Bringing Down the Mouse

by Ben Mezrich

  “Magnificent” was all Charlie could say, breaking the quiet as he peered down at the drawing from his perch at the end of the rectangular table that the Whiz Kids called their summer home. The library was as safe a haven as the Whiz Kids could ever hope to find; Charlie doubted Dylan and his ilk could even find the place without the help of an angry teacher.

  “Might be your best work yet,” Jeremy agreed from Charlie’s left. “You really captured his soul. The way the light ricochets off his hair, creating that little halo effect. Really top-notch.”

  “A masterpiece,” Kentaro agreed, directly across from Marion. Kentaro was on his knees on his chair, better able to see over the table. He pointed one of his tiny fingers toward the drawing and grinned. “You better sign it, because when it ends up in a museum, you’re going to want all the pretty girls who see it to know where it came from.”

  Marion glared at him, indignant.

  “Why would I care what a bunch of girls think of it? I’m an artist, I don’t do this for the accolades. It’s my calling.”

  Crystal laughed, hunched low over the table next to Kentaro.

  “Yeah, this is your Mona Lisa. But it’s not finished. I know exactly what it needs.”

  She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a little plastic bag filled with something that sparkled, even in the dim track lighting of the library. She opened the bag and carefully sprinkled the substance onto the piece of paper. It was granular and soft, somewhere between dust and salt, and the way it stuck to the paper reminded Charlie of the glitter his mother used to decorate all their holiday cards, most of which were still stacked in the front closet of their house, because she’d absentmindedly forgotten to send them, even though the whole family had spent hours sticking stamps to envelopes and culling addresses from multiple contact lists.

  Jeremy raised his thick red eyebrows, then gave the plastic bag in Crystal’s hand a little flick.

  “You keep a baggy of sand in your pocket? Like, a snack, or something?”

  “It’s not sand.” Crystal huffed. “It’s quartz. Finely ground. For your information, quartz is the most common mineral in the Earth’s crust. A perfect mix of silicon and oxygen, which binds well to most surfaces, and it’s very beautiful because it has a high refraction index, which, for you Neanderthals, means it sparkles extremely brightly in any kind of light. Just like Mr. Scar’s hair.”

  Although Charlie was a nerd himself, he still found amusing the matter-of-fact way Crystal spouted geological information. He knew she wouldn’t have gotten the joke. Sometimes it seemed that the whole world, to her, was a laboratory to be processed and explained in precise scientific terms. It could be annoying at times, but it could also be cute; sometimes Charlie found himself laughing about something she’d said hours earlier. Sometimes he’d even wake up in the morning still cracking up about something she’d done the day before. Jeremy had teased him a few times about having some sort of crush on her, but Charlie didn’t see it that way. She was just so unique, it was hard not to be charmed by her quirks.

  In any event, when the rest of them looked on the piece of paper at the drawing Marion had made of the school librarian, Mr. Scarborough, they saw a perfect caricature. Superman shoulders stuffed into a light-blue oxford shirt, buttoned so high and tight up his neck that his Adam’s apple looked like a big meal being digested by a little snake; Clark Kent glasses perched on a diamond sharp nose; a blond—yes, arguably sparkly—hairline receding up a slope of shiny forehead like an alpine avalanche in reverse. It was an amazing drawing, especially done so quickly with a Bic pen in dim lighting. But that was the miracle of Marion, a kid who had once spent a week in the hospital because of an ant bite, not even a bee—just a simple garden variety ant; give him a pen and a piece of paper and he could capture your soul. He wasn’t going for precision, he was going for something bigger. As smart as she was, Crystal never quite got that; Charlie had once spent a Saturday afternoon with her and the rest of the Whiz Kids at the modern art wing of the MFA, and at the end of the day, she’d simply commented: “Well, some people really do have trouble coloring within the lines.” With Crystal, you just had to understand, the world was supposed to live within the lines too.

  But Jeremy, for his part, wasn’t going to let Crystal off that easy. He got too much enjoyment out of baiting her. He put his hands to his mouth in mock surprise.

  “You have a crush on Mr. Scar? Should we call him over so you can inspect his beautiful blond locks up close?”

