Nightmare Academy Read online

  Maria gave a grumpy sigh and attempted it. "Both our team and their team won.”

  There was a collective moan from several. “Oh right, yeah!”

  “No way.” “Sore losers, that's all.”

  “But we won!” said a chubby gal on the “losing” side.

  “You're right!” said Easley.

  Another moan, and some pretty hot protests.

  “And you're right!” he told the moaners, which cheered only half of them. “Listen. If the experience was yours and you enjoyed it, then you won. There's no winning or losing here, no right or wrong. There's just the game and what you make of it.”

  A cute blond with wire-rimmed glasses hopped in the air and squeaked, “I won!”

  A few of her teammates—all from the “losing” side—tried to match her enthusiasm. “We won.” “Yeah, right, we won.”

  “We all won,” the tall guy finally conceded.

  “Until next time,” said the muscular guy, and several of his teammates agreed with him.

  Easley called out, “Hey, this is the new girl. Let's make her welcome.” He asked Elisha, “What name would you like?”

  Elisha was confused by the question. “What name? Oh. I guess, Sally”

  “Everybody, this is Sally.”

  Girls and boys came forward, shaking her hand. “Hi, Sally.”

  “Hi, Sally” “Hi, Sally.”

  “Hi. Hi. Hi.”

  The cute blond with the wire-rimmed glasses stepped up with springs in her feet. “Hi. Are you the new girl in room 4?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cool! We're roommates, did you know that?”

  Elisha smiled. “So you're Alice! Mrs. Meeks was telling me about you.”

  The girl laughed. “I was Alice yesterday I'm Marcy today.”

  “Oh . . . okay Marcy”

  “I'm from Maine. I've always wanted to be from there. I hear it's pretty. Who are you today? Are you somebody?”

  “I . . . I guess I'm just myself.”

  “Whoa! I'm not ready for that one yet.”

  Then two sizable jocks stepped up, the big, muscular guy and a good-looking, surfer type.

  “Hey,” said Muscles, looking her over and enjoying it, “the name's Alex. I'm glad you could be here to see us win.”

  “We all won,” said the surfer.

  Alex glared at him. “Brett, who said you could stand here?”

  Brett came right back, with fight in his eyes, “I stand where I want.”

  Alex only smiled as if amused. “We'll see.”

  Brett pointed his finger in Alex's face. “Next time.”

  “Next time,” Alex agreed.

  Brett extended his hand. “It's nice to meet you, Sally.” With a quick nod toward Alex he added, “Be careful.” Then, with a parting dagger-eye at Alex, he left.

  Alex confided, “He's got a few problems—being a loser's one of them. Hey, if there's anything you need, you know who to call.”

  Mr. Easley came near, wearing that perpetually kind smile. “You're going to have a great time here. Don't worry about anything. We're all friends.”

  Really? thought Elisha. Two roosters about to spur each other, and—

  “Come on, Sally,” said Marcy-for-today, “let's go get our room set up just the way we want it, like our own little world.”

  —and one sweet person who's afraid to be herself, Elisha finished her thought.

  “Are you Sally for today, or are you always Sally?”

  “I'm . . .” So how do 1 answer this one? "Well, I'm Sally for now. How about that?”

  “Cool.”

  Weird, Elisha thought. Here I am, playing a role, but so is everybody else! Dear Lord, I'm going to need your help with this one.

  5

  "WHAT'S YOURS

  IS MINE"

  ALITTLE BEFORE NOON , the Dartmoor Hotel had an unexpected visitor, a balding, middle-aged man carrying a briefcase and wearing a suit and tie. He came through the front door, paused to look around the lobby, and then walked slowly to the reception desk where the little man with the thin, black hair and round head was still sitting, reading his newspaper. “Good morning,” said the visitor.

  “All the rooms are full,” said the man behind the desk.

  The visitor was disappointed. “You sure? I've come a long way, and this place is nice and close to where I have to do my business.”

  “Sorry. You might try up the street. The Sullivan or the Royal Arms.”

