Watch Your Step (33 page)

“Nice. Do you want to—”

Have a look? That's what I'm about to ask Lemon, but when I glance down, he's gone.

Assuming he's manning his station near the cafeteria entrance, I look through the window again. I have to give my classmates credit—they're not wasting time. Abe, Gabby, and Carter aren't the only ones already acting up. Alison bounds from one trash can to the next, hiding behind each as she sprays waffle whipped cream at her parents. Reed balances on the blades of a ceiling fan, hangs down a rope with a hook attached to one end, and, whenever his parents turn around or return to the buffet, rearranges their plates and utensils. I don't see her do it so have no idea
how
she does it, but when her family goes up for seconds, Natalie places four live chickens on their table. By the time her parents and little brothers get back, their new breakfast guests are clucking and pecking at the crumbs they left behind.

For the first few minutes, the scene remains fairly calm. Adults are definitely confused, but they seem to think these surprises are related to the ultimate one—a million dollars—that got them out of bed. So puzzled looks and head scratching are followed by smiles and laughter.

Eventually I think of Annika—and Ike's warning. And for a second, I'm torn. From what I know and from what my tutor has said, it's obvious our director's up to something. That makes me not want to try very hard to make her happy. But after what I learned at my parents' cabin last night, I need to be able to stay at Kilter now more than ever. As much as I'd miss Dad—and already do—I can't imagine living with Mom again, or seeing Bartholomew John at school every day.

But I can't keep lying about Miss Parsippany. I must tell the truth.

And that means I need to keep Annika happy.

I take out my K-Pak and fire off a quick e-mail.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
Crank it up!

Hi, guys! Great job so far! Your parents are TOTALLY surprised.

But what do you say we kick it up a notch? And show them what trouble REALLY looks like?

You know you want to! (And that Annika would want you to too!)

—Seamus

I press send, then peer through the window again. I can't see every Troublemaker because many of them have really good hiding spots, but the ones I can see whip out their K-Paks and read my message.

After that, the chaos starts. Abe makes bigger breakfast sculptures, faster. Their explosions are stronger and send food flying higher. I didn't think Gabby could sing any louder, but thanks to her megamicrophone, she can. As the volume goes up, so does the number of singers; there must be a special setting that multiplies her voice so it sounds like an entire Gabby chorus has entered the room. At the same time, whipped cream streams by. Plates and utensils zip through the air. A dozen chickens appear out of nowhere. They're soon joined by a pig and a goat. So
much happens so fast, the scene begins to blur. Like I'm inside a speeding car, and the other Troublemakers and their families are acting crazy on the side of the road.

But two things are crystal clear.

The first is that it's getting to be too much. Parents are starting to lose it. Adults aren't laughing anymore. A few of the younger siblings, uncomfortable in the noise and confusion, are whimpering.

The second . . . is Mom.

She's standing at the far end of the room. Her back and spread-eagled limbs cling to the wall like fabric softener sheets to flannel. She's watching the commotion like she can't believe what she's seeing. But, hello—she knowingly sent me to a school for professional Troublemakers—how is any of this a surprise?

Dad stands next to her. His fists are raised, as if he plans to give a quick one-two to any whipped cream or robot bird that comes his way.

The noise is getting louder. It's only a matter of time before Good Samaritans hear the ruckus—and our teachers realize we're not coming for our cleaning assignments. Then they'll investigate, and they'll stop us.

Now's my chance. I raise the Kilter Katcher to the open window. Use the reel to zero in on Mom. Aim for the belt buckle at her waist.

And fire.

The hook releases. Watching the Katcher's screen and jerking its lever, I guide the hook through the labyrinth of Troublemakers, parents, and other moving obstacles. Fortunately, Mom's so stunned that she stays as still as a statue. After clearing the crowd, the hook zips toward her. The plan is to snag her belt buckle, then harmlessly tug her around the room until she resembles a Cloudview Community Center modern dancer. When she's as dizzy as I've often felt from everything that's happened since last October, I'll let go and watch her spin.