  Crystal glared at him from behind her zebra-rimmed glasses.

  “I don’t have a crush on anyone. I just think his hair looks a little like quartz. While your hair has the distinct glow of hematite. Which is the brittle mineral form of iron ore. If a rock could be stupid, it would be hematite.”

  Jeremy cocked his head as if thinking it through.

  “Isn’t hematite magnetic? Yep, that sounds like me. I’ve been told I’ve got a very magnetic quality.”

  “Well,” Kentaro chimed in, peering up at Jeremy, “like a magnet, you are kind of sticky.”

  “That’s true,” Crystal agreed. “I’ve seen you after gym class. You bind to your T-shirt even better than the quartz binds to paper. In fact, I’m surprised you aren’t stuck to your chair right now.”

  Now Charlie couldn’t keep himself from laughing out loud. You could talk in hushed whispers at your own peril, but turn Mr. Scar’s library into a banter-filled locker room, and you were in for a world of trouble.

  Although to be fair, the place kind of was shaped like a locker room. Rectangular, with white cinder-block walls, low tiled ceilings, and windows that were little more than the sort of unopenable slits that you’d expect to find in the basement of an inner-city gym, or perhaps a prison. In the direct center of the room sat a round wooden gazebolike structure, supported by brightly decorated turquoise pillars, containing a single round table with multiple built-in chairs.

  With the gazebo as its physical and emotional center, the rest of the library consisted of low aluminum bookshelves that fanned out in a sunburstlike pattern. Closer to the gazebo, the shelves were packed tightly together, with barely enough room between them for a regular-size student to browse. The Whiz Kids had claimed the table closest to the library’s entrance, for the simple reason that it was also farthest from Mr. Scarborough’s desk, which was all the way on the other side of the room. At the moment, even as Charlie craned his neck back and forth, he couldn’t catch sight of Mr. Scar’s impressive shoulders or the waves of his receding hair. In fact, at first glance around the library he didn’t see anyone at all, but then he saw a flash of motion from the other side of the gazebo. He waved his hands at Crystal and Jeremy, who were still jawing on about ferrous minerals and sticky substances, urging them to quiet down, when he suddenly realized that the motion he was seeing wasn’t Mr. Scar at all.

  It was three people, actually, strolling briskly between the library shelves directly toward the gazebo. Charlie didn’t fully comprehend what he was seeing until they seated themselves at the table in the direct center of the room.

  Miranda Sloan was at the head of the Gazebo table, her back to Charlie, that cascade of pitch-black hair dancing down the bare skin of her neck. She had placed a large hardcover book on the table in front of her and was pointing out chapter headings with one of her talon-sharp, manicured fingers. To her right, leaning forward over the book to get a better look, was Greg Titus, the cocky seventh grader. And across from him, vaguely facing in Charlie’s direction, though not looking at him all, was Sam Ashley. She was smiling at something Miranda was saying, and she shook her silky golden hair out of her smoke-colored eyes. Charlie couldn’t help thinking that it would take more than a single bag of Crystal’s quartz to get that hair right.

  “What’s up?” Jeremy whispered, looking at Charlie. “Is it Mr. Scar? Is he coming over? Because if he is, Crystal could sign the picture instead of Marion, maybe save us from detention when she confesses her un
dying love.”

  “Shut up,” Crystal hissed back, shoving her bag of quartz back in her pocket like it was some sort of contraband. “If anyone is in love with Mr. Scar, it’s you, iron head, the way you keep going on about him.”

  “It’s not Mr. Scar,” Charlie responded simply, staring at the gazebo and its occupants. Miranda still hadn’t turned around, but now Sam was glancing his way, and he thought he saw the slightest hint of a smile in the gray of her eyes.

  Another coincidence? Charlie didn’t even have to think it through, because he knew the answer. He looked over at Jeremy, who was busy flicking quartz dust at Crystal while Marion did his best to protect his Mona Lisa from the fallout of their escalating battle. Jeremy hadn’t noticed the group in the gazebo, and even if he had, he couldn’t possibly have connected them to Charlie. Which was good, because Charlie was having enough trouble keeping from explaining his association with Finn. He couldn’t imagine what sort of trouble he’d get in trying to explain away Ms. Sloan, Greg, and Sam.

