Watch Your Step (17 page)

—Seamus

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
See you at home?

Hi there!

Missed you at karaoke! It was great. I'm not sure who was the bigger star: Gabby or Abe. She sang
until her voice gave out and she started croaking like a frog, and he eventually carried her offstage so someone else could have a turn. I felt kind of bad about that, but Gabby got over it pretty fast when she realized who'd picked her up. Then she didn't want to be put back down!

Anyway, we're headed home now. Hopefully we'll see you there?

—Seamus

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
Are you okay?

Hey, Lemon,

Sorry to keep bothering you, but when you get a chance, could you please let me know you're okay? Because it's getting late and I haven't seen you since this morning. I'm sure you're totally fine, but if you wouldn't mind telling me I'm being silly, that'd be great.

Thanks!

—Seamus

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
Is this  . . .

 . . . about our talk earlier? When I asked about the origami? You didn't seem mad then, but maybe you are now after thinking about it all day. Either way, I'm sorry! Really. Let's talk more ASAP, okay? Like right when you get home? Which will be . . . ?

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
It's midnight

Where ARE you???

I stop reading and rest my K-Pak on my stomach. It's been three hours since my last e-mail. I'm tempted to write again, but what good would it do? Especially if he really is mad at me? Or if he's been captured by Incriminators, which is my newest—and scariest—theory. Maybe I should wake up Abe and see what he thinks. When we talked about Lemon's
absence earlier, all he said was that it's not his problem if Lemon doesn't feel like participating. But that was hours ago. Surely he'd be worried now if he knew our alliance's fourth member was still missing?

Deciding he would be (and that I can make him be if he's not), I hop out of bed and look for my slippers. They're shaped like calculators and have thick soles covered in multiplication, division, addition, and subtraction symbols, so you leave a mathematical trail anytime you walk across carpet. Dad gave them to me for my birthday, and I wear them all the time.

I'm still looking for them when I hear a thud. I freeze and listen.

There it is again. The second thud is followed by another. And another. The noises are fast. And getting louder.

I stumble across the room and fumble for a light switch. When the lamp turns on, I look for a weapon. People in movies always use hockey sticks and baseball bats to fight off burglars and intruders, but I don't have any of those. My few marksman weapons are in the front hall, where I left them after practicing between activities today. I grab the best of my options—a pillow—and lunge toward the door.

“Seamus! Hey! How's it going?”

I stand in the open doorway. My mouth opens. The pillow drops. I stare at Lemon—or the stranger who could be his twin. This person has shaggy hair. And furry eyebrows. And he's wearing my best friend's worn moccasins. But he's also smiling. Instead of shuffling along at a snail's pace, he's practically skipping down the hall.

“Where is everyone?” he asks, hurrying past me. “It's as quiet as detention in here!”

He disappears into his room. I pick up my chin and pillow from the floor and follow after him. I stop again when I reach his bedroom doorway and watch him kick off his shoes and flop onto his bed.

“Lemon,” I say. “It's three in the morning.”

“Is it? Huh. Time really does fly when you're having fun. Who knew?” Then, “Why aren't you sleeping?”

“Because—” My voice is loud. Not wanting to wake up anyone else, I lower it before continuing. “Because I was
worried
.”

“Is something wrong?”

“You tell me,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you've been gone all day. I wrote you, like, twelve times. I didn't hear one word back. I thought something happened.”

Lemon clasps his hands behind his head and shrugs. “Well, here I am! So you can stop worrying and get some sleep.”

“Where were you?”

“Where I was supposed to be. At my family's cabin.”

“All day and night? When all of the other Troublemakers left their families' cabins before dinner?”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing there?”

He fluffs his pillow and gives me a small, apologetic smile. “Seamus, I'm sorry I didn't write you back, and that you were worried. But I promise everything's fine. Now I'm kind of tired. Can we talk more in the morning?”

It
is
the morning. The sun will be rising in no time. But I don't say this. There's no point.

Lemon's already snoring.

Returning to my room, I close the door and crawl back into bed. I'd really like to sleep, but I can't. My head's spinning too fast.

So I pick up my K-Pak and start typing.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
Honesty

Dear Miss Parsippany,

Hi! Thanks for writing me back. I hope you're having fun wherever you are!

So in your last note, you asked if I believe that honesty's the best policy. And honestly? I don't know.

Take today. A lot happened. My dad slammed a door in my face. I made him think he was sick, which made him go to the camp infirmary. I found my mom's diary and read a few of her private thoughts. I was attacked by ping-pong balls. I learned that at least one scary kid broke into camp and is following my friends and me around. I ate an enormous cheeseburger and will probably have a stomachache for days. And I got upset with my best friend for acting like someone I don't even know. The only really good thing that happened is that I got to spend time with Elinor, but even that got
messed up because a) I was attacked by ping-pong balls, and b) Abe told me he thinks she's some kind of traitor working for the wrong team.

