all you want, Carter. It’s called ‘playing the game.’ Dad talks about it all the time, and you’d get a lot further in life if you’d learn how to do it.”
Carter laughed and laughed. He laughed so hard he slumped in half and tears leaked from his eyes. “Well, if that’s the way you want to play it, then go ahead. Be my guest, New Kid.”
“New kid.” The two words gave Mattie the shivers.
Mr. Larimore didn’t just love big things, he loved the best things. He liked to say he was “obsessed with the best!” And because Mr. Larimore was obsessed with the best, Carter and Mattie had been to six schools in four years. They both knew what being the New Kid meant. It meant never knowing your way around. It meant no one talked to you. It meant it would be very hard to look like you didn’t belong at Munchem Academy because no one at Munchem Academy was going to pay enough attention to you to realize you didn’t belong.
Mattie felt a little faint. “But you have to help me!” he protested. “What about being brothers and looking out for each other?”
“What about it?” Carter asked.
Mattie crossed his arms and tried to look mean. “I know how this works, Carter. I’ve read the books. There are whole movies about this stuff. We’re supposed to take on the world together.”
Or was that a line from Como Pasa El Tiempo? Mattie wanted to think about that, but Carter didn’t give him time.
“Listen up, Lassie,” Carter said, straightening his book bag and eyeing a pair of girls walking on the other side of the courtyard. “Around here, I don’t know you.”
Mattie’s mouth dropped open. He always felt short staring up at his brother, but, right now, he had never felt so small. “But you do know me.”
“You ever heard Dad say it’s a ‘dog-eat-dog world’?” Carter asked.
“Yeah, I’ve heard it,” Mattie said at last, digging the toe of his white sneaker into the faded green grass until he hit dirt. “I don’t know what ‘dog-eat-dog’ means, though.”
Carter sighed. “It means you’re on your own, Pluto,” he said and walked away.
Mattie stared after his brother and did indeed feel very much on his own. Luckily for Mattie, however, he was about to meet the Spencers. In this story, “the Spencers” stands for Eliot and Caroline Spencer. Eliot and Caroline are Mattie Larimore’s future best friends and partners in crime so this first meeting is clearly very, very important.
Or not, because the first time Mattie and Eliot met, Mattie thought Eliot was ridiculous, and Eliot thought Mattie was hysterical. Which was a word Eliot had learned from his father for describing Eliot and Caroline’s mother that seemed to mean “when your voice gets high and screechy, I get to call you names.”
To be quite frank, Caroline didn’t think much of Mattie or Eliot during this meeting either, but neither boy asked Caroline’s opinion because neither boy had yet learned that they should always ask Caroline’s opinion—especially when dealing with explosives and bank vaults and Silly Putty, but that’s another story and has no place here.
Part of Mattie wanted to run after Carter. The rest of him stood his ground. Or tried to anyway. Ants had found Mattie’s left foot and were tunneling into his sneaker. Mattie stomped around and around and decided he’d do this without Carter.
“I don’t need him,” Mattie mumbled as he scratched his ant-chewed ankle. He faced the arched stone doorway that led back inside and thought what he really might need were some rubber gloves…and maybe a face mask…and some bleach, because the world’s greatest reform school was filthy.
Manfred, the Larimore family’s butler, would not approve of Munchem. There were cobwebs in the corners, dust in t
he stairwells, and fingerprints on every window. As Mattie climbed the stairs to the second floor, hoping he was going the right way, he wondered how on earth cleaning could prepare him for being an adult.
Then another slate tile slid from the roof, hurtled past the window on Mattie’s left, and crashed to the ground below amid the cheers of four older students. Mattie stared at the students and realized he didn’t care about dirt or cleaning. He just wanted out—and maybe that’s why he didn’t notice the ceiling panel above his head slide to one side. As Mattie leaned closer to the smeary window, a thin, blond boy dangled from the hole in the ceiling and dropped—whap!—to the floor right behind Mattie.
“Ahhhhh!” Mattie screamed and put one hand over his heart—although as soon as he realized that was something Mrs. Larimore did all the time, he dropped his hand. “Why would you do that?” he demanded.
The blond boy shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Mattie hesitated. It wasn’t an entirely unacceptable response, he thought—and then he wondered how he could possibly think that.
“What were you doing up there?” Mattie finally asked.
The blond boy shrugged again. He had shadows under his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping, and there was a smudge of dirt on his nose. “I’m doing whatever I want. The teachers are trying to pull Eric Benson out from under the bleachers.”
Mattie’s stomach curled with unease. “Why’s he under the bleachers?”
“Because Doyle stuffed him in there. I’m Eliot Spencer, by the way.” He stuck out his hand and Mattie took it. But Mattie had to close his eyes to do it. Eliot smelled musty, like the inside of a grandmother’s purse, and his hands were covered in grime.
“I’m Mattie Larimore.”
Whap! A dark-haired girl hit the floor next to Eliot and rolled smoothly to her feet. “I’m Caroline Spencer,” she said, even though Mattie hadn’t asked.
Remember how Mattie and Eliot never asked Caroline anything until they learned the hard way? This would be called “case in point.”
Mattie and Caroline stared at each other. Caroline was short like Mattie, but wider. She had a wide face, a wider smile, and a spike of dark hair above her head that looked like an exclamation point.
The Boy Who Knew Too Much Page 3