  The visitor looked around one more time. “So, what do you do here? You rent rooms by the week, the month? You got apartments up there?” Without warning, he pressed the button for the elevator.

  “Hey! You can't go up there!”

  The door to the old elevator slid open. “I might be interested in an apartment. Why don't you show me one?”

  “We're in the middle of a renovation. There's nothing to see up there.”

  The visitor stood still and let the elevator door slide shut again. “Aw, that's too bad. Well, like you say, I'll try the Sullivan. Thanks, anyway.”

  He walked toward the door, but turned right to have a look at the empty room through the archway. Satisfied, he gave a detached shrug and went out the door.

  He walked casually up the street, whistling to himself, his briefcase swinging at his side, and then turned into an alley where a large van was waiting. He hopped in and the van rolled down the alley.

  Sarah was behind the wheel and gave him a thumbs-up. “Perfect. I think we got it all.”

  The man squeezed between the two front seats and hurried into the back of the van, pulling a hidden radio transmitter from under his shirt. “I haven't seen that guy around here before, and I hope he hasn't seen me.”

  Nate was in back, manning all the electronic surveillance gear. “Charlie, if we're right about that so-called hotel, I doubt either of you have seen each other before. Our little hotel clerk is nothing but an actor.” He began tapping away at the computer and clicking the mouse, isolating certain sounds from a recording they'd just made. “Now I'll just stack all these sounds in a file.” Click.Click. "And pull up our other file . . .” Click. Click-click. "And compare the two.”

  “Hey! You can't go up there!”

  The van eased to a stop. Sarah turned off the engine, set the brake, and came back to join them.

  “I think we're going to find exactly what we were expecting,” said Nate as he played the first recording.

  They heard the sound of a latch opening, the squeak of hinges, the quiet rush of a door moving across a carpet.

  “That's you, Charlie, going in the front door,” Nate said.

  Next they heard the very same sounds repeated. Sarah sat up straight in her chair. “Is i t . . . ?”

  Nate nodded. “That was the kids going through the same door last night. Let's check the next one.”

  A series of wooden squeaks, then another. The second recording involved more feet, but the squeaks were virtually the same.

  “Same floor,” Nate said, “last night and today”

  A rumble, the ding of a bell, a door sliding open. The same sounds again.

  “Same elevator,” said Sarah.

  “This next one's a little tougher,” said Nate, raising the volume.

  What they mainly heard was “air noise,” the sound of a particular room. Then they heard another sample.

  Nate put both sounds on the computer screen so they appeared as wavy lines. “Yes, same wave structure. And look here.” He pointed at a little spike that appeared in both sound waves. “The floor makes that same squeak right as you go under the archway. So guess what, Sarah?” He spun in his chair to look at her. “We're not crazy.”

  She shook her head in wonder. “Incredible.”

  Charlie nodded toward the outside. “So how about a bite to eat? It's about that time. We'll talk.”

  They climbed out of the van, stepping into a narrow alley and up to a plain little door with a neatly worded sign: Living Way Youth She
lter. Everyone Welcome.

  Charlie led the way through the door, through a storeroom and pantry, through a kitchen, and into a dining hall where nearly a dozen kids were starting their lunch.

  Anita, Charlie's wife, was just getting the kids' attention. “Okay put the spoons down. We're going to pray.” The kids put down their spoons and bowed their heads. Nate, Sarah, and Charlie bowed their heads as well. “Dear Lord, we thank you for this food and for this home. Please warm our hearts as we feed our bodies. Amen.”

  The kids started slurping their soup and passing the bread around as Nate, Sarah, and Charlie found a table over in the corner where they could talk.

  Charlie Ramirez and his wife, Anita, started the Living Way shelter six years ago as a ministry to runaways and wayward kids with nowhere else to go. Abused kids, rebellious kids, kids on drugs, kids just plain scared—Charlie and Anita handled them all.

  “I've never heard any of the kids talk about another youth shelter in town,” Charlie said in a quiet, cautious voice. “I never had any idea. . . . “

  “Could you start asking around?” asked Sarah. “The way these kids circulate on the street, somebody had to have heard something.”