It was totally exhausting.

So here's where your question—and my confusion—comes in. Because up until now, I haven't been completely honest. If I were, the school director would know I'm not really supposed to be here. Because I didn't really do what she thought I did to get accepted to Kilter Academy. If she knew the truth, she'd definitely kick me out. And since I've wanted to hang around because I thought there have been things I needed to hang around for, I've let the lie live on.

But sometimes, I don't know if this is such a good idea. Because if I were totally honest and told Annika I'm not who she thinks I am, and if she kicked me out, then I could go home. I'd leave all of this behind. And life would go back to normal. I don't know if that'd be better or worse, but it'd definitely be less complicated.

Have you ever lied because you thought it was better than telling the truth? If so, why?

Anyway, thanks again for writing! I hope you're having fun and that your latest plane rides have been turbulence free.

Sincerely,

Seamus

P.S. Speaking of plane rides, you never said what your new job actually is. Would love to know!

I reread the note, check for typos, and hit send. Feeling a little better after getting some of that off my chest, I put my K-Pak on my nightstand, lie back, and close my eyes.

I've just dozed off when something jolts me awake.

It's my K-Pak, buzzing with a new message. From Miss Parsippany.

Or not.

TO:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
ERROR

Dear Recipient:

Your message, SUBJECT: Honesty, failed to reach its intended recipient. That mailbox, [email protected] is INVALID.

Do not reply to this message.

Sincerely,

Information Technology Department

Cloudview Schools

G
ood morning! How are you?
Nice to see you! Isn't it a glorious day?”

It's the next morning. Abe, Gabby, Elinor, and I are standing on our parents' side of the beach, watching Mystery greet Troublemakers coming ashore.

“What's he
doing
?” Gabby asks.

“What's
wrong
with him?” Elinor says.

“He must be popping some brand-new, super-serious senior-citizen vitamins,” Abe says. “Or else Annika finally told him to shape up or ship out.”

“That has to be it,” I say. “So she doesn't have to worry about him on top of everything else.”

We watch Mr. Tempest kick off his sneakers, hitch up his shorts, and bound into the lake to help pull in an approaching boat. When the Troublemakers are close enough to start hopping out, he offers his hand to assist.

“Have a magnificent day!” he says before bounding over to another boat.

We head toward our teachers. They're gathered by the supply table down the beach. Now that we know the day's routine, there's no big meeting. Samara simply gives us our housekeeping assignments and the other teachers give us supplies. I'm on window-washing duty, so Devin, our music teacher, hands me a bucket, a bottle of Smudge-Be-Gone, and a huge roll of paper towels.

Elinor's on fireplace detail. She gets a bucket, a short broom, and something to pick up ash that looks like the pooper-scooper Ms. Marla keeps handy for Rodolfo.

As we head for my parents' house, we don't speak for several minutes. Unlike other silent stretches we sometimes fall into, this one isn't because I'm so nervous to be around Elinor that I don't
know what to say. Also unlike other silent stretches, I'm so lost in thought I barely notice.

“You're pretty quiet this morning,” Elinor finally says.

I look up. “Am I?”

She nods. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I guess I'm just worried about Lemon.” And Miss Parsippany. And my parents. And a few other things that don't make for pleasant morning chitchat.

“He must've gotten in really late last night.”

“He did.”

“And he was still the first one up. And in the boat on our side of the lake, and out of the boat on this side. And in line to get his chore and supplies.”

It's true. After leaping out of the canoe and pulling it as he swam, just like he did yesterday, Lemon got us to shore in record time—and then hit the beach running. While he was talking to Samara, we were still climbing out.

“Does he really love cleaning?” Elinor asks.

“Not that I know of. When we shared a room, I was always walking around his mountain of laundry and emptying his overflowing wastebaskets and washing toothpaste off his side
of the bathroom mirror. So if he does, it's definitely a new interest.”

“Like origami?”

“Just like it.”

We keep walking.

“So I was wondering,” Elinor says a moment later. “Do you think . . . I mean, is it possible . . . that is, what if . . . ?”

I give her a reassuring smile. “It's okay. You can ask me anything.”

She takes a quick breath. The question rushes out. “Do you think Lemon's working with the Incriminators?”

I trip, drop my bucket.

“Sorry!” Elinor squats down to help gather the fallen supplies. “That came out of nowhere. It's just—he's been acting
so
different. So un-Lemon. I mean, when was the last time you saw him light a match?”