Watch Your Step (18 page)

“Last semester.”

“That's a long time ago. So I've been thinking about what might make him do a one-eighty like that.” Elinor shakes sand from the fireplace pooper-scooper, places it in the bucket, and stands. “And then it came to me: Shepherd Bull.”

“What about him?” I ask, climbing to my feet.

“He's here. And I know him. Not well—because like I told Annika, I try to avoid him as much as I can. But enough to know that when he wants something, he gets it. And usually does a lot of damage in the process. For example, one time another Incriminator found a new cowboy hat in the storage room of the old General Store.”

She pauses, apparently to make sure I remember the General Store. IncrimiNation's campus is an abandoned desert town. Many classrooms are vacant buildings of former businesses. The General Store, still filled with postcards and lizard-printed coffee mugs and cactus-shaped salt-and-pepper shakers, is one of these buildings.

I nod. Elinor continues.

“Shepherd Bull saw the kid wearing it and decided he wanted it. The other kid wouldn't give it up. So Shepherd Bull picked him up, turned him upside down, and held him by the ankles until the kid gave him the hat.”

“Lemon's too smart for that. He'd see Shepherd Bull coming from a mile away and beat him at his own game.”

“He is smart—and it sounds crazy. Impossible even. I'm sorry
for suggesting it. You're best friends and I don't want you to think that I think he'd betray Capital T like that. But can you think of another reason why he'd be acting like a totally different person?”

I want to. I really,
really
want to.

“No,” I admit, and start walking again.

Elinor doesn't say anything else. Not as we pass the tennis courts, or head up the steep staircase, or cross the yard leading to my parents' cabin. I feel her look at me every now and then, and as we step onto the front porch it occurs that to me that she's probably worried that she upset me, or made me mad—and that I should probably promise her I'm fine. Because I'm not upset. Or mad. I'm just incredibly confused.

But before I can, the front door swings open. Dad reaches forward and pulls me into a huge bear hug.

“Seamus! Elinor! It's
so
great to see you again. You did
such
an amazing job yesterday! My fork was so shiny at dinner last night I used it as a mirror while picking my teeth. And the
plants
!” He gasps and releases me. “Can we just say, botanica fantastica? I've never seen such perfect greenery! At least not indoors!”

“Thanks, Dad. We—”

“You have everything you need, yes? And know where
everything is? Great! Enjoy yourselves! I'm overdue for a little fun in the sun!”

He brushes past us and scampers down the porch steps. I'm so surprised by his abrupt greeting and departure that it takes me a second to call after him.

“What about Mom?”

“Out!” he shouts back. Then he reaches the steep staircase and disappears down the side of the hill.

“It's cloudy,” Elinor says.

“Not a great day for fun in the sun,” I say.

We go inside. As I'm closing the front door, my K-Pak buzzes. So does Elinor's. We check our e-mail and read at the same time.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
Today's Troublemaking Task!

Hey hey, T-makers!

Nice job convincing your parents they were sick yesterday! By late afternoon Nurse Marla was so overwhelmed with patients she couldn't tell a thermometer
from a Q-tip. (No joke. I actually saw her stick a plastic ear-junk excavator in Mrs. Madison's mouth! I also saw Mrs. Madison chomp down on Nurse Marla's finger when she realized the mistake. Ouch!)

But today's a new day! Which means a new troublemaking assignment.

Remember that time in art class when I asked you to draw pictures that'd spook your parents whenever they opened and closed the fridge? Well, today you're going to do something similar—only without paint, pastels, or any other traditional art material. Besides those exceptions, the medium's totally up to you, as is the canvas. Whatever it takes to achieve the goal of shocking your parents!

As always, success will be rewarded with demerits and credits. Failure will result in a permanent visit to Nurse Marla's Hospital of Horrors. Just kidding! As always, failure will result in shiny gold stars.

Create away!

—Wyatt

“I bet Abe's happy,” Elinor says.

“I can already hear his victory cheers,” I say.

We look at each other. Smile. Whatever tension was between us during the second half of our walk here melts away.

“Should we clean first and investigate later?” I ask.

“Sure.”

She takes her supplies and goes to the fireplace. I take my bucket, Smudge-Be-Gone, and paper towels, and start toward the living room's wall of windows. Then I think better of it and change direction.

En route to the hallway, I pass the wall of tree branches and have an idea. I turn around again and head for the kitchen. I open the freezer and pull out the big bag I'd hoped would be there. I dump the bag's contents into a bowl, pop the bowl into the microwave, and press start. Three minutes later, I remove the bowl and return to the living room.

Elinor looks up when I come back in but keeps sweeping the fireplace without asking questions.

Three more minutes later, I'm done.

“What do you think?” I ask, surveying my work.

“Wow.” Elinor surveys too. “Impressive.”

“Freaky impressive?”

“Definitely.”

Good. That's what I was going for when I stuck the warm, soggy fish sticks onto sharp points all over the wall of branches.

“Is that a house?” Elinor asks.

“Yup. And the fish sticks will probably start to fall apart before my parents see them. Which means the house will start to fall apart. Kind of like our real one did back home.”

Elinor looks at me. “I'm still a good listener.”

“I know. Thanks.” I nod toward the hall. “I'll start in the bedrooms. Yell if you need anything.”

“You too.”

I leave the room, check the locked closet, which is still locked, and head for my parents' bedroom. Once inside, I close the door slightly, leaving a wide enough gap that Elinor can still see me and won't worry or wonder what I'm up to. Then I put down my supplies and head for the nightstand.

