The Chamber of Five (6 page)

Elvis sniffed, blinking, his eyes on Carter. “I’m sorry, but what does my father have to do with …” He glanced at me, then back to Carter. “Carter, I thought I was coming here to—”

Carter snapped, quick and vicious, “Call me sir.”

Elvis looked down. “Sir.”

I stood. “Knock it off, Carter.”

Carter smiled, ignoring me. “Mr. Presley, you are a freak. A bizarre, genetic malfunction, and I can’t understand for the life of me what made you think that you could ever, ever be in the Youth Leadership Group.” He folded his hands on his lap. “Application denied. Get out.”

Elvis looked up, his face wracked and broken, like he’d been flayed alive for something he didn’t understand. “But the note said …”

I turned to Elvis. “Get out, Elvis. Right now.”

He stood still.

“GO!” I barked. He left. I turned to Carter, grabbing his shirt and smashing him into the chair. “I should beat the living shit out of you for that, you …”

He smiled, calm as a Sunday morning. “Have you made your decision about the file yet, Jason? It would be good if you did so. I hate indecision. It’s irritating.”

I leaned close, releasing him, then put my hands on the armrests. “That’s what this was about, huh? Helping me make my decision? The brotherhood? Destroying somebody who doesn’t deserve to be destroyed? All about me, huh?”

Carter’s obsidian eyes bored into me. “Yes, Jason. That is what this is about. Sacrifice. And perhaps you should think about what might happen next if you don’t make the right decision.”

I stared into those eyes for a moment, my entire body aching to break him in half. I realized then that this wasn’t about the Chamber. This was about power. About him. This was about Carter Logan breaking
me
in half, and I didn’t know why. “You put him in the Group, leave him alone, write his letter of recommendation, and I’ll do it. That’s the deal. No other way.”

He grinned. “A deal has been made. I will contact him personally, apologize for my insensitive remarks, and let him know he is now a member.” With his eyes still on mine and our faces inches apart, a moment passed. “Would you mind taking your face away from me, Jason? I’m uncomfortable with us being this close, and I’d hate to have Kennedy hurt you.”

Another moment passed, and I backed off, walking toward the doors. Kennedy smirked, as usual. Carter cleared his throat. “I’ve anticipated your joining us, Jason, and in the spirit of the Chamber, I’ve arranged for some help to be given in your task.”

“I don’t need your help.”

He waved me off. “That is all. Dismissed.”

I
ARRIVED AT SCHOOL
the next morning and caught up to Elvis at the edge of the parking lot. He stood with his huge book bag on his back and two cans of corn in his hands. I waved. “Hey. What’s the corn about?”

He looked away, uncomfortable. “You didn’t get a call last night?”

“No. About what?”

“There’s a food drive today. They called everybody. My mom sent them.”

“A food drive?”

“Yeah. I guess some family in town had a tragedy, so Lambert’s helping out.”

“Huh. They didn’t call us.” A moment passed. “Did Carter talk to you about the Group?”

He nodded. “He came to my house after the meeting.”

“Good. And I’m sorry about what happened. It wasn’t you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re on now, though. And that’s what matters for the Pilkney deal, right?”

“Sure.”

“And you’ll get your letter.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I looked at him, and my stomach turned uneasy. He’d been crushed yesterday. Carter Logan had ground him to dust, and no matter how much I wanted to act like it didn’t happen, it had. “It’s not true, you know. Your dad, I mean.”

“I’m not ashamed of him. He’s a great person.”

“I’m sorry. I just … You know I don’t feel that way, and you know I wasn’t behind what happened, right?”

“I don’t know what happened, Jason, but I know I don’t want to be a part of it.”

I sighed. I had everything to do with what happened, I felt like a rotten ass, and now I was paying for it. His face told me he wasn’t mad or pissed at me. Worse. Hurt and betrayed. A little bit of fun in the Chamber, all organized by me. Just like with Brooke. Carter was better at this than me, I realized. “I’ll make sure he writes the letter, okay?”

He looked at me. “Hey, Jason?”

“Yeah?”

He faltered. “Why’d it happen? Why me? Why does it always have to be me?”

I clenched my teeth. “It wasn’t you, Elvis. It was me.”

