Academic Assassins (16 page)

“Let me worry about that.”

Sully's attention drifted over my shoulder, only for her face to blanch.

“What is it?” I asked, glancing behind me.

“The Men in White.”

“What about them?”

“They're…
gone
.”

Sure enough, the orderlies were no longer lounging in the shade.

All quiet on the gardening front.

That couldn't be good.

Sully sprung to her feet and surveyed the scene. Our fellow ants continued to weed on their knees.

One Mimi glanced at me. As soon as we made eye contact, she dropped her gaze and went back to weeding, pigtails flapping at her ears.

I suddenly noticed another Mimi had crept up on us, and was now crouched not three yards away. She glared at me while rummaging through the soil, as if she were searching for buried
treasure.

“Mimi always says—‘
Sharing is caring
,'” she muttered once she knew I was on to her. She brought her hands up, holding up a clump of poinsettias.

“How generous of Mimi,” I answered back.

A glint of metal shimmered from among the cover of blood-red flowers. Something was concealed inside.

What is…?

The Mimi aimed her bouquet at me. The red and green foliage fell away to reveal a homemade crossbow hidden within. The barrel was a bundle of pencils bound together by duct tape, while the bow
was a ruler held back by a rubber band.

And it was loaded. I couldn't tell for sure, but I would've said there was a nail aimed my way….

“Mimi always says—‘
Don't forget to stop and smell the flowers
.'”

“Does Mimi have anything to say about loving your fellow puppy?”

I had to ask.

“Not when it comes to dogs like
you
,” she shot back as the gang of Screaming Mimis tightened their circle around Sully and me. We were surrounded—five of them, all
armed, their weapons hidden within their deadly bouquets. One held a handmade mace made from a sawed-off baseball bat. She swung it, petals scattering through the air, revealing a blossom of
crooked nails poking out from the club.

“You're about to break a pretty long-standing truce between our tribes,” Sully snarled. “Sure you wanna shake things up with the She-Wolves?”

The lead Mimi nodded. “This isn't between the Mimis and the Wolves. It's about
him
. Unless you're gonna tell us this mongrel is one of yours….”

I glanced at another bouquet and could have sworn I saw the slender blade of a sword fashioned from a metal chair leg, poking out from the poinsettias.

“Pretty bold move,” I said, my eyes still on the blade. “Try explaining this to Merridew when she catches you.”

“Who do you think put out the order in the first place?” the lead Mimi asked. “Merridew says she'll chisel off a month from our sentences if we wear you down.”

Merridew was behind this? She must really think I'm a threat if she's giving me this much attention.

“Merridew's dangling a deal over your head like a doggie treat?” I asked. “Fat chance.”

The lead Mimi kept her crossbow aimed at me. “She just wants us to have a little fun with you, is all.”

“You call this
fun
? Looks more like murder to me….”

“Gotta break you in somehow.”

Sully pressed her hand against my chest. “Stay behind me,” she said. “This is going to get ugly.”

I pushed her arm away. “You said you were gonna stop protecting me.”

“Old habits die hard.”

“I never asked for your help.”

“Yeah, well—you keep needing it!”

“We're in this together,” I insisted, “so let's get out of it together.”

“Suit yourself.” Staring down the lead Mimi, Sully quoted
White Fang
with a gravel-in-the-throat growl—“
So near did the wolves approach, that the dogs became
frantic with terror!
”

Ever see a wolf fight a dog?

I have. Not a pretty sight.

Sully broke off before I could stop her, tackling the lead Mimi. The two rolled over each other, crushing a whole row of poinsettias as they went.

That left four Mimis and me. “Thanks a lot, Sully….”

The armed quartet charged, brandishing their bouquets. The first Mimi to reach me raised her mace over her head, ready to bring it back down and dash my brains out. I rolled onto my back and
brought my knees to my chest, keeping my feet between us. As she barreled down on me, I pumped my legs. The heels of my shoes pressed against her chest and I sent her over in a flailing
backflip.

The next Mimi didn't wait for me to climb back on my feet before jabbing her sword at my face. I rolled over the flower patch just in time to miss getting sliced and diced. Her blade
plunged into the soil inches away from my ear.

“Is this really what Mimi would do?” I shouted. “What about a belly rub or a scratch behind the ears or something? Let's not go overboard here.”

She wasn't hearing it. “Mimi always says—‘
If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything ever again
.'”

The Mimi hovering over top of me reeled her arm back—then suddenly let out a scream as her neck abruptly cricked back.

Sully had gripped her pigtails, yanking like they were the reins on a horse.

“I warned you,” Sully snarled as she grabbed the homemade sword out from the Mimi's hand. Still holding onto her right pigtail—
shwing!
—Sully sliced it off
with one swing.

The Mimi quickly flopped over face-first onto the ground next to me. She patted at the side of her head where her pigtail had been. Nothing but a few wisps of hair flickered in the wind, like
sprigs of wheat.

Sully turned to the remaining Mimis, sword in one hand, pigtail in the other. “Tell the other tribes this is what happens when you mess with the She-Wolves.”

The remaining Mimis stepped back. I could tell they were afraid of Sully.

To be totally honest, so was I.

“GO!” Sully threw the pigtail at them and all five Mimis dropped their bouquets and ran off yipping. She turned back to me, still on the ground. “You okay?”

“I totally had that covered.”

She held out her hand, which I took, hoisting me up easily. “Sure you did.”