“Um, Seamus?” Lemon's voice comes from my K-Pak, which is in my shorts pocket. “We have company.”

“Okay!” I call out, still guiding the Kilter Katcher. “Hang on. I'm about to—”

“LOSE?”

I turn toward the loud, low voice—just in time to see a man in white bolt inside the cafeteria's side entrance.

Mystery.

A smaller version of our cranky history teacher, also decked out in white, races after him.

Harrison. His assistant.

Before I can figure out what's happening, it's already happened.

Mystery and his sidekick charge into the cafeteria. Holding two enormous sacks each, they jump onto a table in the middle of the room, scattering chickens and sending feathers flying. Mystery brings two fingers to his mouth and whistles for the adults' attention. Once he has it, he and Harrison reach into their bags and start chucking things into the crowd. Like brooms. Mops. Garden hoses. Fly swatters. Watering cans. Pots and pans. Other various household items that, outside of Kamp Kilter, only parents use.

And because they've had years of practice, our parents know what to do with them now. When they see Mystery, they must realize the chaos isn't related to the imaginary million dollars they're waiting for—and they switch into battle mode. They catch the items easily, then start defending themselves. The broom diverts whipped-cream streams to the floor. Garden hoses are hooked up and water sprayed toward the ceiling,
where several Troublemakers hide in eaves. Wooden spoons clang pots and pans, drowning out Gabby's singing.

I snatch my K-Pak from my pocket, connect to my entire class, and shout into the speaker.

“Troublemakers! Stay focused! Don't panic! Hold your ground! Remember: These are your parents! You've fought this battle before. The only difference now is that you're better prepared!”

Anxious to get in there and help, I jump off the rock—and fall to the ground. When I try to get up, I can't.

The Kilter Katcher. I forgot about it in all the excitement and never caught what I meant to. So instead of grabbing Mom's belt, the unguided line flew back toward the reel. And because I didn't wind it back up, it tangled around my arms and legs.

I wiggle and squirm against the plastic restraints. My K-Pak's back in my pocket, but I can't move my arms enough to reach it. The Kilter Katcher rod is on the ground a few feet away. I can't reach that, either.

I'm stuck. While, by the sounds of it, the biggest troublemaking battle ever waged gets even bigger.

“Lemon!” I shout. “Abe! Gabby! Alison! Carter! Anybody! HELP!”

Under other circumstances I wouldn't be so loud, because I wouldn't want the wrong person to hear me. But under these, I have no choice. If Mystery finds me before my classmates free me, who knows what he'll do?

“Well, what do we have here?”

My heart stops. My limbs freeze.

“I guess what goes around comes around, huh?” a familiar voice asks.

Somehow my head turns. I see Shepherd Bull squatting next to me. Eight dirty Incriminators are gathered behind him.

I force a smile. “Hey, Shepherd! Great to see you! Funny thing happened. I was playing with that fishing pole over there and—”

He clamps one dirty hand to my mouth. Grins. “Did I ask what you were doing? Do I look like I care what—”

“My mom wouldn't be very happy about this.”

Now Shepherd Bull freezes.

“Elinor?” I mumble against his palm.

She steps out from behind the gang of misfits. Shepherd
Bull removes his hand, jumps up, and steps back. He actually looks nervous as she passes him. I feel that way as she walks around me, picks up the Kilter Katcher, and presses the release button.

The plastic line unwinds. In half a second, my arms and legs are free again.

“Thanks!” I scramble to my feet. “That was amazing timing. I was just—”

“Inside,” Elinor barks. “Now.”

I spin toward the building.

“Not you,” she says, her voice softer.

I turn back as the Incriminators sprint to the cafeteria entrance.

“I thought you might need some help,” she says. “And that taking charge of the Incriminators, on my own, might help my mom see I can be the daughter she wants me to be. I'm not working with them,” she adds quickly. “I really didn't know they were here before you found out they were. But since they are, we might as well work together. There are two parents to every Troublemaker, after all. We could use the backup.”

