by Shiloh White
The paint cleared the space around us, and began to spread outward at the Agents and down into the ground. I was careful to make it a thin layer so it didn't isolate us on a patch of land. However, it did create a little space where we'd be able to see any Agents coming before they landed on us. They all hesitated, waiting for another Agent to make the first move. During the respite, I tried my question again:
“What I was trying to ask before,” I said, out of breath, “was where are Dart and Scott?”
Woodstock rose to his feet, dusting himself off. A small fleck of red paint had found it's way onto his shoe, but his face neglected the pain and shook off the paint. I bit down on my tongue in guilt.
“The minute I tackled Dart, the Agents started wailing on me and I lost him.” Woodstock said. “Pretty sure I knocked him out, but—"
A crazed cackle boomed above us and cut off Woodstock. I looked up and saw the Headmistress gazing down at something I couldn't see around an army of Agents. She was clapping her hands, pleased at whatever it was.
Wait.
“I don't think Dart's unconscious anymore,” I said. Then without another word, I jumped off our safe zone, shooting acid paint up the steps to clear a path past the Agents.
“Lucy!” Woodstock called out. I kept running. Dealing with his mother and this horrible place, he deserved a second to rest. But I couldn't stop. Especially not when I had climbed enough steps to see why the Headmistress was pleased.
Dart was awake. And in the background of the stage, I saw Damian kick the black knife to Dart's feet. Fresh rage filled me, wishing I could reach that evil man and melt him with some acid paint.
Across from the Headmistress' throne rested Scott on his knees, who'd managed to get one of his hands free in the chaos. He was trying to free himself from the rest of his bonds without falling over, but time was running out. That was why the Headmistress was laughing.
It was why she paid us no mind in our skirmish down below. It was why she just swatted back the Agents that came up. It was why she clapped her hands in approval at her previously named general awaking to find his weapon. We were fighting a losing battle, and the Headmistress knew the whole time.
Dart walked across the stage, closing the distance between he and Scott. I began to sprint up the rest of the steps, but along the way someone grabbed my arm. I whirled around and saw Takao's cowardly smirk.
“You're not going—OW!” The OW came from me whacking him in the nose with my elbow. He let go of me and staggered back, clutching his nose.
I kept running up the steps, feeling like I was moving in slow motion now. Dart moved to Scott with lighting speed compared to each step I conquered. It wasn't enough. Then Dart knelt down in front of Scott and I knew no more steps would matter.
Dart thrust the knife at his best friend's chest, and I flung my paint whip at him with all my might.
47. I Take It Back. This Isn’t Fair
Have you ever really wanted something? Like a perfect grade or an amazing first kiss?
And in order to get it, you did anything you could. Planned out everything in advance. Got your friends to help you in any way they could. You put forth every inch of effort possible, and then your stomach tingles because the moment arises. You're filled with anxiety over the whole thing, awaiting the result you worked tirelessly for. And what happens?
You miss the mark.
Your heart crumples in on itself while your vision crumples around you. For the first moment, you wonder what you're even doing standing there. You judge your appearance, your life, and why the heck you even wished for this to work. Then that second passes, and you have to keep living or life will pass you by and swallow you up.
This rush of feeling defined me from the second my paint whip raced Dart's arm, to watching the black knife sink itself into Scott's chest. I was too late.
My paint whip wrapped around Dart's arm and I yanked back, pulling the knife from Scott's chest.
“Scott!” I cried out as he fell to the ground.
I'm getting my best friend back. Those were the words he said to me on that subway ride.
I let out the pain in my heart, which came out as an empty cry.
Tears found their way to my eyes, filling them with a bitter and salty sensation. I blinked them away. It wasn't time to mourn yet. I forced the feelings down and looked up at what still had to be fought.
The Headmistress cheered above me. “All hail the new general of the Academy's Armada!”
All the Agents below filled the room with their triumphant roar. I turned and saw Woodstock down below, still standing in the safe circle. The Agents fighting him stopped to cheer too.
I looked back up at the stage and noticed Damian strolling along the stage, out from behind the Headmistress' throne. He looked down at me with his signature crazy-green-eyed grin and held up three fingers to me. He slowly took one away, and mouthed the word two, and my heart skipped a beat. Again, he took a finger away and then a tremor shook the entire building. The Headmistress cried out in surprise. The Agents all reached for something to hold onto. The pillars that ran down either side of the room swayed ever so slightly
“That's my cue!” he called out to me, and ripped open a portal of grayness. He was going to Zone-Hop away! I snapped my paint-whip off of Dart and flung it at him, but he'd already stepped through it. I took my whip and slammed it down on the ground in anger. He was right there, and I let him get away again. Then another tremor came and shook me to my senses—literally.
I looked over at Scott lying unconscious at the foot of the Headmistress' throne and began to run to him, but I was stopped by five huge dark tendrils of smoke shooting out from the ground. The Agents around me began to scream and scatter like ants around the room.
“He’s near!” the Headmistress said. She gasped in surprise and pointed a red nail at Dart. He looked up at her inquisitively.
