“Just say good-bye to Missy,” a woman’s voice urged.
The guy rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying goodbye to the dog, Mom. She’s a dog. She doesn’t speak English. And she doesn’t watch videos. ’Cause, oh, yeah, she’s a dog.”
“Come on, Roy. You know Missy’s feelings are going to be hurt if you don’t say bye-bye.” The woman was laughing. And the guy—Roy—started to laugh too.
“Okay, okay. Bye, Missy. You’re a good dog. Yes, you are. Bye, Dad. Bye, Mom. In case you miss me, like, half as much as the dog does.”
Roy’s face froze on the screen. The voice of our ATAC contact began to speak. “Three weeks after this video was taken, Roy Duffy left the Eagle River Academy. Dead.”
Joe let out a long, low whistle of disbelief.
I wanted to say something. But the words wouldn’t come. So I just watched as Roy’s face dissolved and was replaced with a still shot of a tombstone that read: “Roy Duffy. Beloved son.” Followed by a set of dates that showed he’d been only fourteen when he died.
“No one disputes that Roy had a heart attack,” our ATAC contact continued. “But his parents believe that Roy had the heart attack because he was pushed beyond human endurance at a hazing ritual. The administration of the Eagle River Academy insists that hazing at the school is a thing of the past—and has been for almost a decade. Your mission is to discover the truth about hazing at the academy. You will find out the whole truth about Roy Duffy’s death.”
“And I thought it was going to be something like finding out if there was cheating going on at the academy Frisbee games,” Joe said. Joe has this problem with joking around at inappropriate times. I think it’s a younger brother thing.
“This mission, like every other mission, is top secret,” the ATAC instructions continued. “In five seconds the cartridge will be reformatted into a regular CD.”
Five seconds later the American Idol theme music began to play. Joe quickly clicked the game player off. “That guy Roy seemed pretty cool.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “And if somebody made him have a heart attack, we’re going to find out. We’re not going to let anyone else die.”
3.
Welcome to the Eagle River Academy
There was a double knock on my door. I didn’t need to be with ATAC to know who it was. “Come on in, Dad,” I called.
Dad came into the room and carefully shut the door behind him. Then he perched on the edge of my desk. “How was the ‘pizza’?” he asked.
Translation: What is your latest mission?
“Same pizza you had downstairs,” I told him.
“It’s extremely likely that our half tasted the same as yours,” Frank agreed.
Dad just gave us a Dad kind of look.
‘We’re going to be investigating whether or not there’s hazing going on at a prep school,” I volunteered. It’s not like Dad couldn’t find that out with no problem if he really wanted to. One phone call would get him every detail. “A guy might have died while he was being hazed. Or he might have had a heart attack.”
Frank flipped open the folder that Vijay had delivered along with the cartridge. “Our cover is going to be that we’re part of a short exchange program between the Eagle River Academy and Bay-port High,” he told me and Dad. “You’re going to have two Eagle River students staying with you—Andrew Peterson and Jamie Chu. We need to tell Mom and Aunt Trudy about that.”
“Hazing is serious stuff,” Dad said. “I read an article about a week or so ago about a boy who died from water poisoning during a hazing.”
“Water, not alcohol?” Frank asked.
“Binge-drinking water, especially combined with strenuous exercise—and exercise is usually a part of hazing—dilutes the sodium content of the blood,” Dad explained. “Extremely low sodium levels can cause the brain to swell, and that can lead to a fatal coma.”
“Whoa,” I said. “I didn’t think you could drink too much water.”
“The boys at the fraternity didn’t think so either. They thought they were being safer by not making their pledges drink alcohol. But one of the pledges still ended up dead.” Dad looked from me to Frank, his face serious. “I expect you two to look out for each other. I don’t want either of you getting into a potential hazing situation alone. And if you have to break cover to get out of a dangerous situation, do it.”
“Dad, there’s no way we’ll have to break cover. We—,” I began. Then Frank grabbed a pinch of skin on my wrist—out of our father’s sight—and twisted it. Hard. So I shut up.
