The Executioner at the Institute for Contaminated Children (3 page)

I could understand that. After all, I wasn’t a big fan of judgment myself. My problem was that justice and judgment were intertwined. And I hated one while I loved the other. I believed in pure evil and innocence, but I also believed that people could be misjudged and misunderstood, which wasn’t just at all.

Maybe the truth of it came down to those terrorist bombings. What if Mom and Dad saw us in one of those schools? Even if that was the case, I was still enraged. They had no right to take what belonged to us!

I would have stayed at home. I wanted to. But we had an exam that day. Something like a practice SAT which would contribute to our graduation. If we didn’t take it, they held us back a year. Talk about a loser label.

I walked into the classroom in a daze, my eyes puffy and red. Late, of course.

My heart would normally thump in my chest as all eyes turned toward me when I opened the door, but today it beat more like a light anticipatory drum. My classmates’ opinions were the least of my concern.

I sat next to Eva Solontez. She stared at my sodden face in slight concern, but didn’t address me. She didn’t talk to anyone outside her close-nit circle of friends. Her makeup lay perfectly around her Hispanic eyes, hair loosely braided from scalp to back. If undone, it would have gorgeous Brazilian waves. Her family came from all over South America, from Argentina to Venezuela, and ran some prestigious business, or so I heard. My hair wasn’t like that; it was flat and black, a dull sheen. The only thing I ever got complimented on was my light eyes and skin. I didn’t want to look like her. If I did, I’d stand out too much.

“Happy Birthday, Donna! Sorry I forgot your present at home, but we can pick it up after school together,” said Maggie, my friend from middle school and probably the most tactless person I knew. She sat backwards in her chair and gazed at me with a concern I found comic. She stared at me and blinked when I bore no reaction. I’d normally tell her to keep it down, but I just swayed slightly in my seat. “Damn. I know you don’t want to take this test, but you look dead. And I’m the one who babysat Presley’s kids till midnight yesterday. I hope you know, I did it to pay off your gift. Did something happen?”

My head nodded forward dully. That was nice of her. I guess I should thank her at least…

Her mouth stretched in an I-shouldn’t-have-gone-there-huh way.

I wanted to correct her, tell her she’d misunderstood, but the moment my mouth opened, Mr. Presley walked in with a stack of exams, his short hair brushed back and a glare on his rectangular glasses. One of the younger still fit teachers at our school.

“Everyone, please take your seats. Maggie, don’t straddle that chair like a you-know-what, for our sake,” he said and the class roared in laughter. Maggie rolled her eyes and sat forward. Even in my mood, I let out a scoff. Just so long as it wasn’t me he singled out.

He suddenly looked at me. Uh-oh. Then I realized why. Mr. Presley always scanned the room for sullen faces, and then he would smile at that person until they smiled back. I attempted a weak grin which probably looked like the side of a stapler and he nodded. Mr. Presley was too awesome. A lot of people didn’t like his discipline methods, but he cared about his students and didn’t look to punish them just because he had the authority to do so. If every teacher was like him, school would be heaven.

As he handed out the tests, a calm came over me. I didn’t want to let Sissy go, or deal with heart-broken siblings when I got home, but a sudden strength seeped into me. Maybe we could go and visit them at our grandparents’ house. It’s not like they were dead. Mom and Dad would never have to know. If anyone, Grandma and Grandpa were the first to note Lisa’s affinity for animals, and they made sure not to say a word to my parents. Looking back at it, a lot of things pieced together now. They were always paranoid, but my grandparents probably didn’t weight the consequences as heavily as my parents. Maybe they didn’t understand. I didn’t either.

As Mr. Presley came closer to my desk, an odd feeling washed over me, like something tugged at the roots of my hair, and it came from the direction of Eva Solontez. Her lips were taut, as if she tried to hold back vomit. Her fingers were white and she stared down at her desk. When Mr. Presley approached us, I took the test from him with a brief smile, but my gaze immediately shot back to Eva. She glanced up to Mr. Presley, her mouth wobbly. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was abashed. He paused at her desk briefly; I couldn’t see his expression. Then again, who said I knew better?

I didn’t have all the answers. Still, that one exchange—granted, just one—gave off a bad vibe.