It's still there. Mom's coupon folder. With her journal inside.

“You have to do it,” I tell myself quietly. “Not just for your own good. For everyone's.”

I do believe that knowing Mom's secret thoughts will
somehow help me fix our family. But I still feel guilty as I slide out the journal, flip forward a few pages, and start reading.

Today was a terrible day.

My chest tightens. According to the date at the top of the page, Mom had this terrible day ten years ago, when I was three.

My adorable boy was playing in the sandbox with another adorable boy named Bartholomew John.

I stop reading. Cringe. Keep going.

They were building castles and getting along swimmingly. They shared shovels and helped each other dig moats. For a time I thought I was watching the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

But then everything changed. Seamus' castle grew taller than Bartholomew John's castle—and Bartholomew John couldn't have that. As soon as
he noticed the height difference, he grabbed a rock from the—

“Seamus?” Elinor calls out.

I snap the journal shut and drop it on the nightstand. Then I dart to the open bedroom door.

“Yeah?” I call back.

“Are you hungry?”

My stomach grumbles. “I could definitely eat!”

“Want me to see what I can find in the kitchen?”

“Sure! Thanks!”

I wait until I hear cabinets opening and closing, then spin around and hurry back across the room.

“Hey. What . . . ? Where . . . ?”

I stare at the nightstand. The coupon folder's gone.

I check the floor, under the bed, and behind the nightstand. When it's not in any of those places, I stop and think. I had my back turned for ten seconds. How could it just disappear? Was I so surprised by Elinor calling my name that I only
thought
I put it back where I found it? Did I accidentally drop it somewhere else instead?

That must be what happened. Because when I scan the room, I see it on the dresser, five feet away.

I hurry over, find where I left off, and keep reading.

Seamus' castle grew taller than Bartholomew John's castle—and Bartholomew John couldn't have that. As soon as he noticed the height difference, he grabbed a rock from the dirt outside the sandbox, pulled back his arm, and hurled it right at poor Seamus' head.

I don't remember any of this, but I can totally picture it. Hurling rocks at my head sounds like something Bartholomew John would love to do. Even as a toddler.

“Seamus?” Elinor calls out.

I place the journal on the dresser and dart to the open door. “Yeah?”

“Do you like pancakes?”

“Sure!”

I return to the dresser. The coupon folder's there.

But the journal's not.

I crouch down and peer under the dresser. When nothing's there, I stand up.

“
What
is going on?” I ask nobody.

Because the journal's back on top of the dresser.

I close and rub my eyes. When I open them again . . . the journal's gone again.

“Looking for trouble,
Troublemaker
?” a low voice asks.

My heart stops. My skin tingles. I spin to the right. The left. Right again. I don't see anyone, but I do see the journal. On the bed. The nightstand. The top of my parents' suitcase. It disappears and reappears, as if under the spell of a magician's wand.

My troublemaking training kicks in. I lunge for my supply bucket and yank out the squeegee. The journal's still on my parents' suitcase, so I throw myself in that direction, whirling the squeegee overhead.

By the time I reach the suitcase, the journal's gone. I stand still and scan the room.

Just wait. Listen. Give your instincts a chance, and they won't let you down.

Ike's voice fills my head. These are his instructions whenever
I'm so excited to learn something new—and to get it right—that I do it all wrong.

Every inch of my body aches to bolt around the room, but I force it to stay put. Then I close my eyes again. Wait. Listen.

“HA!”

This flies from my mouth as the squeegee flies from my hand. Opening my eyes, I see that my instincts worked. The window-washing weapon's handle is lodged in the wall next to the bed. Stuck in the hole with it is the ankle end of a dirty tube sock. A piece of chewed bubblegum is glued to the toe end of the dirty tube sock. On the floor three feet below the hole is Mom's journal.

I know that whoever was in the room with me is gone now, but I look around anyway. Then I tug the squeegee and sock from the wall and drop both into my bucket. I pick up the journal, find the part where Bartholomew John threw a rock at my head in the sandbox, and quickly finish reading the entry I started before being attacked.

My son cried like a baby.

And I cannot have that.

Ouch. This stings—and makes me want to keep reading. But I'm anxious to tell my friends what just happened, so I return the journal and coupon book to the nightstand, where I originally found them. Then I sprint from the room and head for the kitchen.

But the kitchen's empty. Smoke billows from a pan on the stove. I hurry over, turn off the heat, and keep running.

“Elinor! You'll never guess—”

I skid to a stop. Elinor, who's on her knees by the fireplace, stands up.

“Seamus? What—”

She doesn't finish her sentence either. Probably because when she sees what I see, she can't.

The fish sticks. On the wall of branches. When I left the room a few minutes ago, they were arranged in the shape of a broken house.

But instead of a picture, now they form three letters—and one terrifying message.

I

C

U

W
ho sees you?” Annika asks.

“Shepherd Bull,” I say.

“And his dirty friends,” Gabby adds. “Because Shepherd Bull couldn't have been in the bedroom and the living room at the same time.”

“Interesting.” Annika walks across the yacht deck, hands clasped behind her back. “What about the rest of you? Were you attacked too?”

“Not today,” Abe says. “But we weren't at our parents' cabins
very long before Seamus called us on v-chat and told us what was going on. If Incriminators were around, they probably heard us talking about them and decided not to make a move.”