The Vigilante Poets of Selwyn Academy (23 page)

Now I needed to make sure she wasn’t going to hook up with Miki F.R. too.

I scrolled through a scene where Miki F.R. chases Andy through the Human Body Gallery, trying to steal his cello. “All in fun!” Miki F.R. chortles.

I scrolled through a scene where Kyle’s practicing a monologue from
Othello
, and Miki F.R. sneaks up and stabs him with Andy’s bow.

I scrolled through the hosts’ wrap-up banter. Apparently at least some of Damien Hastings’s idiocy was scripted.

Did you see that?

Or perhaps I should say: Did you
see
that

I’d have missed it myself if I hadn’t slowed down to feel sorry for Damien, who, despite the mousse, always seemed like a nice guy.

Nobody else uses that punctuation mark. Nobody.

“He writes the script,” I whispered.

Elizabeth was now trying to talk Jackson out of attempting to make root beer in the extra basement bathtub. “It’ll turn into real beer,” said Elizabeth. “Your ass is gonna be dragged right into juvie—”

“He writes the script,” I said louder.

“I’ve read up on fermentation,” said Jackson irritably.

“INTERROBANG!” I shouted. That got their attention.

“I love interrobangs!” said Elizabeth.

“So does BradLee,” I told them, pointing at the screen.

“That’s pitiful,” said Jackson. “Does Damien truly not know the difference between brachiosaurus and triceratops?”

“We should have seen this one coming,” said Elizabeth. “He writes the script.”

“For one, they lived eighty-five million years apart.”

“Concentrate!” she shouted. “BradLee is the scriptwriter for
For Art’s Sake
!”

My mom was picking me up, but I couldn’t bear to rip myself away from Baconnaise.

“Jackson, come on. He needs some one-on-one attention. Let me borrow him.”

“He’s not a library book.”

“Think of this as a sleepover. You’d let your kid go on sleepovers, right? To his cool uncle’s house?”

“I guess. Ugh. Fine.”

I set up Baconnaise in his travel cage and carried him out to the car. My mom didn’t notice, but my sisters did.

“Is that a
rat
?”

“Mom! Ethan has a rat!”

“He’s not a rat,” I said with disdain. I held up the cage for their inspection. A mannered introduction would go far toward establishing a relationship of mutual respect. “Girls, meet Baconnaise. Baconnaise”—I turned solemnly toward him—“this is Olivia, this is Tabitha, and this is Lila.”

Baconnaise nodded courteously. As I’ve mentioned, he’s a genius. The triplets squealed.

“Baconnaise is a
gerbil
. Gerbils are the noblest of rodents, and Baconnaise is the noblest of gerbils.”

“Is he really noble?” said Olivia. “Like King Arthur?”

“Yes. You can call him Sir Baconnaise if you want, but he’s an informal dude. Baconnaise is fine.”

They were intrigued. “Can we hold him?”

“Once we get home.” I had a sudden image of Tabitha swinging him by the tail. “If you are very, very careful.”

When we got home, I sat down cross-legged on the living-room floor and the triplets gathered around me. I opened the door of Baconnaise’s cage. He’d shown during VORTEX that he was good with new situations, but I was worried he’d bolt. I’d underestimated him. He stepped out daintily and sniffed.

“He’s so cute!” said Lila.

“He doesn’t like that word,” I informed her. “It’s demeaning. Just because he’s small doesn’t mean he lacks feelings.”

“I like his nose,” she amended.

“Me too.”

“What’s
that
, Ethan?” said Tabitha in horror.

“What?” I couldn’t figure out where she was pointing.

“That—that
thing
. Is he going to have a baby?”

“Hes can’t have babies,” Lila advised her.

“I think he ate a marble,” said Olivia.

“It’s not that big,” I said defensively. “It’s not as big as a marble.”

“Yes, it is,” said the three of them together.

“A shooter,” added Olivia.

I put my head to the floor so I could see it better. How had this happened? It
was
as big as a marble. A large marble.

“Will he poop it out? When Tabitha ate Mom’s earring, she—”

“It’s called a tumor,” I told them. “It’s a product of cell mutation.” That sounded too ominous. “It’s benign. It’s fine. They happen to people too, but we get them cut out in surgery.”

“Why can’t he have surgery?”

“He’s too small.”

“Is he going to die?”

“Of course not.” I had to change the subject. “Want to see some tricks?”

“I want to hold him. Let me hold him. Please, Ethan. Please.” That was Tabitha.

“Sit still and see if he’ll climb on you.”

He sniffed me out and ran toward me, sprinting up the
incline of my leg. I held still, to be a good example, and let him climb all the way to my shoulder. He perched there, for all the world like King Arthur surveying Camelot.

“He really likes you, Ethan,” marveled Lila.

“That’s because I’m very
gentle
with him.”

“I’m gentle,” said Tabitha.

“Baconnaise?” I said. “Can my sisters hold you? They’re very
gentle
.”

He shrugged, so I showed the girls how to make a bowl with their hands.

“Who’s first?” I said. Bad plan.

“ME!” all three of them shouted.

“I have a better idea.” I’d wanted to test this theory anyway. “Sit in a circle. Baconnaise will choose.”

