Academic Assassins (12 page)

THE SHE-WOLVES

MEMBERS: 20

MODUS OPERANDI:

Sully and her comrades from Camp New Leaf had developed their own tribe over the summer. After the original Tribe had been disbanded, Sully rebuilt her new crew around the ideals
that mattered most to her—

Sisterhood. Solidarity. Self-Reliance.

The She-Wolves were the first tribe at Kesey. Girls only.

The She-Wolves worked in the shadows rather than under the watchful eye of Merridew. When the lights go out and the Men in White hide behind locked doors, Sully and her
She-Wolves were in charge. She had become the de facto kingpin of Kesey, a godfather—sorry, godmother—of the entire tribal syndicate. Even though she conferred with the leaders of the
other tribes, she had final say. Go against her and you got slingshotted.

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS:

Slingshots. No sense of humor whatsoever.

MOTTO: “The Wolves come out at night.”

I pushed through the crowd toward Sully. I was only two steps from her washing machine throne when one of her towering She-Wolves cut me off.

“Step back,” the wolf cub said, her hand pressed against my chest.

“But I want to make an informed choice, you know? Interview as many candidates as possible before making a decision. Selecting a new tribe isn't easy.”

“Better look somewhere else,
newbie….
”

I looked over her shoulder at Sully. “What?” I asked. “I can't join your tribe?”

Sully tried to hide her smirk. “You don't meet our criteria. No boys allowed.”

So far, I was off to a swimming start.

THE ORPHANS

MEMBERS: 34

MODUS OPERANDI:

The Orphans were the purest product of the juvenile corrections system. True Charles Dickens-style. They had nowhere else to go, no one to look after
them
.…
“Love” wasn't a word that came their way that often, if ever.

The Orphans' numbers were larger than any other tribe. They were shuttled through the system. They had nowhere else to go. If they were ever released from Kesey, it would
only be a matter of weeks—sometimes days—before they returned. Though they were defiant toward adults, they held a fierce loyalty to one another, believing nobody else would take care
of them.

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS:

Sleepless eyes. Bruised and sometimes broken-nosed, but they take a licking and keep on ticking. The homemade zero tattooed within the joint between the thumb and index finger on
their left hand.

MOTTO: “Mama didn't love us enough.”

That scrawny kid who Buttercup had mopped the floor up with definitely didn't look like leadership material to me. There was hardly any meat clinging to his bones. His lower lip drooped.
Too many bullies must've yanked on it over the years. The bags under his deep-set eyes indicated sleep wasn't something that came often.

“Nobody else take you in yet?” he asked me.

“Looking that way.”

“You've come to the right place.” He reached his hand out for me to shake, exposing the zero etched into the stretch of skin. “Call me Table Scrap.”

I took his hand. “Table Scrap?”

“That's the name this place gave me. Once punks like Buttercup are done with me, that's all that's left. Figured I'd keep it, just to remember I'm
nothing.”

A mouse scurried up his arm and perched itself on his shoulder. Someone had taken a Magic Marker and drawn a zero with a diagonal slash through the center across its furry back.

I leapt back. “Rat attack!”

“Don't mind Mickey,” he said. “He won't bite. Not hard, at least.” Table Scrap turned to his shoulder and pursed his lips, giving the mouse a kiss.

Another Magic-Markered mouse popped up on his other shoulder. “Meet Minnie. They're orphans like the rest of us.”

“What's the zero stand for?”

“That's all we've got here and it's all we'll ever need.
Absolute zilch
.”

This kid had an unassuming style that was less about acting tough and more about being honest. He wouldn't be able to outfight any of these other brutes, but if you've been pushed
around your whole life, shuttled from one facility to the next, what did it matter?

“So…” I took in a deep breath. “Why should I join your tribe?”

“
Join?
” Table Scrap asked rather incredulously. “You already are an orphan, man, whether you know it or not. All of us are….”

Stepping onto an overturned milk crate, Table Scrap scratched at his scraggy chest above everybody else's head before beginning his grand sales pitch.

“At age ten,” he started, “I was a juvenile delinquent. At twelve, I was already a repeat offender. Now, at fifteen, I've spent more than half of my life in this
system.”

Babyface pushed his way up next to me, listening.

“I don't know what a bird chirping sounds like,” Table Scrap said. “I don't know what a dog barking sounds like. But I sure know what a boy screaming sounds
like….I hear it inside this prison every single day. That's the sound of nature in Kesey.
Human
nature. And it sure gets ugly up in this place.”

Glancing to my left, I found Babyface squatting on his own milk crate. Another Orphan sat beside him, holding a homemade tattoo gun fashioned from a melted toothbrush and a sewing needle. The
Orphan cracked open a Bic and dipped the tip of his needle into the pool of ink.

Babyface held out his hand as the Orphan began jabbing at the tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger. A zero emerged under the ink and blood smeared across his skin.

“We are The Orphans,” Table Scrap shouted, raising a fist into the air, presenting his zero to the rest. “Kesey is our home forever!”

Suddenly, a dozen fists rose up from the crowd, like cornstalks punching out from the ground, each brandishing their own zeros.

“What about breaking out?” I had to ask. “Don't you want to get out of this madhouse?”

“Some of us have it better in here than we ever had it out there,” Table Scrap said. “At least here we belong somewhere. Can't say the same for out there.”

I spotted Nailbiter perched on a washing machine by herself. She seemed more interested in sitting back and observing, a placid smile spread across her face.

“Hey,” I said. “I was wondering when I'd bump into you….”