I'm so happy to see her here, and to know that she's not so mad that she'd leave me tangled up, I almost laugh.

But I don't. Because I'm trapped again.

By Annika. Who zips up in a golf cart, pulls me inside, and slams the gas pedal. Before I can ask what's going on, we jerk to a stop. Annika takes a pouch from the backseat, tosses it to me, and jumps out of the cart.

“Um—”

“Act now, talk later!” Annika yells, then disappears into the cafeteria.

Where did she come from? How did she know we were here? Does she know what's going on inside?

These are just a few of the many questions bouncing around my head. But I forget them all when I open the pouch and see what's inside.

The Kilter Academy Faculty Handbook.

Everything You Need to Know to Train Tomorrow's Troublemakers Today.

Houdini has one of these. So do Samara, Wyatt, Fern, Devin, and Lizzie. Our teachers don't go anywhere without their copies. Flipping through the book, I see chapters on maintaining decorum. Keeping lessons fun yet informative. How to make know-it-all students realize they have much to
learn. There's also a campus map featuring secret passages and underground tunnels, and a long list of hidden troublemaking tools that teachers can access anytime they need them.

A handwritten note is at the back of the book.

Seamus (or should I say, Professor Hinkle?),

You help me. I help you. Together, there's nothing we can't do.

Deal?

—Annika

This book contains top secret information. The fact that Annika has given it to me must mean one thing: She wants me to be a teacher. Not even a tutor, which is the next step in the professional Troublemaker's career. That means I can stay at Kilter. Teach kids my own age things that I think are important. Never have to worry about having fish sticks taken from me again.

Because I'll be in charge.

I don't know what made Annika decide to promote me—at all, let alone now—but we can talk about that later. Already imagining the fun I'll have, especially after I convince Annika
that Lemon, Abe, Gabby, and Elinor should also be on the Kilter staff, I put the handbook back in the pouch and race toward the cafeteria. Before I can get too excited, I have to do two things.

Finish what we started today.

And tell Annika the truth.

“Seamus! Hurry!”

I've just burst through the back door. Annika's standing on top of the nearby buffet table, ankle-deep in home fries. When she sees me, she points at my feet. I look down—and see a barrel of shiny red apples. Early this morning they were meant to be eaten. Now they're meant to be thrown.

“You know what to do with them!” she shouts. “So do it already!”

“Hinkle!”

“Seamus!”

“This is out of control!”

My head snaps to the left, right, and left again as I look in the direction of the familiar voices. The room is jam-packed with people running, standing, and crawling, but I see Abe, Gabby, and Elinor. Along with the rest of our classmates and the Incriminators, they've switched from pranking parents to defending
themselves as moms and dads zoom around the room, following Mystery's housekeeping orders. As they duck behind chairs and behind dirty breakfast plates, they look confused. Tired. And something I've never seen them be before.

Scared.

“Seamus!” Annika hollers.
“Now!”

I jump up, stoop down, and grab an apple. As I scan the crowd, Annika shouts some more.

“HE! MUST! NOT! WIN!”

He? Not they?

I look at Annika. Her eyes are on fire as she stares across the cafeteria. My head snaps left again, and I know who he is.

Mystery. He's standing on a table on the other side of the room. He shouts commands into a megaphone as Harrison, who stands next to him, continues to arm parents.

“Son! There you are!”

My head snaps to the right once more—just as Dad dives under a flying sack of potatoes. He must decide that lower is safer, because he starts crawling toward me. I hurry over to him, reach out one hand to help him up.

“Seamus! My dear, dear boy! Thank goodness!”

My head snaps back to the left—just as Mom opens an enormous red net. Only a few feet away from me, she lowers her head and charges.

One of the first things I learned at Kilter was that too much thinking can get you into trouble—and make it harder to make trouble. So I don't think now. When I see Mom coming at me, prepared to catch me in her big red net, I stand up straight. Pull back my arm.

And collapse to the floor.