He looked toward the school. “You know what, Jason? It
is
me. I’ve always been the one, and I know that. I’m the guy, you
know? Last picked, never picked, and always the butt of the joke. I was just born that way, and Carter was right. I’m a freak.” Then he walked away.

I called after him.

He turned, shaking his head. “I love my father more than the Pilkney Foundation, Jason. I declined Carter. I won’t take the letter. Bye.” Then he was gone, and I stood there, feeling an inch tall. Elvis had the courage that neither I nor Brooke nor anybody in the Chamber had. He’d looked at a future filled with brilliance, but he’d not been willing to sacrifice what was right. No amount of money could buy the pride he had for his father. A tinge of jealousy ran through me. I wished I had a dad like his.

I walked across the courtyard, up the steps, and into the school. And when I got inside, I saw that the games had begun in full. I stood transfixed, my mind floating in disbelief as I stared.

Every fifth locker down the main corridor had a poster tacked to it, and students milled around, laughing and talking before class began. The Thomas Singletary Food Drive had kicked off today, and as the posters read, canned goods could be donated in the main foyer to help the Singletarys out in their time of need. “To help humanity is to help those who cannot help themselves” was emblazoned across the posters, and below that, my name was listed as the chairman of the committee that organized the drive. I groaned.

Then I walked to the office. Mrs. Pembroke sat behind the counter. I cleared my throat. She looked up, then smiled. “Hello, Mr. Weatherby. How are you today?”

I pointed to the hall. “Who did that?”

She furrowed her brow. “Well, Jason, you did. Mr. Kennedy came in this morning with a stack of posters and let me know he was to put them up.” She grinned. “Very kind of you to help like that, Jason. When a community cares, it can make all the difference in the world for a family.”

I looked at her, realizing she truly had no idea how crappy people could be. “They don’t need help. Nothing happened.”

“What?”

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. “Nothing. Never mind.” Then I left, walking down the hall and tearing the posters down. All of them. The bell sounded for first period and I ignored it, scouring the upper floors for anything else, but knowing it was too late. The box in the foyer was half full of beans and corn and soup and any other odd leftover from pantries and cupboards, and Thomas Singletary was the ass end of a big joke at Lambert.

Compliments of me.

“Y
OU AGREED, DIPSHIT
. Take it like a man,” Kennedy said. He had a hard time saying it, though, because I had him pinioned against a locker, my hand around his throat. It was more a gravelly squeak.

“I told you I didn’t need help. Not this way.”

“Did anybody ever let you know you have some serious anger management problems?” he croaked. Some sort of psychotic amusement lit his eyes even as his face turned a shade of red, and I almost pounded him.

“No more, Kennedy. I said I’d handle it, and I will.”

“Don’t kill the messenger, man. Kill the king.” His eyes twinkled. “If you can.”

My mind swirled around Elvis and some punk frosh I didn’t even like who I was in charge of getting rid of. “He’s gone too far, Kennedy. Doesn’t that bother you at all?”

Kennedy read my look. “Why do you care, Weatherby?”

“Because this is about Carter hurting people for no reason other than power, and I don’t like it.”

He craned his neck to the left and right, taking in the gathering crowd of students. “Would you let me go, please? Dissension in the ranks doesn’t quite cut the old mustard in the Chamber, and I’m getting tired of not beating the living shit out of you.”

I let him go. “I made a deal with Carter, and as far as you’re concerned, Kennedy, you’re out of it. Out. So stay away from Singletary.”

“Or what, Weatherby? Your daddy will raise my taxes?”

“Where is Carter?”

“Not my turn to know.”

“Tell him I need to talk.”

He scowled. “I’m not your errand boy. Tell him yourself.”

I smiled. “That’s what you don’t get, Kennedy. You are.” With that, I left him standing there with his pressed uniform wrinkled and at least forty kids staring at him.

And as I walked toward the double doors, Chancellor Patterson, the ghost of Lambert, wisped toward me. His balding head, what hair was left clinging tightly to his small cranium, glinted under the lights. “Mr. Weatherby. Yes. And how are you? Your father contacted me regarding your acceptance into the Chamber of Five. We had a … beneficial conversation.”

I stared at his gaunt and pale face. “Who gave the okay for the food drive?”

He smiled. “Why, I did, of course. A grand gesture for this school.”