  “And ask them if they ever encountered a woman named Margaret Jones,” said Nate.

  “Discreetly,” Sarah added. “You can see what we're up against.”

  Charlie nodded intently. “I'll ask the ones here, and we can check with the ones who've gone home. We have a follow-up list, so we can call them.”

  “And ask if anyone's ever heard of the Knight-Moore Academy, or anything that sounds like that. We heard Elijah and Elisha talking about it, but we're not sure of the correct spelling.”

  “This Margaret Jones woman showed the kids a brochure,” said Nate. “We need to get our hands on it.”

  By now, Charlie was making a list. “Oh, dear Jesus, help us.”

  When Elijah showed up for the discussion circle with Mr. Easley at 1:30, he looked sharp. The academy had provided a toiletry kit, so he'd made good use of it. He'd showered, combed his hair, shaved whatever whiskers he could find, and gotten into his uniform, which, interestingly, fit him perfectly. It made him wonder, How did these people know my exact measurements? Did they come into the room with a tape measure while I was asleep? Eeuugh! What a creepy thought

  “Oh, dear Jesus, help us.”

  Well, anyway, now he was dressed properly, ready to fit in with the others—or so he thought.

  First surprise: The discussion circle wasn't meeting in the scheduled classroom. A sign taped to the door told everyone the group would be meeting out on the grass near the edge of the campus, in the shade of some tall cedars. He looked across the open field and saw them already gathered, with some stragglers still ambling across the grass. He ran.

  Second surprise: Now that he looked sharp, everybody else looked sloppy. Yes, they were wearing their uniforms—sort of—but many had their shoes off, almost all of them had shed their blazers, and only a few were still wearing ties. Shoes, ties, and blazers were lying about on the grass, and the kids were lounging around in a very rough circle facing Mr. Easley who was still in his tee shirt and black shorts.

  Mr. Easley smiled at him. “Hey uh . . . what's your name today?”

  “Jerry. Sorry I'm late.”

  “Hey, there's no such thing as being late to discussion circle. Everybody comes when they feel like it. You do what you feel. Have a seat somewhere, wherever you want. Oh, and Jerry!” Elijah stopped, and Mr. Easley tossed him a KM dollar. “That's for showing up.”

  He quickly scanned the group and found Elisha with a blond friend under an ancient cottonwood. He settled on the grass near her, but not right next to her, catching a welcome from her eyes.

  “Take your tie off, if you want,” said Easley “I know the academy has a rule about wearing uniforms, but as I've told the others, what are we really trying to do here? We want everyone to be equal, sure, but we're also trying to cut everybody loose, let everybody have their own life. If you have to wear a uniform all the time, then you're just being squished into the same mold as everybody else, and we don't want that either, right?”

  “Right!” the group agreed.

  “Now. What were we talking about?”

  “Whatever we wanted,” said a tough-looking street dude who'd rolled up his sleeves to show off his tattoos.

  “That's the stuff, Ramon!” Easley tossed Ramon another KM.

  “We were talking about possessions.”

  “And stealing,” said a purple-haired scarecrow of a girl. “Like, if people don't want to share their stuff, maybe it's okay to make 'em share it.”

  “By taking things?” asked a somewhat miffed, stringy-haired blond.

  “Hey, if I want something, why shouldn't I have it?”

  “Because maybe it belongs to me, that's why!” She told Mr. Easley, “Somebody stole my Walkman and I don't appreciate it one bit.”

  “Was it really yours?” Easley asked.

  “Of course it was mine!”

  “So you paid for it, or someone gave it to you?”

  Now the girl shrank a bit. “No. I found it.”

  “Oh-hooo!” the group reacted. Gotcha.

  Easley held up a hand. “Well now, come on, let's not get into either/or here, as if either Charlene or Melinda is right. Maybe both Charlene and Melinda are right. Maybe the real problem is private possessions. Charlene believes that all the world is community property and everybody owns it, right?”

