Watch Your Step (8 page)

“Ali,”
Gabby says, “
chill.
Didn't you see the amazing bathrooms with marble Jacuzzis and velvet towels down in our—”

She stops. Or
is
stopped—by a piece of silver duct tape gluing her lips together. Gabby drops her shovel and claps both hands to her covered mouth.

“Gabby,”
Abe groans. “Annika just said we need to play along so that—”

He's stopped too. This time I glimpse the silencer as it flies toward him. It starts out in a small roll, then unwinds as it shoots through the air. When it lands squarely over Abe's mouth, it's an even six-inch-long piece of tape.

The other Troublemakers look around the beach for the tape's source. Most check out our teachers, who stand motionless by the lake.

I don't. Maybe it's because of my marksman training, or maybe it's because we've spent so much time together. Whatever the reason, I know that Ike, my troublemaking tutor, fired the
shots. This hunch is confirmed when I spot him hanging from the branches of a tall pine tree at the edge of the beach. He's holding a silver tape dispenser, like the kind Dad has in his office back home, only Ike's version has a handle and a trigger. When he sees that I see him, he smiles and waves. I do the same, then go back to digging before Annika catches me slacking.

“To answer your question,” she says, aiming the megaphone at Carter, “yes, you will use holes in the ground to take care of your various biological needs. I'm not completely cruel, however, so the holes you use needn't be these. If you have enough strength to dig others in the privacy of the woods, by all means do so. As for bathing, you're very fortunate to have the beautiful Lake Kilter for your personal tub. Be advised that many sharp-toothed fish call this side of the water home—and they defend it fiercely. Also, bathing is considered a privilege and will be done only during your five free minutes at the end of the day.”

Annika relays this information so convincingly, my stomach turns. Judging by the way my fellow Troublemakers squirm and frown, theirs do too.

“All that said, your families and their happiness are my top
priority. I'll be very busy making sure their every need is tended to—starting now. Are there any other questions before I go?”

Annika's severe tone implies that there better not be. So I'm surprised—and nervous—when Alison raises her hand again.

“Sorry,” she says, looking out across the lake. “But my dad's jumping around and waving his hands like crazy . . . so I think he has one?”

Annika turns to our teachers. “Samara? Would you please ask Mr. Parker what we can do for him?”

I now notice that all of the teachers are wearing small earpieces. Our biology instructor speaks quietly, then listens and addresses Annika.

“Mr. Parker would like to know if the families will get to spend time with Kilter students, ma'am.”

“If that's what Mr. Parker would like, then yes. We can arrange brief get-togethers with Kilter students and their families to improve parent-child relations. However, Mr. Parker and our other valuable visitors should remember that like bathing, time with loved ones is a privilege for Kilter students. We must be careful not to reward them too much for things they haven't earned.”

Samara brings two fingers to her earpiece, listens, and nods once. “Mr. Parker understands.”

“Good.” Annika turns to us. “Since this is the first day of Kamp Kilter, the lawns and accommodations are pristine and do not yet require your attention. Your regular chores will begin tomorrow. However, preparing for your families' arrivals kept our custodial and grounds crews from their normal duties on the Kilter campus. Because they've been helping you, you will now help them by doing their regular jobs. At my whistle, drop your shovels, form a single line, and march down the path behind tent number one. The path will lead you to campus, where you'll receive your assignments.”

I glance at my friends. Abe and Gabby are trying, unsuccessfully, to tear the tape from their mouths. Elinor's still digging. Lemon's sitting down, building a sandcastle.

Annika whistles. We drop our shovels and form a line by the first tarp tent. Abe and Gabby are ahead of me. Lemon and Elinor must be behind me.

“Forward
march
!” Annika shouts.

We do—and fast. Soon the woods thicken. The path narrows. The trees grow taller, thicker. Their branches block the sun. The
air cools. Light fades. Troublemakers stumble as it gets harder to see. I want to check on Elinor but know that if I take my eyes off the ground, I'll trip on an upraised root and make Troublemakers fall like dominoes.

“Oh my goodness,” a girl whimpers up ahead. “Where are we
going
?”

“How long do have to play along?” another whines.

“There's no way our parents can hear us now,” a male Troublemaker complains.

“Is anyone else afraid of the dark?” another asks.

Then, as suddenly as duct tape appeared on Abe's and Gabby's mouths, a golf cart shoots out of the blackness and skids to a stop at the front of the line. Just like the extended cart we took on a field trip to Annika's Apex—the dilapidated amusement park—my first semester, this one has enough seats for my entire class.

The door opens. Houdini peers down at us from the driver's seat. I notice that while we've been marching, he's been changing. Instead of the cargo uniform, he's now wearing his favorite teaching outfit: jeans, an orange T-shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, and black Converse. His curly hair had been slicked back on the beach, and now it's combed out and frizzy.

“He looks mad,” whispers the Troublemaker behind me.

“He's never mad,” another points out nervously.

It's true. Some of our teachers are more serious than others, but our math teacher is usually the most laid-back of the bunch. Yet now his eyes narrow as he watches us, like he's trying to decide whether we deserve a ride.

I'm beginning to think the answer is no when his face breaks into a wide grin.

“What d'ya want?” he asks. “A written invitation? Hop on!”

O
nce the door closes behind
the last Troublemaker, Houdini hits a switch. Red and blue strobe lights bounce off the walls. Disco balls lower from the ceiling and start spinning. Electronic music composed of beeps, beats, and sirens blasts. Troublemakers spin, twist, and wriggle on seats and in the aisle. It's an instant dance party that, after digging holes and trekking through the cold woods, my classmates are thrilled to attend.