“I won’t let Junior do anything stupid,” Frank promised.
Junior. Junior?! Frank wasn’t that much older than I was.
I jerked my hand away from Frank. “And I’ll make sure to be around if Senior loses his walker,” I said.
You know how sometimes things sound funnier in your head?
“Loser, loser, loser,” our parrot, Playback, commented from his perch. He ruffled his bright-colored feathers.
“You poop on newspaper, and you call me a loser?” I muttered.
Dad stood up. “Just watch each other’s backs when you’re at the academy.”
“We will,” I promised him. “We always do.”
• • • •
“I was impressed by the statistics Dean McCormack told us about the academy,” Mom said as we pulled up in front of the dorm where Frank and I would be living for the next two weeks. “I don’t know of another prep school that gets so many of its students into Ivy League colleges.”
“But you forgot to ask about the important stuff,” I told her. “Does the cafeteria have a soft ice-cream machine? If no girls go here, where do the cheerleaders come from?”
Aunt Trudy made her disapproving sound. It’s kind of a cross between a goose honk and a cough. I’ve tried many times to imitate it but have never gotten it completely right.
Mom smiled at me. “I’ll do some research and email you tonight,” she promised as we all climbed out of the car.
Frank and I grabbed our backpacks and gym bags out of the trunk. We lugged them into the dorm, with Mom, Dad, and Aunt T trailing behind us. There was a living-room-type setup to the left. A couple of couches, a bunch of chairs, and a huge TV Plus a pool table.
Nice.
Straight ahead was a counter. Behind it stood a guy with military-short blond hair sorting mail into a bunch of cubbyholes. “Hey, you must be the Hardys,” he called. “I’m Douglas Stillson. I’ll be your tour guide. But first, we have to get your parents their new kids—for the next two weeks.”
He picked up the phone behind the desk and punched in a few numbers. “Andrew, I need you and Jamie down here,” he said, then hung up. “Drop your stuff over by the couch,” Douglas told me and Frank. “One of the guys will bring it up for you.”
“We can take it,” Frank said.
“No worries. Just leave it,” Douglas told us.
Frank and I dumped our gear behind the couch. That TV had to be sixty inches. This assignment might just turn out to be sweet.
“I find it somewhat hard to believe you boys in the dorm get much studying done with a television that size around,” Aunt Trudy commented. It’s like she can read my mind sometimes. It’s frightening.
“No first-year students get to use the lounge,” Douglas answered. “And no one whose grade point average falls below a B.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Dad said. Aunt Trudy gave the honk ’n’ cough. Clearly, it didn’t sound reasonable to her—though I’m not sure why, since she was a stickler about grades.
I wondered if Frank and I counted as first-year students. It’s not like we were freshmen at our school. But we’d never been here before, so …
“Here come Jamie and Andrew,” Douglas announced. Two guys, a little younger than me, headed down the stairs. “Guys, meet the Hardys. They’ll be your host family for the next two weeks.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” my mom said. “We hope you’ll have a great time while
you’re staying with us.”
“We have a parrot,” Aunt Trudy added. Aunt Trudy used to hate Playback because he was so messy. But the bird somehow won her over. Now she’s like his PR agent or something.
“A parrot. That’s cool,” Jamie said. But I could tell he was just being polite.
“Any advice for us about Bayport High?” Andrew asked, shoving his brown hair out of his face. “It will be my third high school in less than a year. I just transferred to the academy from my school in Iowa.”
“Brian Conrad is a dillweed,” I volunteered. “You’ll be happier if you stay away from him.”
Mom almost gave Aunt Trudy’s honk ’n’ cough at that.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “What I meant was, Brian Conrad isn’t the nicest boy in school.”
“You’ll be in some classes with our friend Chet. He knows you’re coming and will show you around,” Frank added. We’d downloaded Chet with the info before we’d left.
Andrew nodded his head. “Thanks.”
“You have any advice for us?” I asked.