  On the other hand, sitting there with his Whiz Kids, going about their regular routine in their desolate, safe corner of the Nagassack equivalent to a gulag, he found himself unnaturally attracted to that gazebo. His entire body seemed to be pulling him in that direction. And deep inside, Charlie felt something click.

  Without a word, he rose from the table and started down the aisle between the two nearest bookshelves. He moved so fast that Jeremy and the rest of the Whiz Kids didn’t even look up from Marion’s picture and their rapidly expanding quartz war. Before Charlie could take three breaths, he was at the steps that lead into the gazebo. He took them two at a time; he didn’t want to give himself a chance to change his mind.

  When he reached the table, Ms. Sloan looked up from the hardcover book. Before she could say anything, Charlie leaned low so that his friends across the room wouldn’t see or hear him from behind the gazebo’s pillars.

  “You read my science paper. The one I submitted to the Massachusetts State Science Fair, on predicting a satellite’s descent to the earth.”

  Ms. Sloan’s smile didn’t move. Her lips looked like Marion had drawn them across the porcelain skin of her face, perfect and precise.

  “Yes. By accident, actually. I was a volunteer judge, and when I saw your project, I knew you would be perfect for our endeavor. You have the brains for this, Charlie. With a little work, you’ll take us exactly where we need to go.”

  Charlie took another breath, then nodded slightly.

  “I’m in. But I have one condition.”

  Ms. Sloan waited. Charlie could feel Greg and Sam watching him as well, but he didn’t break focus.

  “Jeremy Draper goes with me to Incredo Land. All expenses paid.”

  “Diapers?” Greg blurted out, laughing. Charlie glanced at him with narrow eyes.

  “Jeremy Draper. Yes. He goes or I don’t go. He doesn’t have to know anything about what we’re really doing there. He won’t be involved in this. But he gets to go on the class trip. This is a dealbreaker for me. He goes, or I don’t go.”

  Although he hadn’t fully realized it until he’d seen the three of them in the gazebo, Charlie had come to the decision in the science lab, when Jeremy had waxed poetic on the perceived joys of Incredo Land. Charlie wasn’t going to do this just for himself, or because it seemed like an amazing adventure, or because it was math turned into something powerful and profitable. He was going to do this for himself and Jeremy, two kids who didn’t get things like this dropped in their laps every day.

  Ms. Sloan waited a full beat, then shrugged her angled shoulders.

  “Okay.”

  Charlie didn’t wait for her to say anything else. He quickly turned and headed down the steps, breathing hard like he’d just run a marathon. His face felt flushed, and he couldn’t feel his feet within his boots. Just as he stepped off the last stair and out of the shadow cast by the gazebo’s high, turquoise pillars, he heard Sam’s voice trickle after him, her words like fingers of velvet against the back of his neck.

  “Welcome aboard, Charlie. Brace yourself, it’s going to be a wild ride.”

  9

  IT HAPPENED SO FAST, Charlie never had a chance to react.

  One minute he was standing in front of the purple curtain, Finn next to him, Miranda reaching for the heavy velvet, and the next thing he knew, strong hands grabbed him by the waist and he was suddenly up in the air, the world spinning around him. He was vaguely aware of the curtain being pulled back and the sound of laughter mixed with applause, and then he was upside down, his head inches from the hardwood floor. He looked up toward his feet and saw Magic grinning down at him, thick hands around his ankles.

  “First rule of the Carnival Killers,” Magic said, “always be aware of your surroundings.”

  Magic lowered him gently to the floor, then helped him back to his feet. Finn was in front of him, Sam and Greg right behind Finn, and the redheaded fellow sixth grader, Daniel, standing next to Jake Tucson, the soccer jock, right beneath an oversize banner that read, in big block letters: WELCOME TO THE TEAM.

