“No, it’s gonna be fine,” says Mark. “We’ll take care of this, right, Ian?”
“Time to pick sides, Mark,” says Devon.
Mark looks really confused. “Ian, just apologize. Trust me, okay?”
“Trust you?” The words make me angry all over again. “Trust you? How’s your big investigation going? Figure out who ruined Ash’s book yet?”
I feel a wash of satisfaction as my words crash over him like a wave.
“Really thought you were better than that,” I continue.
Mark stumbles for words that will fix this …
“Don’t waste your breath,” says Devon. “Ian Hart is beyond our help.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” I snap.
“Still the same old Ian,” says Devon. “I should’ve listened to the other kids that day we met: You are a loser and a weirdo.”
There’s a sound very close to but not exactly like a wolverine gargling mouthwash, and I feel something pulling at my heart—but it stays put for the moment.
“Never thought I’d see the day I was bored by your insults, Crawford.”
“Look, guys,” says Mark, trying again. “We just have to make it through the next couple days and then it’ll all get better when we’re home again. Right?”
“What’ll be better, exactly?” says Devon. “I’ll just spend the rest of my life keeping Ian from getting beat up when he says ridiculous, geeky stuff, like I always do. I’m so not interested. Why are we even friends?”
“I don’t know, Dev,” I say. “Why are we friends?”
As the words come out of my mouth, I suddenly feel dizzy. Maybe somewhere in the future, I’m in a bathroom right now, reliving this horrible moment.
FLUSH! I hear across the hall.
And then the door creaks open.
“… guys?” says Ash. “What’s goin’ on?”
Ash looks at us in confusion.
I try to open a psychic link with him and download everything that’s just happened into his brain, but Mark steps in between us.
It’s a well-known fact that psychic links only work if you have a direct line of sight to the other person.
Worse, Devon goes right over to Ash and pulls him into the corner to whisper his own version of what’s going on.
“Ash, you gotta know something,” I begin as I jump from the ladder.
But Mark grabs my arm when I try to wriggle past him and whispers into my ear, “Don’t do anything you’re gonna regret, Ian. Ash doesn’t need to hear about … you know what.”
“He doesn’t need to know that you betrayed him?” I say. “That you—”
“Ian, listen to yourself. Is this really about Ash, or is it about you? What good will it do, telling him any of that? Do you want Ash to get hurt?”
I hesitate, starting to doubt myself.
“Let’s just—we’ll figure this out, okay?”
But as quick as the doubt bubbles up, I push it back down. “You’re screwing with me, aren’t you?” I ask.
“Ian, relax,” says Mark. “Just think for a second.”
“You are!” I say. “I’ve seen you guys do it a million times—stop being such a fake! I know you’re better than that … you’re the one who told Alva the truth.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s more to you than this,” I say, ripping myself free.
“What’re you doing, Ian?” Devon growls.
“Ash, it wasn’t Alva,” I say. “It was Devon and Mark. They put the cheese in your dad’s book.”
“See?” Devon says over me. “What’d I tell you? He’s defected to her side. She has him brainwashed or mind controlled or something.”
“It wasn’t Alva,” I repeat. “Every single slice was Devon. And Mark watched the whole thing happen. He was Devon’s lookout so he wouldn’t get caught.”
Except that I don’t say “caught.” What I say is “cau-ugh …” and then trail off to a wheeze because all the air has been forced from my lungs.
Devon is shoving me up against the bunk, squeezing my ribs so hard that I can feel them creak. And when my tailbone hits the floor, I scream in silence, without the air to make a sound.
All around us, bullies look on in shock.
There’s no air in the entire room. It’s all been vented into outer space. And we’re just floating, dead in orbit. And then: The silence is broken like an egg smashing against the sidewalk.
“GOOD MORNING, INMATES!” booms Jeremy’s voice from everywhere and nowhere.
A mariachi band explodes through the speakers a second later, and the pressure on my chest relaxes as Devon swivels to find the source of the sound.
“HELLO FROM FREEDOM,” Jeremy’s voice comes through the loudspeakers above trumpets and violins and tiny guitars. “GREETINGS FROM THE GREAT WHITE NORTH!”
