Sleight (47 page)

A SHORT CONVERSATION between Mr. Conroy and my second period teacher got me into class without being sent to the office for being late. I can’t remember one thing that was said during that class. My mind was on other things.

By the time I’d made it through fourth period and the mental fog had started to lift I was hungry. Guy’s got to eat right?

Entering the cafeteria had been fraught with all sorts of possibilities in the past, but things had changed. Justine wouldn’t be there. Baffle was gone. The bullying pack of miscreants that had followed Coby Munger had either been expelled or had their schedules rearranged so that they couldn’t interact with each other. Another visit from Sawyer’s sister Talia was extremely unlikely. So why was I on edge? One reason only.

“Hey jerk,” said Kayla as she sat down across from me.

Yeah, that would be the reason.

“Go away Kayla. I’m not in the mood.”

Wearing six shades of ragged brown and green clothing she looked like she’d dressed in leaves. Her makeup though, was straight out of a neon rainbow. I curiously reached out to sense her mood since she was ignoring my request. Not really angry. More worried, and afraid.

“I’ll get up in a minute. But I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Ask,” I said, taking the biggest possible bite of mac and cheese I could manage to stuff into my mouth.

Giving me a disgusted look she leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “What is she doing?”

I struggled to swallow my mouthful of bright orange pasta. The question itself threw me a little. It was almost desperate, pleading. Not Kayla’s typical bulldozing approach to conversing with me. It didn’t seem like she knew where Justine was.

“She’s with her parents.” True, but I felt very crappy about misleading her.

She snorted in disgust. “Her mother! That cray-cray bitch is part of the problem.”

Her chin trembled and a tear brimmed over and ran down a cheek. Dark mascara ran, making her look like a teenaged female version of Alice Cooper. It hadn’t seemed possible, but I felt even worse.

“She’s different since she came back. Sort of...dark. I’m worried about her Brown.”

A pang of remorse made it hard for me to respond, I think my voice cracked a little.

“Me too.”

She got up and walked away. When she finally heard what had happened, and where it had happened, all of her nasty opinions about me would be confirmed. I tried to shake off the feeling of guilt that crawled down my back.

No luck there.

***********************

I waited outside in the snow covered parking lot and fantasized that Miss Black would forget about me. My short-lived daydream was obliterated when her bright red Mercedes pulled up. When I reached for the door handle for the backseat she shook her head and pointed at the front passenger door. When I slid into the car my nerves cranked up. As soon as the door shut she thumbed the locks and put the car in gear. The smell of new leather upholstery and expensive perfume washed over me. Pleasant, but then again, not.

“There isn’t much for us to discuss but I want to reiterate the rules, just so you don’t go making a mess.”

Staring out through the windshield she barked out a cheerless laugh. “You have the potential to be very valuable today. Cooperate and I will hand over the package with all of the incriminating research on you. Create problems and it all goes public. Today. Is that easy enough to understand?”

The condescension and arrogance in her voice were so thick that I almost lost the message she was delivering. She turned a glossy-lipped smile on me, filled with small bleached teeth.

“Do you need me to repeat that?” she asked, irritation creeping into her syrupy voice.

“No. I get it,” I said.

“Good. The ceremony we’re attending is a civic award presentation and a discussion on school safety. Our superintendent of schools for King County is being honored. Your heroics in the gym last month makes your presence very helpful to him. And me. You’ll stand by me, not speak unless spoken to, and smile for the cameras.”

Cameras. The main reason that I was unhappy about being part of the charade. Any photos of me that got into the media could potentially land me back under Dennis’ thumb. Or fist. The fact that I was three years older than when I’d run away wouldn’t help because my appearance hadn’t changed much. I was taller, bigger and had less baby-fat, but my features were pretty much the same. I’d been practicing with one of my knacks in the hope that I could use it to blur any images taken of me. It had been hard to gauge how successful it would be but it was all I had.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, trying my best to keep the resentment out of my voice.

