The Mockingbirds (17 page)

“Wait, I thought you said you three were just on the board and the council was separate?”

“They are separate. Absolutely. We have to keep the three branches separate, checks and balances and all,” she says emphatically, and I assume by three branches she must mean the runners, the council, and the board. Amy goes on, “You just asked what the council members were
like
. And I was saying they are
like
Martin and Ilana. Students like
that. Anyway, you should start thinking about who you want your student advocate to be. Kind of like your lawyer. They present your case to the council. But before that, we’re going to serve him papers. Probably in a couple weeks,” Amy continues. “There are just some preliminary things we need to do first.”

“Preliminary things?” I ask. “Do you mean more attendance mistakes?”

Martin told me after physics one day this week that they’ve now shaved enough off Carter’s attendance points that he’s not going to be able to get off campus for quite a while—no lunch, no Friday Night Out.

“We have a few things in mind.”

“But you’re not going to tell me,” I say.

“It’s not that we’re not going to. It’s just we haven’t decided yet. But Alex, don’t worry, okay?”

“If you say so…”

“I do!” Amy says cheerfully, plunking her hand down on my leg. She leans her head to the side and looks directly at me. “Alex, we’re going to take care of you, I promise. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t believe in the Mockingbirds and you.”

“Why do you believe in them so much?” I ask curiously.

“Because I know it works,” she says.

“Why do
you
do this? Why are you involved?”

She looks away for a second, then back at me. “Because someone has to carry the torch.”

“How do I repay you? You guys are doing so much for me.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” she says, her eyes radiating that familiar warmth again. She gestures to the mac and cheese on my plate. “Just eat, eat!”

I take another bite of the food she made, finishing what’s left on my plate. Seconds sound good so I reach for the spoon and scoop some more of Amy’s family recipe. Maybe the Mockingbirds really will look out for me.

“Shh…”

I look to Martin, who issued the shush. “But Mr. Waldman isn’t here yet,” I say.

We’re waiting for physics class to start and Carter’s talking to the guy sitting next to him. Martin leans close to hear what he’s saying. I can hear too.

“I never got my cake,” Carter whines.

“What’s up with that?” the guy next to him says.

“I don’t know. Everyone was waiting in the common room. Never showed up. Never came. It sucked. The birthday cake is the single greatest thing about this school.”

I will agree with Carter on that point. Themis does a good job taking care of its students, including delivering a fresh sheet cake—of your choosing—to the common room of your dorm on your birthday. It’s their way of making the school seem more like a home away from home. It also
means there’s pretty much birthday cake every night because it’s always someone’s birthday. It’s a small perk of going to school here, but a perk nonetheless.

I tap Martin’s wrist, then raise my eyebrow in question. He gives me a mischievous look. “You guys?” I mouth.

He nods proudly.

I lean in to whisper, “How’d you do that?”

He whispers back. “We have access to the birthday list.”

They have access to everything. “What’d you do? Cross his name off it?”

“Something like that,” he says, and I imagine the red-haired runner boy opening a drawer in the headmistress’s secretary’s office, discreetly pulling out a sheet of paper and quickly erasing Carter’s name. The runner gently blows on the paper; the eraser remnants fall to the ground. He tucks the paper back in the drawer, leaves the attendance report on the desk, and slips back out. Quietly, of course.

Then Mr. Waldman enters and everyone stops talking. He does his normal attendance count, then hands the slip over to a runner. Martin gives the runner a curt nod. Poor Carter—no points and no cake.

Two days later, Maia opens the door to calculus with such a spurt of energy I swear it’s going to rocket through the wall and swing around again. She grabs a desk next to me,
sits down, and tilts close to me, her sleek black ponytail swinging to hang over her right shoulder. “The water polo match against Choate was canceled,” she whispers. “And, here’s the kicker… Themis had to forfeit!”

“Are you serious?” I whisper back, even though our math teacher’s not here yet. “Why?”

“The pool got the shock treatment.”

“What’s that?”

“They usually do it when a pool gets manky, you know
gross
manky. And you put this insane amount of chlorine into the water to break down the… well, you know,” she says, then pauses, lowering her voice even more. “And evidently, the Themis pool got the shock treatment just now and I don’t think it was because waste products were in the water.”

“Then why?” I ask.