“Jeremy?” says Devon.
“THAT’S RIGHT, DEVON! I JUST WANTED TO DROP IN AND SAY HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE YOU ALL FOR BEING SO FRIENDLY THIS SUMMER.”
From flat on my back I can see everyone cover their ears and look around in confused alarm. Kids from other rooms begin to spill out into the hall: Jeremy has commandeered the PA system for the entire school.
“YOU ALL DESERVE A BIG THANK YOU. I THOUGHT THIS WAS AN APPROPRIATE WAY TO SHOW MY FEELINGS FOR YOU GUYS.”
Over the screech of the mariachi band, everyone moans like they’re dying—except for me. Jeremy’s wake-up call came in the nick of time to save my neck … and as I glance up at the video camera in the corner of the ceiling, I get this idea that his timing wasn’t an accident.
“ENOUGH!” Judge Cressett booms, like thunder in the distance.
It rolls and rolls toward us, until it’s right here coming from a man in the doorway.
“What is going on in here?”
“ALL HAIL JUDGE CRESSETT,” says Jeremy.
A human hot-air balloon is filling up the door. Five foot four, both tall and wide, and possessing the unmistakable voice of Judge Cressett.
We blink in the Judge’s direction. This horrible musky cologne is rapidly filling the room, and a few kids start to cough and rub their eyes like it stings.
Mr. Dunford is right behind him. “It’s okay, Your Honor. Go back to sleep. I can handle this.”
“Clearly not, Dunford. You’ve already let one of the children escape.”
As Dunford raises both eyebrows, the Judge calls out to Jeremy, “You’re in a lot of trouble, young man!”
“TELL ME ABOUT IT,” says Jeremy. “I JUST SPENT LIKE TWO HOURS TRYING TO MAKE THIS TAKEDOWN VIDEO ABOUT YOUR STUPID REFORM SCHOOL. AND NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY, IT’S STILL LAME. IT’S LIKE, PICKING ON PEOPLE WAS NEVER HARD BEFORE … I BLAME YOU, DUNFORD.”
“Really?” Dunford perks up at this. “Jeremy, that’s one of the nicest things I’ve heard in a long time.”
“… IS IT?” Jeremy exclaims. “IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO COME OUT SOUNDING NICE. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?”
“Jeremy,” says Dunford over the mariachi band. “Come back and let’s talk, okay?”
“Yes, young man! Come back and face the consequences!” threatens the Judge.
“We’re all very concerned for you, Jeremy,” adds Dunford. “Where are you right now?”
“I AM IN THE WALLS. I AM EVERYWHERE AND NOWHERE. AND I AM WATCHING …”
“Wait,” says Mark. “How can he even hear us? Are there cameras in here?”
“WHY, YES,” says Jeremy. “EVERYTHING YOU DO IS RECORDED, MARK. DIDN’T YOU KNOW THAT?”
“It was in your orientation packets,” the Judge says in defeat. “You have to read your orientation packets.”
Devon and Mark would’ve gotten away with the Cheesening if they’d read their orientation packets, the Freak tells me inside my head, as the mariachi band screeches to a halt outside it.
“IMPORTANT UPDATE!” Jeremy’s voice returns. “ON BEHALF OF THE COLLECTIVE, I AM CONFISCATING ALL THIS SURVEILLANCE VIDEO YOU GUY
S MADE. ENJOY THE SHOWCASE, GENTLEMEN. SMILE FOR THE CAMERAS …”
And with that, he’s gone. Well, his voice is, anyway. For a second, we’re all just looking around, waiting for an adult to say something.
“Ian, what’re you doing on the floor?”
“Sorry, Mr. Dunford.”
“You’re required to sleep in your own bunk. Seriously, we go through a lot of trouble to put your name on it and everything.” He shakes his head as he sweeps back out the door, leaving some of us to moan and rub our eyes and others to think about what we just did.
“If Jeremy were here, I’d kill him,” Devon mutters.
“After he just confiscated the video of you beating me up?” I ask, picking myself off the floor. “Seems UNGRATEFUL to me.”