  Charlene gave her gum a few thoughtful chomps, and then flipped some purple hair out of her eyes. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

  “But it looks like Melinda agrees with you—at least she did when she, uh, found the Walkman, didn't you, Melinda?”

  Melinda got a little flustered and looked at the ground as she replied, “I don't know. I just wanted it, that's all.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” said Ramon.

  She turned on him. “Yeah, so how would you like it if somebody ripped off your stuff?”

  “Oooohh,” the group reacted, mocking her anger.

  Easley tossed both girls a coin and then held up a hand to calm things down. “Okay, now Melinda's asked Ramon the big question: How would I like it? Well, that's up to each of us, isn't it? If I'm being selfish with things, then sure, I'm going to get upset if someone else needs what I want to keep for myself. Melinda, did it ever occur to you that perhaps you're being too selfish with things? Do you think it's fair for you to have a Walkman when somebody else doesn't?”

  “Yeah, Melinda,” piped up some others, “what about that?”

  “You could look at it this way: You're actually sharing; you just don't know it. I think that's the whole point here: If nobody owns anything, then how can anyone steal it?”

  “'Imagine no possessions. I wonder if you can,'” a girl with long, braided hair sang, and got a laugh. Easley tossed her a coin.

  Melinda looked around the group, still angry and suspicious. “Well if that's the way you want to say it, then whoever's sharing my Walkman, I'd like it if you'd share it back again.”

  “All right,” said Mr. Easley. “See? Both Melinda and Charlene are right.”

  “Do I get another dollar?”

  Easley tossed Melinda another “dollar,” then applauded as the kids laughed and cheered.

  Elijah chuckled and muttered to himself, “Either/or.”

  Easley heard him. “What was that, Jerry?”

  Elijah was on the spot. He could feel every eye on him. “Oh, nothing. That was just an either/or, that's all.”

  “What was?”

  Elijah wasn't the kind to shrink from a direct question. “Well, you're trying to tell us that both Melinda and Charlene are right, but that was never the case. All you did was argue with Melinda to get her to change her mind, so that means, either she saw stealing as sharing or she was selfish. It wasn't a both/and; it was an either/or.”

  Now a few “oh-hos” arose toward Mr. Easley
, and Elijah even heard a fellow say, “He's got you there.”

  By now, Elisha's mental stew was about to boil over, so she jumped in. “And I'm not even sure she's changed her mind.”

  Melinda just looked at the coin in her hand and said, “Yeah. I guess so,” although her eyes were still the resentful eyes of someone who'd been ripped off.

  Elisha was on a roll. “I don't think she should change her mind. Sure, it's good to share, and we shouldn't be selfish, but calling stealing sharing doesn't make it sharing, it's still stealing, and stealing is wrong, and if Melinda stole that Walkman, she was ripping somebody off, and whoever took her Walkman without her permission was ripping her off.”

  There were some hoots and disagreements—"Hey, welcome to the real world,” “Preach it!” But there were some firm agreements as well—"Hey, a ripoff's a ripoff,” “I wouldn't want somebody stealing my stuff"—and even some applause.

  Easley just smiled. “Sally, you're new here, so it'll take some time for you to catch up. I think all of us have been raised with certain ideas of right and wrong, but now we can build our own world right here, and create a new truth.”

  Elisha looked at him strangely. “A new truth? Like what?”

  He smiled, pleased at the thought. “Whatever we agree on. You see, Right and Wrong are what we choose to make them.”

  Elijah piped up—he couldn't help it. “Is that statement you just made right or wrong?”

  Easley didn't appear to appreciate the question. “It depends on what the group thinks.” Easley looked around at the group. “How about it? Do we agree?”

  “Sure,” they replied. “Yeah.” “Whatever.” “Sounds good.”

  He tossed them some more coins.

  “So now it's what the group thinks?” Elijah asked. “What if the group decided you're wrong? Would you still be right?”

  “Well, I can still have any truth I want in my own mind,” Easley admitted.

  “So you can have it both ways at the same time.”