I breezed through the test and handed it in first, to which a murmur of irritation came from the typically lowest-scoring students, and also the highest-scoring ones. Those always rubbed me the wrong way, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to sit in my desk for another hour and mindlessly stare at the clock.

“First again, Ms. Cassidy,” said Mr. Presley with a smile, but it seemed forced. I was about to walk out of the room when he added, “I only wish your free response exams reflected your skills with multiple choice.”

My lip twitched. Okay, I take back what I said about Mr. Presley being awesome. What the heck was that?! He said it low enough so no one else would hear. Surely the people on the first row did at least. I paused briefly, scowled, and then continued out the door.

Oh, so what? I was good at guessing, sue me. It’s his fault for making the questions multiple choice in the first place. I wish I understood how I knew the answers, but I couldn’t. And I didn’t ever cheat. It just seemed…obvious.

Shoot! I walked all the way to the parking lot and forgot my backpack in the classroom.

I ran back to the classroom and paused before I turned the corner. Two people stood outside the classroom and spoke in low voices. It sounded like a private conversation, but I had to get my things. As I peeked to check who it was, my eyes widened and turned to stone. Mr. Presley held Eva by the shoulders, and she was crying.

CHAPTER FIVE—Coin Toss

I
wasn’t a tattle tale. Really, I wasn’t. The only one I’ve ever told on in my entire life was Torrey. Even if I believed in justice, telling on someone just gave you labels. Normally, I’d try and deliver justice myself, but this time it was out of my hands. And my thirst for it only elevated after what happened this morning. Seeing Lisa cry, Mom and Dad furious, tearing the cats out of our hands…

So when I saw Mr. Presley with Eva in an eerily secretive exchange, something snapped. I don’t know what made me think it. They didn’t look intimate, but this huge wave hit me, like a stench or a punch in the gut. And I
knew
there was something going on between them. Could it be their low voices or the glances I imagined they exchanged in class? He was married. Maggie babysat his kids. Were they kidding me? I turned and ran straight for the principal’s office. Little did I know, that one decision to tell on them would flip my world upside down. Or maybe it had already been flipped for me and I didn’t even know it. But this way, it was like I sealed the deal. Because they weren’t just having an affair…

“She’s what?!”

“Ms. Cassidy, did Ms. Solontez tell you she was pregnant?”

“Hell no!”

“Watch your language, please.”

I bit my tongue and mentally slapped myself. “I mean…no, sir. How… When did you find out?”

“Her parents called the school, threatening to sue the board of directors if they didn’t remove Mr. Presley from the faculty.”

My mouth loosened. No way…no, really,
no
way. I thought it was a guess. A good guess, at best. But not a dead on, hit-it-square-on-the-nail intuition.

“I trust you will keep this information private.”

“Y-Yes, of course.” I nodded without knowing why. Everyone would find out anyhow.

“Now if you would please follow me this way.”

The principal opened a door to his office.

Wait…what did he want from me?

“Erm…why should I?”

“Your father is waiting. Please, right this way.”

I gulped. For one, I didn’t want to see my father right now. I was still angry with him for this morning. And for another, I didn’t know what this was about.
Am I in trouble
? I was very careful about following the rules, and if I didn’t, I made sure no one knew. Maybe I would get some kind of award. But Dad’s stony face revealed evidence of neither. He looked afraid, almost enraged when I walked into the room, yet too frightened to act on it. The weird part? The rage wasn’t directed at me.

“Have a seat, Donna, please,” said the principal. He reminded me more of a president than a principal, with his block of black hair and pressed suit, perfectly creased. Like a robot.

I stared at him for a moment, trapped. I sat down slowly. He pulled out a scantron. My test. I groaned. Not this again.

“I didn’t cheat!” burst from my mouth before I could stop it. The accusations were really ticking me off.

“No one said you cheated,” said the principal. “I simply would like to point something out to your father. And to both of you, if you don’t mind.”

I exhaled and tried to calm down. Despite his words, I didn’t like his tone. It screamed patronizing.

“Mr. Cassidy…your daughter has scored one-hundred percent on our prep test for college.”

My father attempted a smile, both nervous and forced. “Not half bad.”