“What's with the civil war?” I asked.

“Just another day at the office.” She threw the homemade sword away, vanishing in the poinsettia patch.

“This place is insane, Sully….You can't be enjoying this.”

“Home sweet home.”

Sully took a step toward the building, but I grabbed her by the wrist. “This isn't your home,” I insisted. “Merridew wants you to believe that, but it's
not.”

“You really think I should be free?” she asked. “Out there, in the real world?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact—I do.”

“Look at me.” She shook her head. “I belong here.
You
belong here. We all do.”

Sully tried to pull her arm out from my grip, but I held on.

“Break out with me,” I pleaded. “We can go home. Your
real
home.”

“Where's that?”

“Out there. With your family.”

Sully only stared. There was a slight sadness around the corners of her eyes. Sad for me—or for herself—I couldn't tell. “For the first time,” she said, “I
feel like I belong somewhere. I'm in charge. I've got my own tribe. I have people who care about me—and I care for them. I've got a family—in there.”

She pulled free from my grip.

“Try it some time,” she said as she walked away from me. “You'd be surprised how good it feels to care for someone other than yourself.”

I watched her disappear into the building. She didn't glance back. Not once.

Alone, I turned around to face the surrounding flowers.

Merridew's poinsettias bristled in the wind. A beautiful feast of crimson.

I had some weeding to do.

This revolution will not be fertilized….

M
erridew's Gerbera daisies had been mysteriously replanted into a tribal flowerbed. The orange and white flowers now formed a stick figure
raising a spear over its head, encircled by a blood-red ring of poinsettias. The vibrant icon greeted Kesey's incoming guests as they entered the building for the afternoon—
abandon
all hope ye teens who enter here
—before it was finally brought to Merridew's attention.

I wish I could have been there. Just to see the look on her face.

I'm sure she loved it.

“Years, Mr. Pendleton,” Merridew hissed. “A countless number of years have gone into cultivating that garden. Tireless work—
all
gone
, thanks to
you!”

“If by ‘work' you mean forcing us ants into slaving over your flowers,” I said, “then, yeah, I guess I can see how that might sting a little….”

I had gotten under her skin. Her brittle, arid skin.

Merridew wouldn't show it in the Ant Farm. She couldn't expose her emotions to the rest of the residents—but here within the wooden confines of her office, I could tell she was
starting to crack. She roamed about like a tiger pent up in a cage, pacing back and forth within its tight confines—while I, a sweet fluffy bunny, remained kneeling before her desk, as
instructed. Her eyes never left me. Even when she strode behind my back, I could feel the heat from her stare burrowing into my skull. She marched up to me and opened her mouth once, the fissures
of her liquid foundation crackling along her cheeks, only to shut it again and walk off fuming.

“You must be very pleased with yourself,” she said. “I am sure you cannot wait to share your little indiscretion with the rest of your friends.”

“Which indiscretion are we referring to, exactly?” I asked. “Could you be a little more specific for me, please? I feel like there have been so—”

Merridew swooped down upon me and dug the steel tip of her high-heeled shoe into the calf muscle of my left leg.

“Do not play coy with me,” she snarled, the words wet with phlegm. “Do you really think you can undermine me?
Me?
I have dealt with far worse than your rabble-rousing.
Far worse!
I have been stabbed, sliced, poked, choked, whittled, and burned a total of twenty-nine times!”

“Should I be taking notes?” I asked. “If so, I'll need a penc—”

Merridew drove her heel deeper into my leg before I could finish.

“Spine straight,” she shouted. “Arms up!”

The question mark of my spine straightened into an exclamation point.

“Forgive me for my outburst.” Merridew cranked up her grandmother thermostat and radiated her mothballed warmth through her smile. She slipped her mask back on. “How rude of
me….I should be congratulating you. What a relief it is to finally hear you communicating. Verbal interaction is a definitive indicator of progress.”

“I'm all about progress,” I said, straining under the tip of her heel.

“Our priority now is to make sure that we do not backpedal.”

“
Backpedal
? I haven't hopped a bike in months.”

“For every step forward,” Merridew continued, refusing to lift up her leg, “we run the risk of taking two steps back. That simply will not do. Not at all. So—what I want
from you is to hold your arms out at your shoulders. Palms upwards.”

Bringing my arms up, I felt like a five-year-old playing a game of airplane, coming in for a crash landing. I even made a propeller noise.

Merridew's personal collection of classroom encyclopedias was about three generations behind modern times. The world was still flat as far as these dead editions were concerned. Any
noteworthy discoveries beyond seventeen seventy-six just didn't exist.

But it wasn't the information inside that mattered to her.

Oh, no
—it was their weight.

Merridew picked up a pair of encyclopedias, as thick as telephone books.

A through D in my left hand.

E through H in my right.

“Though your body is the property of the Kesey Reclamation Center,” she said, “your mind belongs to me, Mr. Pendleton.”

The burn began in my armpits.

“Somewhere inside you is a dutiful student, and it is my intention to bring him out….”

The pain sank into the bulb of my shoulder bone. The humeral head began to grind against the glenoid, seething with a sting that seeped into the muscle tissue.

“Much like Michelangelo found the form of David within a block of marble, it is my duty to carve that model citizen out from within you….”

I tried to read the encyclopedia with my skin, perfecting some form of educational osmosis. I'm left-handed, so I could skim quicker on this side.

Aardvarks.

Africa.

Antelopes.