“Do I detect a tone Benjamin? I sincerely hope not. That won’t be a good thing.”

Must have let a little snarkiness seep into my response. “No ma’am.”

“Good.”

We traveled the rest of the way in silence which suited me just fine. Our trip took us up into the Queen Anne neighborhood. She steered the car into a small parking lot that was jammed with other expensive looking cars. The large stone building that overlooked the lot seemed out of place, almost medieval. We got out of the car and headed toward the short stone stairway that led to an impressively huge double door entrance that had been left open. Several small groups hustled up the stairs to get out of the cold.

The interior was ornate. Numerous alcoves holding oil paintings and marble statuary lined the room on all sides. Stained glass windows set high in the walls let in filtered light from outside. We followed the throng of people to a normal sized doorway located toward the back. It led down a narrow hall that was as plain as the entry had been fancy. Matted red carpet and cheap wood paneling stretched out in front of us. The hallway led into a wide low-ceilinged room. Unremarkable and dingy it didn’t seem like the setting for a fancy awards ceremony, but what did I know?

Miss Black nodded and smiled at other people as we walked toward one of several big round tables covered with white tablecloths. Water pitchers, glasses and a modest floral arrangement huddled in the center of each. She chose a table close to a low stage at the far end of the room. A microphone stand and worn out looking podium stood dead center on the modest stage. As we seated ourselves she grabbed the pitcher and poured us each a glass.

“Would you like some water Benjamin?” she asked sweetly, all nastiness replaced by an insincere charm that only made her scarier.

To prevent adding any more tension than there already was between us, I said, “Yes.”

The room filled up quickly. Men and women, all dressed professionally, took seats and chatted. While people talked I noticed that virtually all of them kept turning in their chairs, craning their necks and looking over the tops of their neighbors’ heads. They were clearly waiting for someone important to arrive.

A loud amplified thump sounded and all heads turned toward the microphone and podium, where a prim and attractive woman dressed in a suit tapped the microphone again.

“Thank you,” she said. “In the interest of saving time we’ll move right into the agenda.”

She began calling out names and people walked up, accepted awards to polite applause and returned to their seats. The rubbernecking and glancing around for the important person they were all hoping to see continued.

A photographer and videographer walked around the room taking random shots when they thought people weren’t looking. The guy with the video camera was young and scruffy looking. The photographer was a professionally dressed woman who looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her face. She seemed intensely focused. He looked bored. If their presence hadn’t been making me nervous about being caught on camera, I would have been bored too. When they neared our table I put part of my plan for remaining anonymous in action.

Practicing in front of my mirror at home I’d achieved a small measure of success at partially obscuring my facial features by invoking a localized version of my camo. It wasn’t perfect. I couldn’t restrict the effect to just my face, but it did make my face look blurry. As the two cameras drifted by I shifted my camo in and out of focus and was gratified that Miss Black’s, and everyone else’s, attention was suddenly riveted to the stage.

The prim and proper woman was speaking again.

“Ladies and gentlemen please welcome our Superintendent of Schools, Alistair Crush!”

An impeccably dressed man with deeply tanned skin stepped up onto the stage. Everyone stood and I was instantly screened from the cameras. When they moved toward a better angle of shooting the stage I stood too. Loud applause and cheers filled the room and the man raised his hands for quiet, a blinding smile lighting the sharp, strong features of his face. Although his height was average his wide-shouldered muscular frame exuded power and he easily commanded the room. His dark blue suit fit him perfectly and his light blue shirt was accented by a crimson tie. The energy that radiated from him was so compelling that as his gaze swept over the room I felt it too. The reaction of the audience went beyond politics. I could pick up strong feelings of admiration and even affection from the people nearest to me.

They didn’t just support him; they adored him.

