Watch Your Step (29 page)

“I know,” I say. “I was at the emergency meeting.”

“Were you?” Abe asks. “I mean, I saw you sitting in that same chair . . . but you didn't say much. Half the time it seemed like you were on another planet.”

He's right. I didn't say much. That's because I didn't know what to say. Not when he and Gabby were going on and on
about all the ways they planned to thwart our parents, and Mystery, before the Angel Makers could do any more damage. And when I was thinking that I'd rather let Mom and Dad get it out of their systems so we could call it even for good.

I've always had a hunch, but after reading Mom's journal I'm now positive that I haven't been the son she wishes I were. But Dad? For him, I've always felt like the right amount of everything. Good. Smart. Fun. Tough. Not-so-tough. So to know that he's been so worried about me he thought teaming up with Mystery was necessary . . . that's not okay. And it's time to right what's gotten so wrong.

That means it's also time for something else.

The truth.

“I hope you didn't think we'd pick up stuff for you,” Abe says. “It's not like I have tons of extra credits to be—”

“I didn't,” I say.

“Good.” Abe relaxes slightly. “So what's your news?” He sits up straight and leans forward. “Is it about Mystery? Or the Angel Makers? Did Ike tell you something?”

Gabby gasps. “Is it about Elinor? Did you two finally profess your—”

“No,” I say quickly. “We didn't.” I haven't even seen Elinor since we got back from the secret cave last night and she excused herself to her room. I e-mailed this morning and said I had something to share with her, Lemon, Gabby, and Abe this afternoon, and that I'd love it if she'd come to the living room at four o'clock, but she didn't answer. She skipped today's Kamp Kilter chores, and she's not here now, so she must still be too upset over what I told her about Abe to talk.

Or listen. Since I'm the one who should be talking.

“We're all ears,” Lemon says, as if reading my mind.

I take a deep breath, trying to remember everything I want to say. I had a whole speech prepared, but now that the time has finally come, I can think of only one word.

“Liar.”

Gabby gasps again. “So it
is
about Elinor.”

“It isn't.” Eager to prove her wrong, I somehow find the words. “It's about me. And who I am. Or more importantly . . . who I'm not.”

They look at me. Quiet. Curious.

“Do you remember Parents' Day?” I ask. “Our first semester, when we had that barbecue after the campus tour?”

They nod.

“Do you remember what my mom told your parents that day?” I swallow. “About what I did that made them send me to Kilter?”

Gabby and Abe exchange looks.

“It was an accident,” Lemon says, already jumping to my defense. “We were a little freaked out at first, but then you explained, and we understood. You were trying to do something good, and something bad happened instead.”

“It was the worst kind of accident,” Abe says.

“But it was still an accident,” Gabby finishes.

My heart swells. That my friends have been so accepting makes it even harder to tell them they've been so for no reason.

“The thing is,” I say, reminding myself that it's good news I'm about to share, “is that Mom lied. Because I didn't kill my substitute teacher after all. Miss Parsippany . . . is alive.”

The room falls silent. I make myself keep going.

“I didn't know at first. I didn't see Miss Parsippany get up from the cafeteria floor, and then I was sent to Kilter right away. But Mom knew. She sent me here anyway, and then let me believe I did this terrible thing for months.”

“But . . . why?” Gabby asks.

“I'm still trying to figure that out,” I say. “But I think part of it is because she wanted me to be tougher. And that was another thing she didn't tell me: When she sent me to Kilter, she knew it wasn't a reform school. She knew what it really trains kids to do.”

“But Annika's so careful about keeping it a secret,” Abe says.

“I know. Somehow, Mom found out.”

“When did you find out that you didn't do what you thought you did?” Gabby asks.

“A few months ago.”

Abe scoffs.

“I'm really sorry I didn't tell you,” I say quickly. “That was wrong. You're my friends, and you deserved to know the truth. It's just . . . I was afraid.”

“To tell us you weren't a murderer after all?” Abe asks. “That makes sense.”

“It doesn't, I know. And I was
so
happy that Miss Parsippany was okay. But by the time I found out, things were going really great. I was having fun at Kilter. More importantly, I was having fun at Kilter with you guys. And I knew that if Annika knew the
truth, she'd make me leave. I didn't want that. I couldn't leave the best friends I've ever had.”

They're quiet again. I wonder if they can hear my heart banging in my chest.

“Why are you telling us now?” Lemon asks a long moment later.

With the hardest part over, the words come easier. “Because I can't do it anymore. I can't lie. Things are too complicated. And I miss my dad. When I saw him at the Angel Makers meeting last night, I could tell he was sad. I think he misses me, too. And Abe, even though part of me thinks it'd be a lot of fun to prank our parents and teach them a lesson they'll never forget . . . another part thinks it'd only make things worse.” I pause and take a deep breath. “Anyway, I decided to come clean to Annika. But I wanted to tell you guys the truth first. You're way more important to me than she is . . . and also, she might have a Kilter helicopter whisk me away the second I tell her. And take my K-Pak so I can't e-mail you anymore.”

Abe frowns. Gabby pouts. Lemon stares at his lap. I try not to be disappointed when nobody says anything else. I definitely don't want to part on bad terms, but I can't blame them for being mad.

“Well,” I say, starting to stand. “I should go pack.”

“Wait,” Abe says.

I stop. He gets up and goes over to Gabby. He motions for Lemon to join them, and they form a small huddle. After a lot of whispering and nodding, they split up and face me. Looking serious, Abe starts to speak.

“You can't leave!” Gabby blurts out.