“It was to make it unusable for twenty-four hours. There’s so much bloody chlorine in there right now—probably twenty times the normal amount—no one can swim in it today. So, what do you know—Themis just can’t host the game against its biggest rival today. Choate. I’d feel bad for the rest of the team, but they all were kind of dicks for spreading his lies,” Maia says, a satisfied glint flicking through her eyes. She knows exactly who did this and so do I. And they’re making it clear you don’t mess with the Mockingbirds. When they say show up, you show up.

I have to say, it feels kind of satisfying. It feels good, as if
I’m taking back the night or something. “Such a bummer that we’re going to have to miss the water polo match,” I say, masking a grin.

“Total shame,” she says with a smirk as our math teacher enters. “I was really looking forward to it.”

“Alex, come look.”

“Hmm?” I half-mumble as I rub my eyes and look at the clock next to me. Five forty-five. Only athletes are up at this hour.

T.S. is perched on her bed, nose pressed to the window, dressed in soccer shorts and shirt already. “You have to see this. It’s beautiful,” she says.

She must be talking about snow. I picture freshly fallen flakes drifting down, blanketing the Themis quad. T.S. is from Santa Monica and is obsessed with snow. She still makes snow angels.

Maia must be thinking the same thing because she chides T.S. “Please tell me you didn’t just wake us up to see snow
yet again, because you know I love my sleep more than snow angels.”

“It’s better than snow,” T.S. says as she waves us over. Maia and I grumble our way out of our respective beds and join T.S. at the window.

There is no snow.

Instead, shimmering, shining trees reflect back at us. It’s as if each tree is sporting a tiny makeup mirror in the middle, a pinprick of light, a prism.

“Let’s go see,” T.S. commands.

I pull on clothes quickly and Maia does the same. The three of us head down the steps and out the door. Up close it’s clear there are no mini mirrors on the trees, no reflective tape. Instead, every single tree in the quad has been marked—two pieces of gum in tinfoil wrappers tacked to each trunk.

“For the love of the queen, why is there chewing gum tacked to the trees?” Maia asks.

“You don’t know?” T.S. asks.

Maia shakes her head adamantly. “No, I don’t know, nor do I like guessing games at ungodly hours.” Then she adds, “And besides, clearly you do know. So you can just tell us.”

Before T.S. speaks an image races through my mind. Two kids. A tree. A knothole. “It’s the first thing Boo Radley leaves for Jem and Scout,” I say quietly. “He leaves them two pieces of chewing gum in shiny tinfoil wrappers inside the knothole of the oak tree.”

Maia smacks her forehead, the details rushing back to her. “My God, I can’t believe I forgot. Gum, soap figures, two Indian head pennies.”

“So is this a message from the Mockingbirds?” I ask.

T.S. nods. “I think so.”

“Did Casey tell you this was coming? What does it mean?” I ask.

T.S. shakes her head this time. “I have no idea.”

Later that day I find out what it means. Only I don’t hear it from Martin or Amy or Ilana. I hear it from some girls in my French class, then from some guys in my English class, then from Natalie.

Or
overhear,
I should say.

Because even though the maintenance guys removed the gum by nine a.m., that was more than enough time for word to zoom around Themis about the Juicy Fruit trees.

And double sticks of chewing gum means one thing only.

Notice of a case is coming.

Two days later it comes.

Maia and I are back in calculus, ingesting another mind-numbing dose of indefinite integrals. When the bell rings at the end of class, we leave together, and the second we step out the door a runner walks by and presses a note into my hand. He doesn’t even look at me, just keeps going. I watch
him hurry down the hall, his red hair becoming a blur as he fades into the thick mass of students.

“What does it say?” Maia asks excitedly.

I unfold the note cautiously, my heart beating a little faster. For a moment, I think the Mockingbirds have turned against me. Maybe they’re after me. My brain starts spinning as I open the note.

Go to the second floor of the library, to the reference room, and read Harper. Five minutes later, a notice will post in the usual spot.

A wave of uncertainty clutches me, like a hard grip. I breathe once, twice, then it releases and I say to Maia, “We have to go to the library, second floor, required reading. And we have to go fast.”

“Let’s go,” she says.

She doesn’t ask why and I wonder if she wants to be a part of this because she likes knowing things. She’s getting all sorts of inside information now. My mind races and I start questioning if she has an agenda here. Then I feel bad for doubting her.

We reach Pryor Library and reflexively I survey the aisles, just in case Carter is nearby. But I don’t see him and even if I did I’m with Maia, so it’s like I have a shield. I tell her what the note said as we race up the stairwell to the second floor reference room, where the school keeps copies of the
required-reading books. You can’t check the copies out, so the library is their permanent home.