But the party doesn't last long. Abe's doing the worm down the center aisle when the golf cart stops short. Everyone onboard
lurches forward. Abe loses momentum and slides along the floor until his forehead slams into my ankle.

“Seriously, Hinkle?” he says, rubbing his head.

“Learn how to drive that thing,” I say with a grin.

The door opens. Abe jumps to his feet. The music's still pumping, so kids wiggle and shimmy all the way down the steps and outside.

“Oh my
goodness
!” Gabby squeals.

“Is that really for us?” another Troublemaker asks.

“Kamp Kilter rocks!” a third exclaims.

When I reach the top step, I understand the fuss. Houdini's taken us to an enormous swimming pool. A dozen diving boards and waterslides are positioned around the pool's perimeter at different heights. Nearby, a big bin holds inner tubes and rafts. Thousands of white Christmas lights are strung high above the pool. Tiki torches burn around a picnic area filled with large tables and benches. Next to the picnic area is a patio, where Kanteen chefs wait to cook us our favorite meals.

“Get set to get wet,” Houdini says near my ear.

“I didn't bring my trunks,” I say.

“I don't think that'll be a problem.” He points to a tall glass
structure. It looks like the Kommissary but smaller—and filled with only one thing.

Swimsuits.

I stifle a groan and start down the steps.

“Gather round, my darling Troublemakers!” Fern, our gym teacher, declares. She's standing on a small island in the center of the pool. Minus Houdini—and Mystery, I see as I get closer—the rest of our teachers are there with her. “First, I just want to say how excited we are to have you back at Kilter so soon. And who's excited to be here?”

The group cheers. I look for Elinor and spot her on the other side of the pool. Our eyes meet. She smiles. So do I.

“As always, we have a lot of fun in store for you! And we're going to kick things off with a little game I like to call . . . Fishing for Trouble!”

She raises one palm, asking for silence. When the cheering dies down, she snaps her fingers. A narrow stream of water shoots up from the pool before her. It looks like an upside-down waterfall. Something small and silver bounces on top of the stream.

“Who here has had goldfish for pets?” Fern asks.

Several Troublemakers raise their hands.

“How fast did they swim?”

“They didn't!” Gabby calls out. “Mine just floated in a tiny bowl. I tried giving it more space in my parents' Jacuzzi, and I bought, like, a hundred fake ocean plants from the pet store, and also one of those cute little treasure chests that open and close, but—”

“Thanks, Gabby,” Fern says, then addresses the rest of us. “Goldfish barely move. When they do, they don't go far—or fast. Which pretty much makes them the opposite of silverfish.”

“Silverfish?” Chris Fisher asks. “There's no such thing.”

“Smart Troublemakers don't make silly assumptions.” Fern wags one finger at him, then turns to our art teacher. “Wyatt, I'd love seafood for dinner. Would you be a dear and catch me some?”

Wyatt rolls up his sleeves. He eyes the silverfish on top of the liquid column for several seconds, then lunges.

Fern snaps her fingers. The fish vanishes. Wyatt face-plants into the pool.

“Oops!” Fern exclaims. “Samara, want to give it a try?”

Widening her stance, our biology teacher looks up, down, and around.

“There!” Alison Parker shouts and points.

The silverfish hovers at one end of their concrete island—above the water, in midair. It doesn't have wings so must be another high-tech Kilter toy.

Samara sprints toward the end of the island. Inches away from its edge, she lifts both arms and leaps.

The silverfish waits. Then, as Samara's fingers are curling toward it, Fern snaps again. The fish zips away.

“Ouch!” Fern says as Samara belly flops into the deep end. “That had to hurt.”

Our soaking-wet teachers climb out of the water. Their slippery target returns to Fern's open palm. It stays there as she explains the game.

“In Fishing for Trouble, the goal is simple: Make the catch. Reaching this goal, however, is nearly impossible. Because the Kilter silverfish is unlike any other fish you'll find in any other body of water in the world. For one thing, it's computerized. For another, it can't be baited or distracted from its purpose. Which is: to evade capture. I controlled its motion for the demonstration but will set it on autopilot for the game. Left to its own devices it will zig and zag at speeds of up to one hundred miles per hour. The only thing you have going for you is numbers. With so
many bodies in the pool, there will be only so much unoccupied water. The silverfish's escape options will be limited. That said, it'll still give you a tough run for your money.”

“Money?” Abe asks. “Does that mean the winner gets a prize?”

“Indeed. The Fishing for Trouble victor will receive . . .” She pauses. An electronic drumroll blares through the stereo speakers, then stops. “One
thousand
demerits! For one
thousand
credits!”

The group cheers again—a thousand times louder than before.

“The game will begin in five minutes!” Fern exclaims over the din. “Please visit the Kilter Swim Hut for your game gear!”

The Troublemakers resemble a school of multicolored fish as they all turn and run toward the glass store at the same time. I lag behind. Not because I don't want to play, but because swimming is about my least favorite physical activity. And that's not because I don't like to swim.

“Seamus!” Gabby squeals inside the store. “You
have
to wear these!”

It's because I don't like being practically naked in public.

“Aren't they perfect?” Gabby demands once I find her by a long rack of swimsuits. She holds up a pair of apple-printed
trunks. “And they're the only ones here! It's like they were made just for you! Try them on!”

She thrusts the trunks at me, then joins Elinor at another rack.

“Four minutes!” Fern's voice bursts from overhead speakers.