“Protect me with your life as we wait for Him!” she ordered. He nodded at his new orders, his eyes exuding an intense focus I hadn't seen from him but once—when he engaged with his past back in De Mentoria. I wasn't sure which was worse: that he felt that way before, or that the Headmistress just pulled it out of him again.
Dart marched up to the edge of the staircase and yelled, “To the Headmistress!”
His call carried further than I thought possible, and in a sound I would not have expected to come from Dart. When he came to mind, I thought nothing of war or fighting or armies. Did the Headmistress' power of Dart's fear turn him into this? Did it have something to with Dart attending this salacious school at some point?
The Agents that heard this call—which were not all of them, but still plenty—rushed up the steps to the stage, joining Dart in forming a wall around Dart, Scott, and the Headmistress. I couldn't tell you what good it was going to do against the tremors or the black tornadoes rising out of the ground, but they moved with a fierce and loyal intensity.
I might have stood there with my jaw gaping open at this chaos for a lot longer, but a drop of something hot, boiling, and acid-y dripped onto the tip of my shoe and slid past the edge of my foot. The burning pain brought me back to my senses (and remained long after I'd shaken off the acid from what was left of my shoe). I pulled my mind from the searing sensation and tried to figure out what to do now. Another tremor shook the room and I caught a look at the balcony above—and the pillars doing a faulty job of holding it up. I hoped Chug could escape from there in time. Preferably without Lara sticking him with another needle.
My stomach twisted being unable to help my friend. Then I heard a yell come from behind me, and below was Woodstock. He was taking every chance to slam down the Agents still running with fear, and the ones who were heeding Dart's battle cry.
I rushed down the stairs to him just as something crashed into the stage behind me. Debris kicked up and flew past me. I ducked my head to avoid being hit.
“Do you have any idea what's going on, mija?” Woodstock asked when I reache
d him. Before I could answer, Chug came hurtling out of the sky and would have continued to hurtle if Woodstock hadn't reached out and caught him. I looked in the direction he came flying from and saw a gray portal a little lighter than the dark and sickly one Damian just Zone-Hopped in.
“Guys, do you see those things up there?” he said, his voice shrill and out of breath. “What the heck is happening—” Chug's eyes fixed on something—err, someone running down the steps toward us. He was clutching his nose as he ran and red liquid dripped from his fingers and the edges of his cheeks.
“Takao?” Chug asked.
“Wow,” I said, “I got him good."
“You did what?” Chug asked, still hanging from Woodstock's grip. “Put me down, Woodstock. Preferably before he gets past us!”
Woodstock dropped him, and we spread out to stop Takao. He looked up from his bloody nose and saw us, and let out a yelp. Then he turned and ran back up the steps before making a dark portal appeared and diving through it. Chug cursed, stamping his foot on the nearest step.
“You're kidding me!” Chug yelled, tugging at his hair.
“He's gone.” Woodstock said.
“Lara did the same thing,” Chug said, “right after that giant tremor interrupted our fight.” In a mutter, he added, “I was totally winning, too.”
I shook my head in disbelief.
“Damian disappeared too,” I added. “Escaped behind the stage just before that tremor."
“Any idea why?” Woodstock asked.
“Lara and Takao were really working for Damian,” I explained, “and he said they'd have a 'safe spot to witness the rebirth of chaos'."
Chug squinted his eyes at me. “What does that mean for us not-insane people?"
Another explosion of rubble shot out from the stage. A chunk of boulder came at us and Chug and I flinched, but Woodstock made light work of it, catching and tossing it down below. When the dust settled, I saw two of the giant dark tendrils stretching down towards us.
“It means...Disorder."
48. You Fly Kites? I Fly Dining Tables
“Oh, you gotta be kiddin' me!” Chug said. “He's probably had his mitts in this from moment his club re-opened. Even could've brainwashed the Headmistress for all we know!"
“Ese,” Woodstock cut in, “I don't think he could have—"
“Guys, it doesn't matter!” I shouted. “He didn't have to brainwash her. He planned this to free Disorder, and it's kind of happening right now, in case you didn't notice."
Woodstock ran his fingers through his hair. Over and over again. “You're right.” he said on the third time through. “This is…I mean, before, it was bad, but now it's worse. Our plan's been collapsing since the second we got here, but now the whole building's falling apart. How are we going to get everyone out of here now?” I yanked his arm away from his head, pulling him to look me in the eyes.
“That's the Headmistress talking, Woodstock!” This must have shaken him out of his panic attack. He stared at me more alert, his brown eyes alive and less filled with...fear.
“Now,” I continued, “the plan hasn't changed. Chug can still Zone Hop. Can you?” He nodded, like he was remembering the logical reason for standing in front of the scene in front of us.
“Then we're still saving these Agents one at a time, starting with the Abandoned."
“We better start, like, right now, then.” Chug said. He pointed up at the tornadoes, and my jaw fell open.
Up above The Headmistress' army, three of the tendrils of swirling darkness started to fall towards us, They bent down over the staircase until they were hovering over the ground near us and all the Agents—who were either freaking out and just realizing they should join the army at the top of the steps, or lying unconscious, thanks to Woodstock.
