Nightmare Academy (10 page)

Stern looked past Elijah into the room. “Don't give me that. It's right there in your closet.”

Elijah ventured a look in the closet, and there it was: a burgundy blazer, black slacks, white shirt, and black tie, all freshly pressed and ready to go.

“What have you been doing all morning?” Stern demanded. “Bingham's gonna have a cow!”

“Who?”

“Mr. Bingham. The dean. Remember?”

“Guess I'd better change—”

Stern just yanked on Elijah's shirtsleeve. “No time, kid. Bingham doesn't wait.”

Elijah followed Stern, walking briskly down the hall because it was the only thing he knew to do. The hall was messy; litter and clothing were lying about, and there was graffiti on the walls. Considering Stern's snappy, uniformed, hop-to-it manner, the condition of this place didn't make a lot of sense. Oh, well. Nothing was making much sense yet. Elijah's mind was still fuzzy, he could definitely smell himself, and he was still trying to catch up with . . . well, everything.

“What about that girl who was with me?” he asked.

“She's gonna meet us there.”

“So she's okay?”

Stern looked at him with that same judgmental eye. “She's great. In a lot better shape than you right now.”

They went out a door and into the sunshine, taking a walkway that led across the campus.

Stern waved toward the volleyball game. “Hey, Easley!”

Easley looked like a typical coach. He was young and athletic, dressed in black shorts and burgundy tee shirt. He waved from the sidelines of the game. “So that's the new guy?”

“Yeah. Isn't he a mess?”

Now the whole game stopped and about thirty kids took a moment to stare at the mess. He looked back, waving hello. The friendly ones waved; the rest didn't look friendly. They came in all colors, types, and sizes, with short hair, long hair, no hair, frizzed hair, purple hair, dreadlocked hair. Some were jocks and proud of it, some were flirts and proud of that, some were just followers, not proud of anything. They were all dressed in the same outfit as the coach: black shorts, burgundy tee shirts, snazzy running shoes.

“Come on,” said a big guy holding the ball. It was his serve.

“Let's get on with the game!”

They all went back to their game, and Elijah and Mr. Stern kept walking.

“I take it this is the Knight-Moore Academy?” Elijah asked.

“This is the place,” said Stern. “That's the library right there—you can check out books, CDs, videos, whatever you want. That building over there is the recreation hall. They've got pool tables, Ping-Pong, foozball, video games, lots of stuff. That's the dining hall, three squares a day. We have four dorm buildings, A, B, C, and D. A and B are where you just came from, over there. As for girls, B's for boys, so you're in B. Over on the other side there are two more: C's for girls, D's for boys. Don't get 'em mixed up.”

The buildings looked new and freshly painted—basic white, with burgundy trim; all the lawns were neatly kept; the planting beds along the buildings, though small, were weeded and flowers were blooming. The scenery all around the place was spectacu­lar: mountains, tall forests, even some snow-covered peaks in the distance.

“Where is this place?”

Stern just waved off the question. “In the mountains, up in the trees. Don't worry about it.”

“So how did I get here?”

Stern made a face at that question. “Man, you'd better get tuned in. You rode the bus up here. Don't tell me you don't remember.”

“I
don't
remember.”

He only chuckled and sneered. “I can believe it. We get a lot of your kind in here, so strung out they don't remember anything. But don't worry about it.”

Elijah had been eyeing one thing that looked a little out of place: At the far edge of the athletic field was a high stone wall with a big iron gate, and on the forested hill beyond that wall, surrounded by green lawns and lush gardens, stood an impressive mansion with ornate gables, complex corners, and tall windows. “What in the world is that place?”

“You don't want to go there,” said Stern.

“But what is it?”

“Where is this place?”

“It's the headquarters for—oh, brother, not again!” Stern stopped, exasperated, looking at some garbage cans knocked over and rolled about, their contents strewn all over the grass and sidewalk. “This is getting serious!”

Elijah ventured, “Looks like you have some bears around here.”

“You got that right. They're getting to be a real problem. Hey, by the way, get a clue: Don't go into the woods, okay? Just stay on the campus, stay right here on the grounds. Had a gal last summer just about got her face torn off. It was terrible.”

“Right,” Elijah answered, chilled by the warning. “But if there are bears around, why are you using conventional garbage cans? I mean, any bear that wants to can pop these right open—”

“All right, here comes that girlfriend of yours.”