“Indeed,” said the principal. “We’ve noticed her scores have grown better with time. Not necessarily in a linear manner, but progressively better. And they have usually been highest in the class. However, that is only true for multiple-choice based test. For free response tests…”

“I know, I know,” said my father. “She’s a lot worse. We’re familiar. It’s nothing to call me in about. Like she said, Donna’s not a cheater.”

“I’m afraid we suspect something different.” The door opened and a man in a black suit walked in with a miniature briefcase. The principal acknowledged him while Dad and I both gave him a wary glance. His pasty hands and face reminded me of those questionable politicians or tycoons, though he missed the belly fat and had more of a chiseled frame. Almost unnatural, like the way he walked with each step pressed all the way into the carpet.

“What’s…this about?” said Dad. He sounded in denial at this point.

“If you don’t mind, we would like to test your daughter in a simple experiment of probability. We believe she has the uncanny ability to predict the outcome of any chance event.”

“That’s…impossible.” My father laughed nervously again. “Donna’s completely average.” Plain outer shell? Check. “She has no ‘uncanny’ ability, I assure you.”

“Mr. Cassidy, please. Either we take this test, or we have reason to suspect your daughter is possibly cheating on her exams. Now, I think we both know that is not the case. But unless you consent, we will have no choice but to keep a watchful eye on her.”

“I don’t understand,” said my father. “Why would you suspect this all of a sudden?”

The principal rested his mouth on his folded fingers. “Donna, would you care to tell your father what you came here to report today?”

My mouth loosened slightly and I faced my dad, my eyes fearful and his filled with scorn. He probably couldn’t believe why I couldn’t lay low for one more day after all his attempts to hide the signs. One more day and I would have gone off the radar. Maybe if I had known and recognized the signs, I could have done just that! Who knew how many curves I’ve broken and tests I’ve passed only because of my abilities. Probably, all of them.

“I…I saw…or I thought I had reason to suspect…that one of my teachers was having an affair with a student…”

“And?”

“…And I was right,” I said.

More like, “And I wanted justice.” But I couldn’t say that, of course.

My father’s head shot back to the principal while the unidentified man in the suit assembled some sort of device from his briefcase and tested that it worked. I couldn’t see over the top of the briefcase.

“It’s not the first time either, is it, Donna? I heard you made the final call at the all-state quiz bowl,” the principal said. My father’s eyes widened.

“With all due respect, sir, that does not prove anything,” Dad said through clenched teeth. 

“Quite right, Mr. Cassidy. Which is why we must prove it. Or reject it entirely.”

My father’s face grew ashen.

I squeezed his petrified hand. “It’s okay, Dad. I’ll be fine. Let’s just get this over with so we can go home, okay?”

He swallowed and turned to the man in the black suit and then shut his eyes. Sweat trekked down the side of his face. He nodded unwillingly.

I turned back towards the principal. “What’s the test?”

“Quite simple,” he replied. The man in the black suit placed what looked like a mechanical spider on the principal’s desk and I shivered, shifting back in my seat as cold swept through me.

“What is…what is that?” I said. I really hated non-virtual creepy stuff.

“A simple heart monitoring device called a Lieder. It has the abilities of a stethoscope on its tips with a built in polygraph. While the Lieder takes measurements from you, I am going to toss a two-sided coin in the air. You will call it, and I will check to see if you are right. The Lieder will tell us if you are telling the truth.”

“Is…Is this really necessary?” said Dad, his hands now clutching the chair. The veins looked ready to tear through his skin.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“And…if I’m right?” I said. I answered myself in my mind: if you’re right, you’ll get labeled as a freak, shipped off to a freak school, and live a freakish life. Freak.

“If you’re right, Ms. Cassidy, there is no question about it,” he said, calm and collected, as if it didn’t matter that we were just about to walk into The Twilight Zone. He and Mom would get along swell. “We will be certain you are contaminated.”

The word hit me like a dart. This couldn’t be happening. Just this morning, with Lisa…and now…the chances were too low.

The man in the suit brought the Lieder closer. It fit on his palm, a silver spider with a large bulb on its back. I wanted him to get that thing as far away from me as possible. I wanted to scream, to ask Dad to help, but what could he do? Where would I go after this? The thought of becoming a juvenile convict on the run made me want to hurl.