“Yeah, is there anyone we should stay away from?” Frank said.
Good question. I wanted to hear the answer. It could give us our first clue into figuring out the entire truth about how Roy Duffy died.
Andrew and Jamie both shot looks at Douglas. Like they wanted him to answer for them.
And he did, with no hesitation. “There’s no one you have to worry about at Royce Hall,” Douglas told us. “A great bunch of guys live here.” He turned to Jamie and Andrew. “Let’s get your stuff loaded in the car.”
“We’re right out front,” Dad said. He led the way outside and popped the trunk of the car. Andrew and Jamie had their gear stowed in less than thirty seconds.
“So we’ll see you two in a couple of weeks.” Mom gave me a hard hug. Then she hugged Frank. Aunt Trudy got on the hug train too. I wondered how many guys in our new dorm were watching this good-bye party.
“Let us know if there’s anything you need,” Dad instructed. I knew he was thinking of backup—not my favorite pillow or a new toothbrush.
“We’ve got it covered,” Frank answered.
Our parents climbed in the front seat. The guys got in the back. Aunt Trudy hesitated.
“Do you want me to say good-bye to Playback for you?” she asked.
“Aw. Are you worried that Playback’s feelings will be hurt?” I replied. I tell you, since Aunt Trudy has gotten over thinking of Playback as a messy house on wings, she sometimes acts like he’s her favorite member of the family.
“You should definitely say bye to him for us,” Frank said. “And tell him he’s a good bird.”
Suddenly it was like I was watching the ATAC cartridge again. The part where Roy Duffy was saying good-bye to his dog to make his mom happy. It gave me the wiggins.
“You don’t have to tell Playback anything. We’re going to be back in two weeks,” I said quickly, trying to shake off the creepy feeling.
Aunt Trudy gave me a nod as she got in the car. I shut the door for her and waved as they pulled away from the curb.
“How about a quick tour of the school?” Douglas asked me and Frank.
“Definitely,” Frank said.
“Follow me. This is the shortest way to the center of the campus.” Douglas walked us away from the dorm and down a sloping hill. At the bottom we hit a gravel path and followed it through some trees.
“This is the back entrance to the caf,” Douglas said when a long, tan building came into sight. “We have a little kitchen in the dorm for snacks, but we eat all our meals here.” He pushed open one of the double doors and waved us inside. “We can cut through.”
“Oh, man. You do have a soft ice-cream machine,” I burst out.
Douglas laughed. “And there’s a taco bar on Thursdays.” He led the way out the main entrance and down the wide stone steps. “The science building is over there. The labs are awesome. A lot of guys looking at med school come here because of that.”
“I was only interested in the soft ice-cream machine for scientific purposes,” I told him. “I plan to invent some really important ice-cream flavors in the future.”
Douglas didn’t seem to find that comment especially funny. “The gym’s this way.” He veered to the left. “The pool meets Olympic standards. Two of the alumni are Olympic medalists.”
“That’s impressive,” Frank said.
“There are impressive alumni from the academy in pretty much every area,” Douglas told us. “Medicine, law, finance, whatever. It’s a great place to make contacts that you’ll use later in your life.”
Was it just me? Or did this guy sound like a walking Eagle River Academy catalog?
“That’s what my dad says, anyway,” Douglas added. “He still does business with a lot of men he met when he went here. It’s ’cause you bond when you go through tough things together. That’s what my father thinks, anyway.”
“All-night study sessions and crazy teachers and all that, huh?” I asked.
“Uh, sort of,” Douglas agreed. “It’s not just my father who went here,” he continued, doing a subject change. “My grandfather, great-grandfather, and even my great-great-grandfather.”
Frank and I exchanged a fast look. One of those looks that contain a whole conversation. If you could have heard it, the eyeball convo would have sounded something like this:
Joe’s eyeballs: So our friend Douglas doesn’t want to talk about the kind of tough situations he and the guys at school bond during. I’m thinking some intensely competitive basket-weaving sessions.