I glanced at Miss Black and saw the same reaction in her. She was slamming her hands together so hard that they were turning red. Her face was split in a wide open-mouthed smile and her eyes shone. If this guy ever planned to run for mayor he would be a lock as far as the people in the room were concerned. When he finally got the crowd to sit down he addressed them in vague terms, offering generic platitudes about working together, creating a better tomorrow, blah, blah, blah. Then he moved on to a bizarre proposal to hire and train armed security for all middle and high schools. They sat there lapping it up like it was the best thing they’d ever heard. When he wrapped up his speech he looked out over the room and his eyes came to rest on Miss Black.

“Mirabel, will you please join me?” he asked, extending his hand in her direction.

Miss Black, my power-playing, tightly wound Principal sprang out of her chair and practically ran to the stage. You’d have thought the guy had just proposed to her. When she got on stage he put his arm around her and smiled. Her smile in return looked like a schoolgirl flushing rather than a professional greeting. I noticed several women, and a few men, looking at her with envy on their faces.

And then Crush called out my name.

As I stood to polite applause, every alarm in my body went off. My knees shook and I walked unsteadily toward the smiling pair on the stage as the camera team swung their equipment in my direction.

I COULDN’T VERY well retry my knack trick to mess up the cameras while I was on stage, so I ducked my head.

“People, this young man is a living example of what I’ve been talking about,” said Crush as I reached the stage and stood in between him and Miss Black, my eyes focused on the floor.

“When there was immediate risk for his safety, he threw himself in harm’s way and saved the life of a faculty member. That man, Mr. Frank Conroy, couldn’t be here today but Mirabel Black, the principal for Roosevelt High is here with me to honor this brave young man!”

Mr. Conroy wasn’t available? I wondered which of them was responsible for that bit of misinformation. People got on their feet and loud applause swept through the room. Fudging my appearance in front of everyone wasn’t going to work so I went a different route, and threw out two telekinetic pulses at the man and woman holding the cameras. The first made the photographer drop her camera. The second whammy caused the videographer to misstep and trip backwards, landing on his ass, the video-cam flying out of his hands. In the midst of the applause no one took much notice except for a few people close to them. While they struggled to their feet, the female photographer looked up with a shocked expression on her face. It was a look, that under very different circumstances, I’d seen before, and I knew where I’d seen her.

“If a student can show the courage and presence of mind to avert a disaster in the moment, can’t we take the necessary steps to make our schools a safe place, where his kind of bravery while admirable, won’t ever be necessary again?” asked Crush, to thunderous applause. As the photographer and videographer checked their equipment, Crush looked over at me and a shadow crossed over his face. Grinning fiercely as the applause picked up volume and speed, he dropped an arm around my shoulder and squeezed.

The still photographer had regrouped quickly and she started to snap pictures. I dipped into the knack well a second time, figuring if it had worked before it would again.

Except it didn’t.

Confused, I focused another telekinetic wave at her. Nothing. I tried to shrug Crush’s hand off my shoulder to get a better view on my intended target, but he tightened his grip.

“Now young man, behave, and smile for the cameras,” he said in my ear.

The videographer hoisted his gear to his shoulder and a red light came on as he started recording.

I didn’t smile and tilted my head down.

“Get your head up and act like you’re glad to be here,” Miss Black said through her teeth while she smiled.

Raising my head I forced a smile. While I stood there wondering what the hell had happened to my abilities, the moderator came back up on stage and draped a ribbon around my neck. A shiny silver medal hung from the end of it. The still camera flashed and the light attachment atop the videographer’s camera glowed brightly. I was well and truly screwed. Anyone who saw what they were capturing would easily recognize me.

When the applause wavered and died down, Crush released me and Miss Black steered me off the stage. I was only too happy to cooperate. I staggered back to my seat and feverishly tried to figure out a way to screw with the digital footage that had been taken. Experimentally I tried to telekinetically mess with the camera lens and was rewarded by the photographer pulling the camera away from her eye, looking at it with an irritated expression.

My knack was working again.