Elijah looked up the sidewalk and the sight made his day: His sister—well, make that
girl acquaintance going by the name Sally
coming their way, accompanied by a small, bookish woman in a female version of the standard Knight-Moore uniform: burgundy blazer, black skirt, white blouse, black scarf.
Somebody made a
fortune selling uniforms to this place.

Elisha was wearing the same thing, and looked great, a far cry from the street kid she'd been portraying the night before. Her face was clean, her washed hair, still jet-black, was blowing in the breeze. She looked like a posh, private-school girl. She broke into a big smile when she saw him. “Hey, you're alive!”

“Pretty much,” he answered, deciding not to run and hug her.

“You look like dirt.”

“Yeah, rub it in.”

“Jerry, this is Mrs. Meeks.”

He extended his hand and she greeted him. “Welcome to Knight-Moore, Jerry. Did you have a pleasant trip?”

“Well, actually, I—”

“Step this way” said Mr. Stern. “Mr. Bingham's waiting.”

Stern and Meeks led them—they felt herded, actually—through a nearby doorway marked “OFFICE.” They passed by a front office with a counter, some desks, lots of papers lying around, and a computer but no one there at the moment. Then they hurried down the central hallway, Elijah and Elisha in front, their hosts right behind them, maintaining a brisk pace.

“You feeling okay?” Elisha asked in a near whisper.

“Kind of woozy,” Elijah answered.

“Me, too.”

A door at the end of the hall stood open, and through that door they saw a man sitting behind a desk, hands folded, looking over his reading glasses at them. His hair was a fright wig of black and gray, he was definitely on the paunchy side, and he seemed to be studying them before they even got there. Stern and Meeks whisked them through the door, guided them to two chairs in front of Bingham's desk, and went out, closing the door behind them.
Slam!

They sat still, exchanging a look, feeling like two newspapers tossed on someone's doorstep.

“Hello,” Mr. Bingham said in a slow, sweeping manner. “Welcome to Knight-Moore Academy. You do not have to give me your real names. I am Mr. Bingham, the academy dean.”

“Hi,” they said.

He eyed them with a strange fascination, his gaze shifting from one to the other and back. “Young lady, if you weren't so beautiful, and young man, if you weren't so disgusting, the two of you could be twins.”

They looked at each other, did some mental comparisons, and then laughed. Great joke.

Mr. Bingham wasn't laughing. “Young man, you do have a uniform, don't you?”

“I wasn't aware of it until five minutes ago.”

“Uniforms are one of the few requirements we have here. They're important, don't you see, to maintain comradeship among the students, to eliminate any semblance of superiority We are all equals here.”

Elisha asked, “Mr. Bingham, just where is this place?”

He smiled, leaned over his desk, and asked over his reading glasses, “Where would you like it to be?” They looked at each other, searching for an answer, but he just kept going. “I don't mean to evade your question, but starting now, you must consider this a rare opportunity to create your own world the way you would have it. Wherever you came from—and I don't care to know where, thank you—you were confined to and controlled by the expectations of those around you: parents, teachers, church, and so forth. You did what they told you, you believed what they told you, and Truth, well, Truth was theirs, not yours. Are you with me thus far?”

He eyed them with a strange
fascination, his gaze shifting from one to the other and back

Elijah started to say, “Well, no, not really . . .”

But Bingham just kept going. “But, of course, you fled from that, didn't you? Here you are, run away from home, trying to find your own way, a world, a truth that fits you better than what you had at home. Well, . . . “ He stood behind his desk and held his lapels. “Consider this the first real step of your journey. Here is where you can think for yourself, find out for yourself, study for yourself, and find your own truth, whatever you want it to be.”

“My own truth?” Elisha asked, eyebrows up.

“You're certainly permitted to be yourself if you so choose, but if you so choose, you can be somebody else. What matters is that you are happy with whom and what you've decided to be.”

He began to walk slowly around the room, studying them from different angles. “As part of this process, you can, if you wish, attend optional classes for high school credit. We offer classes in English, remedial reading, humanities, math, history, art . . . “ He passed them each a list of classes and a schedule. “Pick out what you like, but don't delay. You're coming in a few days late, I'm sure you realize that.

“Also, as part of the process, we require participation in discussion circles with Mr. Easley, a chance for you to toss around new ideas and for us to gauge how well we're doing. There will be a discussion circle in Mr. Easley's classroom at 1:30. Please be there.