The swirling picked up speed, spinning faster until it was pulling in the broken chunks of the ceiling. Then it began dragging some of the unconscious Agents toward it.
“Those things are going to swallow up the Agents!” Woodstock shouted.
“Okay...” I said. “New plan.”
I tried to speak calmly, but it came out more like I was just getting off a roller coaster. “The Agents about to get sucked in are the priority. Pull 'em to the far side of the room first, then you two can start Zone-Hopping them out of here."
“What about the army?” he asked. I looked up at the group of adolescent teens, swarming around that evil lady like some sort of Depression groupies, and shook my head.
“They seem to be satisfied standing guard,” I said. “Let's just leave them alone for now.
I realized now that Chug was doing nothing but staring at me. I hoped I was wearing my most certain face so he wouldn't dare ask me if I was sure about this or not. I would have no idea how to answer him. So of course, he spoke up.
“Some of these people were just trying to punch you, you know.”
“And Disorder doesn't seem to care about that. The Headmistress said herself the entire army is pretty much kidnapped Agents. They're no better off than the Abandoned at this point. We can't let them die here."
“Well, what about that preppy jerk and his smack-talk friends?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes at him.
“You really have to ask that now?"
He shrugged, and elbowed Woodstock in the arm with a grin. “Just lookin' out for you, man.” Then he ran off towards one of the nearing tornadoes. I was glad to see he still had a sense of humor in this early stage of chaos. It would probably make dying a little less lame.
He dashed after the nearest Agent about to fly into the black tornado. My eyes were glued to him as he caught the Agent's foot, but they almost both got sucked in. Chug's feet rose off the ground, but he managed to Zone-Hop the both of them the short distance back to us, nodding at me, then Woodstock.
“I'm alive,” he said. “Maybe we can do this.”
“Good,” I said. “You two handle this. I'm going to go get Scott. And hopefully Dart.”
“Alone?” Woodstock asked.
“I have to do my part,” I said. “We can do this."
“Maybe.” Woodstock echoed. He scooped up the Agent in his arm and bent down to grab another before Zone-Hopping to the back of the room with them.
“Good luck,” Chug told me. Then he Zone-Hopped back to the front of the room and rushed off to save another Agent.
I steeled myself to face my part of this rescue, fixing my eyes up at the stage and the army.
I didn't get very far before I noticed each step getting lighter and lighter. At first, I thought it was just belief in the fact that we could do this. Until I realized that was stupid. And that my feet were no longer touching the ground.
When I looked up, another raging tendril of darkness was towering right over me. Its roar grew louder and surrounded me from every angle as it came down to swallow me whole.
I scrambled into my bag for orange paintbrushes and pulled out two. (This tactic worked the last time I wanted to stop a tornado.)
I wasn't sure how much better my chances were now that the tornado was upside down, but I went for it, throwing them as high as I could. The paintbrushes exploded after four seconds, evaporating the top off the tornado and I cheered as I fell to the ground. But just as quickly, the tornado grew back. Then it spun faster and grew stronger than before.
I tried to run, but it pulled me inch after inch off the ground. So I flung my whip at the nearest table—which is much harder while floating—and it wrapped around the leg.
But the tornado was determined to win our tug-of-war.
It came down and forced me and the table—and every other piece of furniture—off the ground completely. The table shot past me and hanging from my whip, I followed it into the fierce wind and gaping darkness.
49. My Speech Brings The House Down
Cold.
Pain.
Anger.
Yelling. Screaming. Something...worse than screaming?...
The tornado felt
like it wasn’t wind, but these raw emotions cutting through my skin and leeching my will to live.
“This is Disorder?” was all I could manage to think. I felt him seeping into my thoughts, telling me to give up.
How were we supposed to stand up to this?
So much more of him must have been ready to break out. I couldn't even handle a piece of his strength. Heck, I wanted to give up.
But I couldn't unwrap my fingers from my paint whip. It flailed around in the wind along with me, but I wouldn't let my grip go. And the line connected to the table held fast. The wind threatened to tear my arms apart in this wind, but I held fast. Then down below, through tearing eyes, I watched the entire table fly back up.
It shot past me, up through the tornado, and out the top of the eye—pulling me along violently behind it. I flew out of the top of the tornado and followed the table across the room where it smashed against the wall.
Seconds after, and my body would mix with the splinters.
What a way to go, huh, Lucy? Splattered all over the wall of a school. Sounded like freshman year all over again.
I thought maybe I could stop it. Use my paint whip to change direction around one of the nearby pillars or something, but it was no use. My entire body was so cold from the tornado and Disorder that I couldn't feel my arms. Even if I could, they were probably hurtling too fast for me to move them.
I closed my eyes and awaited the gruesome fate hurtling toward me, but instead of crashing into the wall, I crashed into a body of smoke that quickly became a teenage boy. My momentum still carried us into the wall, but at a much slower rate. I got the wind knocked out of me and then we slid to the ground.
I groaned and forced myself to sit up. Woodstock looked me over, shooting a flurry of questions at me.