Frank’s eyeballs: I’m thinking hazing.
Joe’s eyeballs: Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too. Don’t you have any sense of humor?
SUSPECT PROFILE
Name: Douglas Stillson IV
Hometown: Salem, Massachusetts
Physical description: Age 17, 5’9”, 183 lbs., short blond hair, green eyes, freckles.
Occupation: Student
Background: Only boy in family with three girls. Fourth-generation Eagle River Student. Father pushes him very hard to succeed at everything.
Suspicious behavior: Made comment about tough things the guys at school go through, but was evasive about exactly what those things Were.
Suspected of: Hazing Roy Duffy, leading to Roy s death.
Possible motive: Willing to do anything to please his father, who is an Eagle River Academy alumnus.
“Whoa,” I said. “That’s a lot of relatives. What if you’d wanted to go someplace else?”
Douglas looked surprised. “Why would I? It’s the best prep school in the country. The waiting list goes on forever. My dad says anyone who wouldn’t want to come here is nuts. No offense.”
“None taken,” Frank told him.
“Good.” Douglas nodded. “After the gym, I’ll—” His cell went off before he could finish. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the screen. “I’ve got to take it. It’s my father. I’m sure he wants to know how I did on my calc test.”
Frank and I moved onto the grassy lawn next to the walkway to give Douglas a little privacy. But only a little. We’re ATAC. That meant we were going to eavesdrop on Douglas’s call. You never know where you’re going to get an important bit of info.
“I don’t know what I got,” Douglas said into the phone.
Wow. It didn’t sound like his father even bothered with a basic “hi, how are ya” before launching into the grade cross-examination.
“I studied a minimum of an hour and a half a night the week before the test. Five hours the night before,” Douglas continued.
“Of course,” he replied in answer to something his dad asked. “Keith studied with me. And we got details on last year’s test from a guy who already graduated.” Douglas stifled a sigh. “Yeah. I’ll call you as soon as I get the test back. Bye.”
They hadn’t talked about anything not school related. Harsh. I looked around the quad, trying to make Douglas think I was too bus
y taking in my surroundings to have heard anything he’d said while he was on the phone.
Wait. That tree looked familiar. The way that branch started out going left, then hooked to the right. I glanced over at the building across from me. Colonial style.
I got it. I realized I was standing on the spot where those guys had been playing Frisbee in the ATAC video.
The thought gave me the wiggins again. It made me wonder if I’d be finding myself in other places from the video. Like kneeling on the cement floor at the bottom of Royce Hall. Staring at those dripping red words:
In the cellar, no one can hear you scream.
4.
Special Treatment
“I call the bed by the window,” Joe announced.
“My stuff is on it. That means it’s mine,” I told him. I stretched out on the bed by the window. I used my backpack for a pillow and my gym bag for a footrest. That way, Joe couldn’t start throwing my gear onto the other bed.
Truth? I didn’t really care what bed I had. But I’m the older brother. It’s part of my job description to give Joe a hard time once in a while. Besides, the window had a great view of a lake off in the distance.
There was a fast double knock on the door. “It’s open,” Joe answered.
Open was the only option. I’d noticed there wasn’t a lock.
“Hey,” Douglas said as he came in. “Just wanted to introduce you to a couple of the other guys. This is Keith Brownlee.” He nodded toward a short boy with light brown hair about the color of Joe’s. “And that’s Wes August.” Wes had red hair and eyebrows, and eyelashes so pale they were almost invisible. His skin was really pale too.
Wes flopped down on the end of Joe’s bed and kicked off his red Converse sneakers. Keith hoisted himself up and sat on my dresser, and Douglas nabbed one of the two desk chairs.
“Okay, so what’s it like to go to a school with girls in it?” Wes asked, grinning.
“Don’t ask Frank. He has this weird thing. It’s like girls are invisible to him or something,” Joe answered.
“They’re not invisible,” I protested. “I just don’t always know what to say to them.”
Hazed Page 2