Nailbiter slowly turned her head, as if she had just realized I was standing in front of her. Her smile only widened as she leaned over and gave me a hug.

I held my arms out, unsure if I should hug back. Nailbiter squeezed tighter.

“It is so good to see you,” she said, her voice calm. Flat. She finally let me go. Her face was only a few inches away from mine. Earlier today, there had been panic in her eyes.
Genuine panic. Now they were glazed over.

Marbles
. Her eyes were like marbles. And her smile….

Where had I seen that smile before?

Merridew
.

“You, uh…” I started to ask. “Sure you're okay?”

Nailbiter let out a soft laugh. “I am more than okay. I feel
happy
.”

The shell of her was still there. But the girl on the bus was gone.

Long gone.

I slowly backed away, Nailbiter's glassy eyes never leaving mine.

“Do you want to feel
happy
, Spencer?” she asked. “You deserve to be happy.”

I accidentally backed into a wall. Turning around, I realized it wasn't so much a wall—but Buttercup. Smiling. A formation of beefy boys dressed in their lima-bean green fatigues
stood in perfect lockstep configuration behind her. They held their pimpled chins up, arms crossed behind their backs, unflinching and rock solid.

“Nice group of droogs you got here,” I said, admiring the muscle.

Buttercup melted. Her lips lifted into a smile that could curdle milk. “Your voice…It's even sweeter than I dreamed.”

This goliath of a girl has been dreaming about the sound of my voice?

THE PEER FACILITATORS

MEMBERS: 5

MODUS OPERANDI:

The Peer Facilitators were handpicked junior spies. This youth brigade served as a direct liaison to the program director.

The lead Facilitator, Buttercup, was Merridew's lapdog. But it took a lot of training to break her in. There's a rumor going around that she was responsible for that
missing chunk of Grayson's ear. The story goes she bit it off when Grayson got too close, swallowing it down before the Men in White could fish it out of her mouth. That reserved Buttercup a
couple months in the Black Hole. It didn't take long for Merridew to realize Buttercup had a talent for “facilitating” folks with her fists, so she decided to foster young
'Cup's talents rather than penalize her for them.

By enforcing Kesey's rules and regulations, The Peer Facilitators also reaped the reward of having the most privileges—minor freedoms that were often abused by
tormenting the rest of the ants.

Admission was exclusive. Nobody joined The Peer Facilitators. Merridew selected its members, while Buttercup hazed the heck out of you.

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS:

Hulky but housebroken bullies. Muscle-bound and bland behind the eyes. Merridew seemed to have popped out their eyeballs and sewn in a pair of marbles for her own personal
collection of stuffed animal enforcers.

MOTTO: “Helping others help themselves.”

“Would you like to join the Peer Facilitators?” she asked. I detected a sense of hope in her voice. “You'd be perfect, Spencer. We could rule this
place…
together
.”

I took a step back. “You heard Sully,” I said. “I need to explore my options. I've never really been a one-tribe kinda guy, you know?”

“Sully?” she muttered. “You like her or something?”

“What's not to like?”

“Like,
like her
like her?” Buttercup's hands tightened into fists. “Is she your
girlfriend
?”

I held my hands up to express I meant no harm. “I don't think Sully would see it that way. We're strictly platonic at the moment.”

Buttercup released her fists. “Let me know…” she muttered through her gritted teeth, “…if there's anything…” she was forcing herself to be
courteous, no matter what her animal instincts were, “…I can do to help you
fit in
.”

There were other tribes—but before I could talk to them Sully stood up from her washing machine and whistled through her fingers. “Have the fresh meat found their tribes?”

Table Scrap answered back. “Not that one.”

He was pointing at me.

“I'm fine on my own right now, thanks.”

“Your funeral,” he said. “You won't survive long.”

“Hey, buddy,” I snapped back. “I joined a tribe way before it was cool to let your tribal flag fly. Long before any of you guys.”

“If he wants to go his own way,” Sully finally said. “Let him.”

“Are you his babysitter?” Buttercup seemed ticked at Sully. Dare I say she was acting a weeeee bit jealous? “You gonna change his diapers, too?”

“
Hardly
.” Sully nodded at me. “You've got a week to find your tribe. See how long you last here without one.”

“I've got a better idea,” I said. “There's a new tribe in town.”

“Says who?” Buttercup asked. “
You?
You just got here. You can't just make your own tribe.”

“Why not?” I asked. I scanned the room. “And any of you can join. No previous experience necessary! I'll take your poor, your huddled masses, no questions
asked.”

“What's your tribe all about?” Table Scrap asked.

“There's a dictator here that needs taking down—and I'm the guy to do it. Merridew's gotta be stopped.”

“Oh yeah?” Table Scrap laughed. “How do you expect to do that?”

“How else do you take down a dictator? You assassinate them.”

“Who's your tribe?” Buttercup asked. “The Newbies?”

“Nope,” I said. “We're called…called…”

…What were we called?

What has always been the best part of the Tribe? I wondered. What did Peashooter do right?

He had rooted his tribe in reading. He brought books to the front line. He made them weapons. Reading made you dangerous when you read the right books.

That's when it hit me. The name popped into my head like a tiny seedling budding up from my brain. Once it'd taken root in my mind, there was no shaking it.

“We're called
The Academic Assassins.
”

“It was formerly a custom in our village, when a poor debtor came out of jail, for his acquaintances to salute him, looking through their fingers, which were crossed to
represent the grating of a jail window, ‘How do ye do?'
 
”