Masterminds (22 page)

I wait until he's all the way down to the kitchen before resuming my game, this time with the sound muted. Driving lessons aren't an option; they're a necessity. It's Tori's idea. She's the one who came to the conclusion that if we're going to escape Serenity, bikes just won't cut it. Look how fast Mrs. Delaney made it out to where we rode that night.

“By the time our parents realize we're missing and send the Purples after us, we need to be far enough away that they won't know where to look. Face it, we're going to have to be in a car.”

We've even figured out which car we're going to be
taking—my dad's brand-new Lexus. It'll be easy. He leaves the spare keys in the junk drawer in our kitchen. Why would he bother to hide them? The only potential car thieves in town can't make it past the invisible fence.

Or so he thinks.

Knowing that the barrier is being generated by the satellite dish on that cone truck changes everything. True, we can't be 100 percent positive until we test it, but we've scoured the town, and there's nothing else it could possibly be.

The plan is simplicity itself: knock out the dish, take the car, and good-bye.

By the time Malik and I feel even semiconfident behind the wheel, Serenity Day is less than forty-eight hours away.

I'm nervous. “It's too risky to try anything now. People are outside, decorating their houses with streamers and bunting. The Purples are all over the park, setting up the picnic tables.”

“Maybe we should wait a few days,” Amber suggests. “You know, till after the celebration is over.”

“That's easy for you to say,” protests Hector. “The minute Serenity Day is done, Malik might get weeded. They could send him away, and we'll never see him again!
For all we know, it means . . .” He falls silent.

“Chill out, Hector,” Malik says quietly. “It's supposed to happen after Serenity Day, but not necessarily in the first five minutes after. I'll be fine.” He's trying to sound confident, and not really succeeding.

“Or,” Tori interjects, “we could make our move on Serenity Day itself, right in the middle of the nighttime fireworks.”

We goggle at her.

“It's the perfect distraction,” she insists. “The whole town's in the park. Even the Purple People Eaters are on skeleton staff. It's dark, and everybody's eating ice cream and looking up.”

“I take back every time I called you stupid!” Malik crows. “Serenity Day! Like we're taking their un-holiday and using it against them!” There's genuine relief beneath the surface of his usual in-your-face attitude.

“Don't celebrate yet,” I warn. “There are a million things that can go wrong, and some of them probably will. We have to know this plan like the back of our hands and get every single detail exactly right.”

In a town full of well-behaved kids, we make sure we're the best behaved of the lot. You can practically see our halos. We go to school, put the finishing touches on
our Serenity Day projects, and practice in the pool for the big water polo match. But in private, when nobody's watching, we spend every spare minute reading up on life in the real world. We save our allowances, open old piggy banks, and hoard every dollar offered to us to buy a snack or ice cream cone. Not even Tori can plan more than a few miles past the town limits, because none of us has any idea what we'll find out there. Will a group of kids on their own attract attention? Where can we live and sleep? How important will money be? Will Osiris send the Purple People Eaters to track us down, or will they write us off and focus on the clones they have left?

“They have to come after us,” is Amber's opinion. “We're walking, talking proof of what they've being doing in Serenity—what they're
still
doing.”

“What if the outside world already knows about Project Osiris and thinks it's just fine?” Tori muses.

Hector shakes his head. “Not according to the internet. That website says Osiris was scrapped because it was considered immoral. I think our folks would be in big trouble if word gets out about us.”

“I'm counting on it,” Amber says. “I want to be there to see my parents' faces when I testify against them in court. I hope they go to jail for what they did.”

The rest of us exchange uncomfortable glances. Although we're all angry with our parents, Amber's desire for revenge is a little chilling. I can't help but wonder whose DNA she wound up with. My father deserves to be brought to justice more than anybody, yet it hurts to think of him suffering in some jail.

Not only is our plan half-baked; we're not even sure what to hope for if we succeed.

Another possible weakness is Mrs. Delaney. She knows what we tried to do that night. She's kept our secret so far—if she hadn't, we'd all be on Dr. Bruder's magic pills. But she's in a tough spot herself, being married to a Purple People Eater. And as our water polo coach, she sees us every day, which gives her plenty of chances to ponder whether or not she's doing the right thing by covering for us.

We're all swimming extra hard to keep her happy. The quality of water polo in this town has never been better. I think she sees through it, though. She's been distant and all business where she used to be warm and friendly. I try to engage her in conversation a few times, but she only wants to talk about improving our skills.

Once, in private, I even go so far as to mention “. . . the time you gave us a lift in that Surety pickup.”

She doesn't take the bait.

“We don't need her to sign a blood oath, Eli,” Malik points out. “We just need her to keep her mouth shut a few more days.”

“Besides,” adds Tori, “it's not like she's the only thing that can go wrong. Face it, the minute we're past the barrier, we're lost. We haven't got a clue where we're going and there's nobody we can ask, since we don't know a single person outside Serenity.”

“That's not technically true.” I actually thought of this a couple of days ago, but I haven't mentioned anything before now, because I'm still not sure if it's worth pursuing. But with the time to zero hour counting down, it's something we all have to consider. “We
do
know someone out there. We know Randy Hardaway.”

Last year on the eve of Serenity Day, I was so excited that I didn't sleep. I was going to get my face painted and eat cotton candy until I threw up on the Fun Slide or the Bouncy Castle. I was going to drink real soda, which Mom never keeps in the house. It was all bogus, yet it still makes me a little sad to think that I'm probably never going to be that psyched about anything again.

My to-do list from that day is still pinned to my corkboard. It's unique because of what's
not
on it—no ballet or piano practice, no homework, or anything to do with school:

           
•
  
Go on Rides

           
•
  
Win Three-Legged Race with Tori

           
•
  
Listen (!!!) to Speeches

           
•
  
Present Project

           
•
  
The Big Game

           
•
  
Cheer for Dad in Plastics-Works-versus-Surety Tug-of-War

           
•
  
Fireworks

What a difference a year makes.