Abe rolls his eyes.

“Sorry,” she says. “I couldn't help it!”

“Do you
want
to leave?” Abe asks me.

“And never see us again?” Gabby asks.

“Of course not,” I say. “But I just can't lie anymore.”

“What if there was a way to do both?” Lemon asks. “To come clean—and still stay at Kilter?”

“That'd be amazing,” I say. “But it's impossible.”

“Not necessarily,” Abe says.

Apparently worried the walls have ears, he waves for me to come closer. They huddle again, and when I join them, Abe and Gabby share their potential plan. Which is: to use what we learned in the Angel Makers' secret cave last night to prove to Annika that I deserve to be at Kilter. Even if Miss Parsippany's alive.

“That sounds great,” I say when they're done. “But I really don't want to prank my parents anymore.”

“You don't have to,” Abe says. “If you do everything else right, Annika won't even notice your parents were left out.”

I think about this, then look at Lemon. “You're onboard?”

“I'm onboard with keeping my best friend,” he says, “so I'll do what I can.”

My chest warms. I want to hug them all, but since I don't want Abe to run away when there's so much to plan, I resist.

Still huddled, we discuss the next steps. When we break after several minutes, Gabby and Abe take their shopping bags and go to their rooms to test their purchases. Lemon goes to his room to take a nap.

When they leave, I sit on the couch. I'm about to take notes on my K-Pak when I notice a green ribbon on the coffee table. It's Elinor's ribbon, for her hair.

Grateful for the reason to pay her a visit, and eager to tell her the truth too, I grab the ribbon and hurry from the room. Stopping outside her bedroom door, I take a second to catch my breath. Then I knock lightly.

“Elinor? It's Seamus. Can I come in?”

There's a long pause. Then, “Okay.”

I inch open the door. Elinor's sitting cross-legged on her bed. A book's open in her lap.

I smile. “Hi.”

She sort of smiles. “Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Okay. You?”

“Okay too.” I try to think of what to say next. Then I remember the reason for my visit and thrust one fist toward her. “I found your ribbon.”

Her eyes lift from the book in her lap to the satin strand hanging from my hand. “Oh. Thanks.”

“You're welcome. Should I . . . ? Where would you like me to . . . ?

“On the desk is fine.”

I walk over and place the ribbon on a closed notebook. Before turning away I notice her friendship bracelet, the one that matches the braided string currently wound around my wrist, lying on top of a different notebook.

I force my feet away from the desk. “So that was pretty
crazy last night, huh? In the cave? With Mystery? And the Angel Makers?”

Still looking down at her book, she nods. “Yup.”

“Elinor, I'm really sorry if—”

“Seamus, I'm kind of in the middle of a chapter. Can we talk some other time?”

My heart sinks. “Sure.”

I lower my head and shuffle back to the door. I stop with one hand on the knob, hoping she'll say something, anything to suggest that she's not as mad at me as she seems to be . . . but she turns a page instead. And I leave the room, closing the door quietly behind me.

Back in my room, I picture the friendship bracelet on her desk. Did she take it off after I hurt her feelings last night? Or was she wearing it today and just removed it before changing into her pajamas? Most importantly, what can I say or do to make her want to put it back on?

After everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, my chest feels empty. Like a shell without a turtle. Unable to do anything else, I flop onto my bed and stare at
the ceiling a while. Eventually my K-Pak buzzes with a new message. I open it.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
Your Parents

Your father's ignoring my Role Reverse e-vites. Your mother wrote back and thanked me, but she failed to say whether she accepted. They're the only parents I have yet to meet with, and I'm curious as to why they're being so elusive.

Any ideas?

—Annika

I reread the note. She sounds annoyed, like she thinks I have something to do with my parents' poor social skills.

Not in the mood to try to make her feel better when I'm feeling bad myself, I exit that message and start a new one.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
Careful?

Hi, Ike! How are you? I hope you're having fun doing whatever it is you do at Kamp Kilter!

Thanks again for that super-fun Hammock Hauler lesson. I can't wait to try it out on moving targets, and not just rocks and bushes!

On another note, I've been wondering something. When we were talking about Annika the other day and you told me to be careful . . . what did you mean? I have some guesses, but I'd love to know the truth.

Thanks!

—Seamus

I send the note. My tutor's response comes two minutes later.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
RE: Careful?

Hey, Seamus,

Glad you enjoyed the lesson. We'll have to have another one soon.

As for Annika and being careful, I'll just say this. A few years ago, I was you. A skilled marksman. Top Troublemaker in my class. Teacher's pet. Annika's favorite. Destined to get the real-world assignment of my choice after graduation.

Then I got a peek at our director's true colors. And feeling like I could, I called her out on it.

Now I am me. Tutor eternal. With no hope of doing anything more than teaching great kids like you what they could teach themselves with the help of online demos.

Don't get me wrong, I like my job. I just thought I'd be doing more. Better. Good. For so many people who needed it.

But it turns out Annika's only concerned about the good of one person. Herself. And when you get in her way, she'll get in yours. Forever.

And that, my friend, is the truth.

—Ike

I read Ike's note three times. Then I get another message.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
Meeting

Seamus,

So sorry I wrote without mentioning your meeting request from the other day. I'd love to get together ASAP. Am dying to hear all about this exciting development on the parental front!

How's tomorrow morning, before you head across the lake? I'll send a cart.

Hugs!

Annika

I press reply. Without even thinking about what I'll say, I start typing.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
RE: Meeting

That's okay, Annika. Was a false alarm. Will let you know if anything changes.

—Seamus