  The whole scene was kitschy and stupid and fairly ridiculous, and it filled Charlie with a warmth he couldn’t begin to describe. No matter how much comfort he got from his Whiz Kids, as an admittedly geeky kid he’d always had trouble shaking the feeling of being a little different, a little lonely. Being welcomed into a group of kids like these gave him a palpable rush. It certainly took the sting away from the fact that he’d had to lie to his parents for the second time in a week to get them to drop him back at school after dinner—seven p.m., the latest he’d ever been to the Nagassack campus. They hadn’t even balked when he’d told them he’d been elected the head of a new math club that would be meeting three days a week in Headmaster Walker’s—or Warden Walker’s, as most of the kids called him—office to prepare for a statewide quiz competition after Christmas break. A pretty elaborate lie, but even though Charlie was new at deceiving his parents, he’d come to the conclusion that an elaborate lie was probably more believable than something simple and straightforward. After all, a simple and straightforward road was easy to see down, while one filled with twists and turns was much more obscure.

  “The Carnival Killers?” he finally managed, when the heat went out of his cheeks. “Is that what we’re calling ourselves?”

  “That’s not set in stone,” Finn grumbled. “Personally, I kind of hate it. I wanted to go with something a little subtler. Like the Magnificent Seven. Or why not the Numbers Gang, in honor of our newest member?”

  “But the Carnival Killers has such a nice ring to it,” Magic responded, giving Charlie a friendly little shove forward. “And that’s who we are, that’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to kill the biggest carnival on earth.”

  The group parted as Magic guided Charlie out of the front, semicircular section of the art room, past where the curtain had hung. Charlie could see that the three mock fair games were exactly as they had been when he’d first seen them, the coin toss to his right, the dart-balloon game to his left, and the rope ladder directly ahead, attached to the back wall. He also noticed that the windows were still blacked out with construction paper, even though it was obviously dark outside this late into September.

  “Hyperbole aside,” Miranda said, “I think it’s a good fit. But we’ll have plenty of time to argue about the name over the next five weeks. In the meantime, we need to get our newest member up to speed.”

  Five weeks. Charlie felt a burst of adrenaline at the mention of the deadline, because he knew what she was referring to: the trip to Incredo Land, something he couldn’t have even imagined two days ago, something he still couldn’t really envision because it seemed so unreal. But the other kids in the room obviously felt differently, because they immediately broke into action, moving to the various games set out across the orange-lit room. Greg and Sam went right to the rope ladder, quietly discussing some aspect of the game as they went. Daniel and Jake stepped over to the
balloon-dart setup, immediately arguing about who was going to play first; Jake seemed to make the argument moot by getting to the darts first. But before he made a toss, Charlie felt Magic’s hand on his shoulder again, and he found himself right up in front of the coin-toss counter, staring out at the sea of shiny white plates that covered much of the floor ahead of him.

  Finn pointed to the three oversize gold coins that were neatly stacked up on the counter and gave Charlie a nod. Charlie glanced over his shoulder, but Miranda had crossed back into the front half of the room, taking a seat in one of the institutional-style plastic drafting chairs. Maybe it was an act, maybe she was watching everything out of the corners of those exotic, frighteningly intense eyes. Maybe the team was such a well-oiled machine, she could hang back and let them bring Charlie into the fold without her. It was too soon for Charlie to judge the dynamics of the group yet. Either way, it was obvious what he was expected to do: Dive in, headfirst.

  He picked up the first coin, shrugged, and tossed it at the plates. Clink, clatter, clunk—just as it had happened at the Sherwood Fair, the coin ricocheted off a couple of plates and landed with a thunk on the floor.

  Finn folded his arms against his chest and cocked his head to the side.

  “Charlie, what is the object of this game?”

  Charlie looked at him, then at the plates, then back at Finn. It seemed like a pretty stupid question.

  “To get a coin onto a plate.”

  “Wrong!” Magic shouted, startling Charlie. Magic grinned again, but Finn shushed him with a hand.

  “The object of this game is to get a coin to stay on a plate,” Finn corrected. “It sounds like a minor difference, but that difference is everything. It’s real easy to get the coin onto a plate.”

  He reached forward, picked up one of the coins, and flung it at random toward the closest plate. Much like Charlie’s coin, the little gold piece clicked and clacked through the field of plates at random, ending up on the floor with a clunk. Then he turned back toward Charlie.