For a second Devon looks like he’s going to shove me back to the ground, but Mark pulls him away. “Hey, come on. He made his choice, Dev.”
“Yeah, he did,” says Devon. “Coming, Ash?”
Ash stays put as they head toward the door.
“Ash, come on,” Devon presses. “What’re you waiting for?”
“I think I’m waiting for something to make sense,” says Ash. “You really did it, Dev?”
“Did what?”
“You sat there, and you unwrapped sixty-four slices of cheese, and you turned the pages, and—”
“Unbelievable,” Devon cuts him off. “It’s that easy for you to believe the worst about me? You don’t need to see proof, you don’t need to hear my side … just because Ian says—”
“Yes,” says Ash, without waiting for him to finish. “Do you really have no clue? In all the time you’ve known him … you never understood how good a friend you had in Ian, did you?”
Ash gives me a little punch, and at the exact moment he makes contact I actually feel that throbbing in my chest explode and disappear—the Scotch tape that’s been holding my insides inside comes away like stitches do and reveals that the hole my heart keeps falling out of is all skinned over.
It’ll have a cool scar now, probably, and if you squint at it right, there’ll be words spelled out in there, like good friend and stuff.
“C’mon, Ian,” says Ash, pulling me past Devon and Mark before I can get too distracted.
I’m glad he keeps focused too, because as we turn to go I catch a hint of morning light finally coming through the window. Yellows and purples and greens and browns—
It’s amazing.
Even the pinks.
Out in the hall, Ash’s breathing gets a little heavier. “This has got to be a nightmare or something.”
“All right, all right,” I say. “Hang in there. Do you want the bad news, or the good news?”
He glances up. “Bad news first.”
“Well, you’re definitely awake,” I say.
He nods, swallowing that. “Great. Really counting on this good news, Ian.”
“Follow me,” I say.
Even before we’re in the dining hall, I see her. Alva Anonymous. She’s sniffing like she’s in a trance, following a trail of cinnamon sugar. “Is it me, or does it smell like doughnut holes in—oh. Hey, Ash.”
She stops short.
“Monkey bread, guys!” says Mr. Dunford, coming up behind us. He shows us a gooey little nugget of dough that sparkles with the promise of the world’s biggest sugar rush.
“There’s also a croaking bush!” says Dunford.
“A what?” I ask. I’m pretty sure he didn’t say “croaking bush,” but I have no clue what it really might’ve been.
“It’s French for ‘a thing that crunches in your mouth,’” he adds. “Very fancy. Not technically traditional.”
“Show me to the baked goods, Mr. Dunford!” I pull him away from Ash and Alva.
“Twist my arm!” Dunford leads me toward a table sagging under the weight of the sticky, gooey glory he calls monkey bread. They come in big loaves and there’s more stuff too—a Jenga tower made of tiny, round, crispy pastries, for one thing.
“That is a croaking bush!” says Dunford.
There is a label on it that says croquembouche. Weird.
I peel a nugget away from the monkey bread and shove it in my mouth. I’ve barely begun to chew before my jaws seal together like they’re full of cement. Delicious, delicious cement.
You could tell me I’d die if I ate another piece and I’d definitely weigh the pros and cons first.
I let out a zombie-ish sound of amazement.
“I know, right?” says Dunford. “In the old days it was a tradition for one of the teachers to bring in treats on the day of a big show. Dr. Ginschlaugh made all this himself.”
“Dr. Ginschlaugh made this?” I pry open my mouth and say.
“He’s a good baker. You should try his pies.”
“Wait. You were here when you were a kid too?” I ask Mr. Dunford. “Same as Ms. Fitz?”
He nods. “We like to come back, even though it’s not like we remember it. There are still a few reasons we think this place is special.”
Just then I hear a toilet flush, and then another one, and I turn to see Ash step back into the dining hall, followed by Alva. Both are having a hard time staying attached to the ground, they’re so much lighter now than they were a minute ago.
“You okay, Ian?” says Mr. Dunford, noticing my distraction.
“He’s great, Mr. Dunford,” says Ash. “Ian is great.”
Dunford gives me a thumbs-up and heads off, just in time for me to tell them about Ginschlaugh’s baking.