They stuck their legs out straight and formed a circle, and I put him down in the middle. Olivia was wearing a green shirt. “Baconnaise, you stud,” I murmured. I snapped my fingers.

Sure enough, he ran straight for Olivia, his tumor bouncing along beneath his stomach like a saddlebag. He scampered up and sat on her shoulder.

“Wow,” said Olivia, barely breathing.

“Wow, Baconnaise,” I said. He really did know his colors. Or at least green.

“Can I hold him?” said Olivia.

“Gently,”
I said. She plucked him from her shoulder. I could tell by his splayed feet that he was scared, but he relaxed when she cupped him in her hands. Lila and Tabitha leaned over her, jealous as all get-out.

“The tumor feels funny,” said Olivia. I was about to point
out how soft his fur was, and how that meant he was healthy. Then Tabitha grabbed him.

“Hey!” yelped Olivia and I in identical high voices.

Tabitha had him fully enclosed within her small hands. He must have been terrified. She stood. “You were being piggy.”

“He chose me!” shrieked Olivia.

Like a psychopath with a loaded gun, Tabitha needed to be approached with care. “Tabby, you can hold him. Just give him some air,” I said soothingly.

“How?”

“Open your fingers a chink—”

I’d neglected to notice that an indignant Olivia had risen behind me. She pounced. Tabitha hit the ground.

“Baconnaise!” I shouted. “Watch out!”

Tabitha had kept her hands cupped, and he hadn’t gone flying through the air. But now Olivia was on top of her, prying her fingers open one by one. Tabitha, understandably, squeezed.

“BACONNAISE!” I joined the fray. I peeled Olivia off Tabitha and tossed her aside like a yogurt lid. I was sitting on top of Tabitha now. “Give. Him. To. Me.”

Tabitha succumbed instantly. She’d rarely heard me use that voice. Heck, I’d rarely heard it myself.

He was very still.

“Did he get tilled?” said Lila.

I stroked his spine with my pinkie finger. He lifted his head and gave me a resentful look. I had to turn away. The guilt was overwhelming.

So I took it out on the girls. “This gerbil,” I told them, “is
riddled with cancer.” I’d never spoken it aloud. “He’s a sweet, fragile, sick, tiny animal. And this is how you treat him?”

“I didn’t do it,” whispered Lila. Tabitha was still fuming, but Olivia was tearful.

“He could have
died
.”

I left. That had been my fault, not theirs, and the fluttering gray miasma of guilt kept reminding me of that. “Baconnaise,” I said, “I’m so sorry.” He was still in shock, I think, because he was slothful, making no chipper little gestures with his head or tail. “Let’s get you away from human touch.”

I gave him some cardboard in his cage, and within a few minutes he was happily gnawing. I watched him. I didn’t study for my monster bio test. I just watched him.

“One line of investigation remains,” Jackson whispered to me in Latin the next day. “If it fails, I’m prepared to give up.”

I was already prepared to give up. However, dactylic hexameter was kicking my butt and I needed distraction. I said, “What is it?”

“We need to figure out how they use the script. If the contestants parrot it verbatim, that’s our target. We hack it, we write new dialogue, we make Luke sound like a dumbass—”

“I assume you’re telling me this because you want me to do something.”

“Gather some intel on the issue.”

Ms. Pederson walked behind us to monitor our progress
on the scansion assignment. When the enemy became otherwise occupied, I said, “How?”

“Ask Maura Heldsman.”

So the next morning, I returned to the dance hallway. It’d been a while.

“He’s back,” she said.

“Why do you always get here so early?”

“It’s my only time for homework.” She flipped shut her binder. “Not that homework is a major priority of mine. But if I start failing anything, Coluber’s going to kick me off the show.”

“Would that be so bad?” I plopped down beside her without an invitation.

“Uh, Juilliard?”

“I knew that. I really did.”

“I’m so stressy.” She curled her legs into her giant purple sweatshirt. She looked like a turnip, and she was still cute. “The deposit deadline’s the day after the finale. If I win, I can go. If I lose, it’s the U.”

“Aren’t you worried they’ve already chosen the winner?”

“God, what are you trying to do? Turn me into an even bigger stressball?”

“But it’s all scripted, right?”

“Not exactly.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I shouldn’t tell you this, but whatever. You’re probably the only person I trust. How sad is that? Sure, it’s scripted. But if you can come up with something that works better, they’ll run with it.”

“Oh.”

“The other contestants don’t get it. But that’s like the secret to my success. I do everything I can to make my character, my scenes, work better than everyone else’s.”

“Like what? What do you do?”

“Dance my heart out.”

“Well, yeah. That’s practically
in
the script.”

“And hook up with every guy on the show.” Her green eyes looked right into mine. “Which is practically in the script too.”

I almost asked her how long it’d been in there. Which had come first? Had she given the idea to BradLee, or had BradLee written it for her? But then she’d have to answer, and I guess I knew which way it went, and I didn’t want her to have to say it aloud.

“This is when you tell me you’ll do anything to help me win,” she said.

IMAGE. VORTEX. They’d both failed. And hacking the script wouldn’t help, because kTV wouldn’t necessarily follow the script.

“You alive?”

I’d never wanted to lie so badly.

“Ethan?”

“I don’t think there’s anything left to do.”