“Who talked to you about it? Carter Logan?”

He frowned. “Perhaps, Mr. Weatherby, a different tone should be taken with me. I am the chancellor, after all.” He eyed me. Nobody knew the guy. He was like a wraith around the school, gliding here and there, never talking to students, spending his time cooped up in his office, which we called the cave. I’d been in there only to get busted. “Is there a problem with something?” he said.

“Who talked to you about the food drive?”

He nodded. “The Chamber leadership.”

“Kennedy or Carter?”

“Once again, is there a problem?”

“Thomas Singletary doesn’t need food, Chancellor Patterson. Nothing happened. No family tragedy. The whole point was to embarrass him, and you gave the okay.”

He pursed his lips, still frowning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I could tell he was sincere, which made him a plain old goof-ball instead of a malicious freak of nature. “Carter Logan did it to embarrass Thomas because he’s poor. It was a joke.”

He nodded. “I see. Lambert School for the Gifted is blind to economic status, Mr. Weatherby. I will speak to Mr. Logan concerning your opinion.”

“It’s not an opinion, and this school isn’t blind to anything. Ask the kid if he needs food.”

He ignored the jab. “Rest assured I will speak to both. Is that all?”

Woodsie’s words about how that file got to the Chamber in the first place came to me, and I knew this was nothing but lip
service. I paused, wondering if the chancellor was just a tool or if he really knew what went on.

I decided it didn’t matter, though. If they wanted a power play, they could have one, because if I’d learned anything from my dad, it was how to throw other people’s weight around. And if Carter was right about one thing, it was that we all had a price.

I looked at the chancellor. “My dad was talking about the new science and technology wing.”

He perked up. “Yes, actually, he mentioned it in one of our previous conversations,” he said. “We’re very excited to get it going.”

I nodded. “Yeah. One of his supporters, J. T. Thurmand, you know, from Thurmand Software? Anyway, my dad was throwing around ideas at the table about how to fund it, and J. T. was pretty interested.”

“Interested?”

I smiled, low-keying it. “You know how it works with politics, Chancellor. Just talk.” I paused. “But you know Thurmand is big-time into school sponsorships.”

“Indeed they are.”

“Yeah. It sounded like almost a done deal.”

“Hmm. Well, perhaps you could ask your father to contact me.” He rocked on his heels. “When we spoke before your being chosen for the Chamber, he seemed interested in the new wing. I would do it myself, but I know your father is a busy man.”

I smiled. “I’m sure I could talk to him, and by then I’m sure this mess with the food drive will have been taken care of.”

His face flattened. “I’m sure it will, Mr. Weatherby, and you can be assured that if any skullduggery has occurred, I will correct the problem.”

* * *

I walked from the building to the gym after school, gathered my tennis uniform to have it cleaned, then headed to the lot, only to find Carter leaning against the fender of my Mustang. And there, nestled in a cocoon of spider-webbed glass directly in the center of my windshield, lay a big can of Dinty Moore beef stew. Carter shook his head. “Looks like you’ve got a live one on your hands, Jason.”

I sighed. “Did you see him do it?”

“Did I need to see him do it?”

I unlocked the door, throwing my bag in the back. The can fell through the broken glass, bouncing from the stick shift. “Shit.”

He laughed. “Kennedy let me know you were … upset.” His eyes twinkled. “He has marks around his throat.”

“They suit him.”

He gazed across the parking lot. “You know, Jason, I was thinking that perhaps you’ve decided to renege on our deal since your friend Elvis declined membership.”

I knew I needed time to sort things out. “No, I haven’t.”

“Good, because a deal is a deal.”

“Why Singletary?”

He ignored the question. “You’re still on board?”

“Yes.”

He cocked an eye at me. “Then why the choke hold on Kennedy? He was … flustered about the sudden inability to breathe correctly, and honestly, I’m having a hard time holding him back with you.”

“Kennedy is an asshole, and you don’t have to hold anything back. If he wants it, I’m here.”

He laughed. A genuine, sincere, and throaty thing. “He is quite the anus, isn’t he? Sort of like a big, dumb, blabbermouthed penguin. He slobbers when he talks. Disgusting when the saliva gathers at the corners of his mouth, yes?”

“I can’t figure you out, Carter.”