Looking up to the stage I focused on Crush and tried to read him. Confidence, eagerness and satisfaction ran through him. There was a hint of something else, and while I probed to uncover what it was, his eyes locked on mine. He gave me a grin and shook his head. Stunned, I unfocused my knack and pretended to drink the tepid water in my glass.

The ceremony wrapped up about twenty minutes later, and the audience thinned out, with hangers-on hovering near Crush hoping for some face time. Miss Black got out of her seat and climbed back onto the stage, trying to get as close to him as possible. Her eyes gleamed as she gazed at him.

I thought I sensed an opportunity. There was an envelope poking out of Miss Black’s purse. Focusing on it I used my knack to slide it out and onto the floor. I stood, picked it up and drifted toward a side table. Waiting until I was sure no one was looking at me I dropped the envelope into a trash can and invoked my camo. Hugging the walls I slowly made my way up onto the stage and crept close to the knot of people clustered around Crush.

“Alistair, I know it’s the right intent, but armed guards in our schools? I don’t think that’s the answer,” said a short heavyset man. He was sweating and looked uncomfortable.

“John, John, John. Of course. I respect your opinion,” said Crush as he placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “But don’t you think it’s time we took a more aggressive stance? We already have police officers on many campuses. Is there that great of a distinction between local law enforcement and private security?”

The shorter man wilted under Crush’s hand and his sweaty upper lip twitched. His head nodded jerkily. “Of course Alistair. I don’t...I’m just not clear on the details is all.” He frowned as though he couldn’t believe the words that had just come out of his own mouth.

Crush embraced the man with a one-armed hug. “Understandable. Completely. You and I should talk. I value your insight John.” He took his arm away and brushed at the shorter man’s suit, as though removing lint or a speck of dust.

“Where will we get the funding though?” asked the shorter man, taking an awkward step back, creating more space between himself and Crush.

“Oh, Mirabel. Perfect timing, as usual. Perhaps you could answer John’s question?” Crush winked at her.

Miss Black flashed a smile and stepped next to Crush, slipping an arm around his waist and putting a hand on the breast of his jacket. “Of course! I will be arranging a very generous endowment from a private source that will cover all of the necessary expense.”

Crush put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her. Her smile widened and she beamed up at him.

John, who had apparently found some newly acquired clear thinking, cleared his throat. “All of it? Where could you have possibly found a donor that would bankroll the whole program?”

Her smile dimmed just the smallest amount, but she raised her chin and said, “It’s me. I own a chain of clinics in King and Pierce Counties. We pride ourselves in local involvement and what better way to put our community funds to use than investing in education?”

“But...you? Isn’t that a...?”

Crush moved away from Miss Black and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder again. “John, I think it would be a great conversation to take up over dinner. Perhaps this evening.”

Looking completely cowed and confused the pudgy educator bobbed his head.

Other’s close by nodded, and smiled at Crush.

“People! We’re in the middle of a work day and I’m keeping you from your responsibilities,” he said, smiling sheepishly, as though slightly embarrassed from the attention he was receiving. Several heads shook negatively, indicating that nothing could be more important than hearing him talk.

“No, no. You’re all too kind. I must insist,” he frowned slightly at the group, “You should all return to work. Yes?”

All heads nodded agreement in unison. It was unsettling. His hold on them was
‘giving me the willies’
as my mom would have said.

As the group dispersed, a tall and heavily muscled man wearing a black suit, approached Crush. I read fear and nervousness coming off of him in waves. It was clearly connected to Crush. He was the first person who showed anything less than hero worship when close to him. “We were wondering how long you plan on staying sir. Should I have Brady bring your car around?”

Crush glanced behind and I shuffled out of his line of sight. I followed his gaze and noticed for the first time that there were two men standing near a shadowed exit off to the side of the stage.

My pulse started racing. I knew one of the men.

Wearing a black turtle neck, a cheap black suit and looking like a fish out of water was a face from the Shade meeting in underground Seattle.

Oso.