“Being a baker is a very good cover story for a modern henchman,” says Ash. “Do you think the Judge used to come here too?”
“No. Not the Judge,” says Alva. “He’s a KinderCorp guy. All they want is to turn this place into one big Children’s Village.”
“KinderCorp’s the worst,” says Ash.
Alva shrugs. “It wasn’t always so bad, you know.”
“Since when are you an expert?” says Ash.
“Well, back when my grandmother and grandfather ran KinderCorp—”
“Oh come on,” says Ash. “Your grandparents did not run KinderCorp.”
“Of course they didn’t,” she says. “It was called ‘Kinder and Kinder’ back then.”
“What?” says Ash.
“ ’Cause my grandparents were named Mr. and Mrs. Kinder, dude. Also, it was a catering company.”
“A catering company?” Ash narrows his eyes at her in suspicion.
“They were famous for their secret sweet-potato tot recipe,” says Alva.
“You really expect us to swallow that?” says Ash. Then he laughs, because I point out exactly how many tots he has swallowed here at JANUS.
“One hour until showtime, guppies!” Ms. Fitz calls out.
“Kinder and Kinder …” Ash mutters, walking away.
“You do believe me, right?” Alva leans in to me as everyone starts filing out of the hall.
“Even if I didn’t, I’d pretend to just because it’s what should be the truth.”
She grins. “I like the way you think, Hart.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to JANUS!” Judge Cressett’s voice rumbles across the amphitheater on the hilltop. “At this time we would like to ask everyone to please turn off their cell phones. The show is about to begin.”
I look out from behind the flat we built and take stock of the audience. The amphitheater is teeming with moms and dads and sisters and brothers—all here to observe what will surely be known as one of the Five Great Tragedies in the Life of Ian Ontario Hart.
“Well, boys?” says Devon, with his usual confidence. “Here it is.”
“Is this it?” says Cole. “The end of our innocent youth?”
“After this we’ll never be the same,” adds Miranda.
“Definitely the end of any political ambitions I totally didn’t have,” says Mark.
Devon jolts me in the shoulder. “Ready to embarrass yourself, Hart?”
But Cole gives me an encourag
ing look. “Just keep your head up, man. We’ll get through it.”
At the end of the day, I guess Cole’s kinda all right, you know? I mean: If Alva likes him, how terrible could he be? I look at Ash and catch him reading my mind.
“I’m glad you patched things up with Alva for us, by the way,” he says, leaning in. “Forgot to thank you for that …”
“Wait, didn’t she tell you?” I ask. “I didn’t fix it—Mark did.”
“Mark?”
“Places, boys!” Ms. Fitz says to Ash and me, pointing toward our separate marks on the stage.
“No partner, huh, Hart?” says Miranda.
That’s when I remember that, in all the madness, Jeremy made his escape.
“All alone, how pitiful,” says Devon from his place next to me.
But before he can enjoy my reaction, he’s distracted by something in the audience and forgets all about me.
“There!” he whispers, grabbing Miranda’s arm and pointing out into the crowd. “Holy crap. You see him? Right there …”
I follow his hand. “What, your brother?”
Devon looks up, and for a second he seems like he desperately needs to talk to me—until he remembers our big fight. Then he turns his back and returns to Miranda. “That’s my crazy brother Colin.”
Miranda cranes around to get a better look. “Really?” she says. “How’d he get here? Didn’t you say your mom and dad didn’t come?”
I startle at this. “Devon, your parents didn’t come? But I thought …”
Devon just acts like I don’t exist. He doesn’t even do me the courtesy of glaring. “He must’ve, like, hitchhiked or something,” he says to Miranda.
“Crazy!” she responds. “You are so lucky to have a cool older brother.”
“Yeah, not really. He’s probably—crap, he must be here to get blackmail on me,” says Devon. “To cancel out my blackmail on him!”
She raises her eyebrows. “You gotta admire that commitment.”
“He’s committed, all right.” Devon starts backing away from the stage. “Can you see his cell phone? I can’t tell. I gotta get out of this.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Miranda demands. “I need my partner.”
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