This time around, I don't get much sleep either, but for a reason that has nothing to do with cotton candy or water polo. I'm still looking forward to the fireworks, but not to ooh and aah over the explosions of color. And there's no list at all. The last thing I want to do is put our plan in writing and pin it to my corkboard where Mom and Dad can see it. Anyway, it would be a very short list:

           
•
  
Don't blow it.

It's as if my entire body is a guitar string, vibrating with nervous determination. Today is the most important day of my life. And if it goes well, tomorrow will be the first day of a new one.

It starts in the afternoon with family picnics in the park. Family—I don't even know what that word means
anymore. Tori has told me at least twenty times that my parents love me. I don't deny that they were nice to me for thirteen years and gave me a cushy life. Everybody has a cushy life here, not from any plastics factory, or community philosophy, but because some billionaire coughed up tons of money to create a whole town and turn it into a giant behavior lab.

So, yeah, maybe they love me, but that's beside the point. They lied to me, all the while claiming that nothing is more important than honesty. I've been pumped up with so many lies that when you take them away, there's nothing left and I'm an empty shell. I'll never forgive them for that.

I've done my share of crying; now it's time to move on. I guess the criminal mastermind I'm cloned from isn't the sentimental type.

The ceremony starts at around two, when Mr. Frieden holds up the Serenity Cup and we all go nuts for about ten minutes, applauding, hugging our neighbors, shaking hands, and pounding people on the back. I lock eyes with Tori. She's red-faced from cheering her head off, and I'm sure I am too. We're determined to be the most enthusiastic Serenity citizens of them all—until tonight, when we vote with our feet.

The speeches are the same as always, but this is the first year I find them painful to the ears. The speakers are introduced by their fancy titles: Mayor; CEO of the Plastics Works; Chief Medical Officer; Chamber of Commerce President. But in reality, these are our parents and neighbors, people we've seen in bathing suits and in line at the store buying Metamucil. I fell for it harder than most of the kids and I'm not proud of that. It only strengthens my resolve. I won't be their stooge anymore.

Then the “fun” begins. I allow myself a few jumps in the Bouncy Castle and some cotton candy for old times' sake. For the egg-and-spoon race, Mrs. Amani hands me a soup ladle deep enough to float the
Queen Mary
, and I speak up and ask for the same regular spoon everyone else has. The adults nod approvingly. Now I understand I've passed another test. But what's most satisfying to me is that by the time they get the chance to note it on my whiteboard, I'll be gone.

Next it's on to the school for the presentation of our projects. Tori and I win first prize. I can't take much credit for that. Tori's the artist; my contribution is basically smearing blue on the sky and green on the grass. We're awarded plaques we can hang in the rooms we're not going to live in anymore.

Then it's time for the water polo match, Team Solidarity against Team Community. The whole town packs into the bleachers around the natatorium. There are even some Purple People Eaters among the spectators. This is the one day of the year that they actually mingle.

As we stand at attention for the national anthem and “Serenity, My Home,” my mind wanders to the sports pages of that
USA Today.
There was coverage of baseball, football, basketball, hockey, soccer, tennis, lacrosse, and any sport you can imagine. But not a word about water polo. Why is it so popular here? Is Project Osiris monitoring our aggressive and competitive tendencies in an environment where we're surrounded by water and insulated from major injury?

Clones must be expensive.

The game is a blur of splashing and yelling, the ball whizzing past my head, first in one direction, then the other. It's hard to care about athletic glory when you've got so much going on soon. Even Malik is a subdued version of his usual Zeus-hurling-thunderbolts self. The match ends 4–4. The audience goes wild. In Serenity, we love ties because nobody goes home disappointed. That's harmony and contentment for you. As for honesty . . . two out of three ain't bad.

By the time we get changed and back to the park, the barbecues are blazing and the sun is low in the sky. My last Serenity sunset. I should be happy, but I'm starting to get really scared. My eyes seek out the others in the crowd, and I can tell they're thinking the same thing. We're heart-and-soul behind this plan, but it's about to get very real very fast.

The Purple People Eaters lose the Plastics-Works-versus-Surety tug-of-war. They lose on purpose—they always do to show what great sports they are. It's nice to see those perfect purple uniforms dragged through the mud and slime of the pit, but I'm too anxious to enjoy it. The waiting is torture and the hard part—the escape—hasn't even started yet. I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around the enormity of what we're about to do.

A hot dog is waved under my nose. “Eat something, honey,” my mother exhorts. “You must be starving.”

I have such a nervous stomach that the smell of it almost makes me retch. “I'm not really hungry.”

“After all that swimming?”

So I take a bite and choke it down just to avoid an argument, or, worse, her taking me home for a little TLC. It's gross but I can't shake the feeling that it's not going to
be the worst thing I have to do tonight.

The sun is down. Dusk is quickly turning to darkness. The fireworks are about to begin.

In more ways than one.

It's easy to slip out of the park. Everybody's eyes are on the fireworks.

Malik and I dart into the trees and pause for a moment to make sure we're not being followed. We haven't got much time to waste, though. I have it on the highest authority—Dad's—that this year's Serenity Day extravaganza will last exactly twenty-three minutes.

“Clear,” whispers Malik, and we're off.

In some bushes at the corner of the park, we've stashed the closest thing we could get to demolition tools—a shovel and a hoe from Dr. Bruder's backyard shed. I'd feel a lot surer of success with a sledgehammer and dynamite, but that kind of stuff is hard to come by in this town. Anyway, beggars can't be choosers.