How to Lead a Life of Crime

chapter TWENTY-TWO



FRESH MEAT





When I get to my room, I strip and stand in front of the mirror. My skin is a patchwork of purple, yellow, and brown—the colors of death and decay. If zombies ever invade the Mandel Academy, they’ll probably accept me as one of their own. Still, as bad as my carcass looks now, it must have been twice as gruesome while the bruises were fresh. My right leg doesn’t appear to be seriously injured, but it can’t bear much weight. The doctor didn’t give me crutches or a cane, so I hop whenever I can. When I can’t, I walk with an old man’s limp. My left arm was in a sling when I left the infirmary. I slipped that off before stepping into the elevator. The arm may be useless for now, but I’d rather no one else know it.

After I woke from the coma, I spent two days strapped to a hospital bed. Aside from a few delightful chats with Gwendolyn, my only entertainment was a series of sponge baths that didn’t live up to my expectations. Mandel never once paid me a visit. But now that I’ve been released, I see he’s left me a homecoming gift. My computer is running and there’s a new folder sitting on the desktop. I laugh out loud when I see the label he’s given it: when you’re ready. Who knew a psychopath could be so corny? It sounds like the title of a 1970s sex-ed pamphlet for girls. But I doubt Mandel wants to warn me about the dangers of teenage fornication. The folder must contain information about my father. It may even be the proof he killed Jude. As curious as I am, I won’t open the file. If I’m lucky, I’ll have a chance to make use of it later. But I finally know who I want to be. I want to be the person who destroys the Mandel Academy.

The question that’s been eating away at me for forty-eight hours is, how? When I wasn’t being probed by the infirmary’s doctors, I sent my mind in search of answers. I tried to relive each day of the last four months—and replay every conversation I’ve ever had with Mandel. I must have seen or heard something that would help me blow this whole place sky-high. But I still don’t know what it was. All I have is a single clue. Jude was right—Mandel does have a blind spot. My thoughts kept returning to the night Lucas and I tried to escape. Mandel assumed I’d been running for my life. It never even dawned on him that I had been trying to save Lucas. He called my actions illogical. He couldn’t understand them. I guess risking your ass to help someone else makes no sense to a man who fantasizes about murdering millions.

So the academy’s leader is a nut job with a limited understanding of human psychology. It’s an interesting piece of data, but I have no idea how to make use of it. Unfortunately, a lack of inspiration is hardly my biggest problem. I’m crippled, outnumbered, and there’s a computer chip in my head. And there’s always a chance that my own DNA could turn against me. All I can do is hope that Mandel is wrong about the predator gene. Because if I stay in control, I know I’ll make the right choices. I’ll die before I fight like my father did. But I’d rather do something spectacular. And I’m stuck here until I figure out what that’s going to be.

I’m not one of Mandel’s predators, but I am a Dux, and my new duties must be addressed immediately. Gwendolyn keeps complaining that we’re far behind schedule. The next semester begins in two days. The Beauty Pageant will take place tomorrow night, and I still haven’t had my sneak peek at the newbies. Gwendolyn said she’d give me a debrief over lunch. It’s just past noon, and I’m eager to get to the cafeteria before the Wolves arrive. I don’t want to parade my new limp in front of them. But showering isn’t the simple operation it once was. I clean only the parts that are already reeking. While I mow through two weeks of stubble, I check my new battery-powered, cordless alarm clock and see that I’m running late.

Gwendolyn is sitting on her own, her face lit by the glow of the tablet computer in her hands. She’s chosen a table in the far corner of the cafeteria so I’ll have to hobble past every student at the academy. Gwendolyn wants them all to get a good look at me. I’m wounded and vulnerable. I start to expect an ambush the second I set foot in the lunchroom. The Wolves have gathered at two tables near the jumbo-sized screen that displays the new rankings. Ella is wedged between Caleb and Leila. I scan the rankings list and see that she’s taken Ivan’s place at number 12. My own name is all the way at the top. The Wolves watch as I limp across the room. I give them the finger with my good hand. No one snarls or growls. All but one of them glance back down at their trays. Ella keeps her eyes on me. It must be my imagination, but it almost looks like she’s smiling.

At first I’m baffled. I’ve given Austin, Leila, Caleb, and Julian every reason to kill me. The four of them could rip me to shreds before the lunch on their plates has time to cool. It’s possible that Mandel ordered his pets not to pounce. But I’m starting to think that there might be another reason they haven’t attacked. Before I was Dux, the whole pack would have benefited if I’d been eliminated. Now that I have the title, one of the Wolves stands to gain much more from my death. Caleb is number 2 in the rankings. He’ll still be seventeen in September—too young to graduate—which means he’s here for another year. If I die and Gwendolyn heads to Harvard, he’ll be named the school’s Dux. But his friends won’t help him because they all want the top place for themselves. Not a single Wolf will sacrifice for the sake of the pack. They’d rather suffer under a leader they despise. That means even though I’m at my weakest, I’m safer here than I’ve ever been.

I always thought the tracking chips were what kept the Wolves in their cage. Now I can see I was wrong. Even the most advanced technology couldn’t stop a pack of twelve brilliant beasts. Together, they could find a way to beat the chips. But Wolves aren’t team players. None of them could escape on their own—and they won’t work together. They’re each too busy trying to win the big prize. They’ll never stop playing Mandel’s game. And they’ll never realize that they’re nothing but pawns.

When Gwendolyn spots me approaching, she hops up and kisses my cheek. “How do you like being a gimp?” she whispers sweetly in my ear.

My grin becomes a wince as I lower my aching body onto the stool opposite hers. “Look, Fang, why don’t we put an end to this bullshit. You don’t want to be with me. And I’m not interested in cuddling up with a bitch that bites. Now that we’re both Dux, I don’t see any reason to keep putting on a show for the underachievers.”

“We can’t stop.” She says it through her teeth.

“Sure we can. Just tell Mandel that you gave me the boot. He’s probably figured out that you hate me. You haven’t been doing a very good job of hiding it lately.”

Gwendolyn leans forward, her hands pressed flat against the table like she’s about to spring across it and eat me alive. “Let me explain something to you, Flick. Mr. Mandel knows exactly how much I loathe you, but it doesn’t make any difference. You’re my big project this semester. Lucas was my last assignment. I was supposed to help the little wuss grow a pair of balls, but I failed. This is my last chance to graduate. If you screw up, I’m never getting out of this building.”

I’m almost disappointed in Gwendolyn. I thought she was savvier than this. “Mandel is full of shit. . . .”

Gwendolyn grabs the wrist of my injured arm. Shut up! she mouths as her nails puncture my skin.

I pull her painted claws out of my flesh. “You think I care if he’s listening? You didn’t fail your last project. You were set up. Mandel never expected Lucas to kill that airline CEO. You were given an assignment you couldn’t complete so you’d be desperate to prove yourself the next time around. Mandel knew I was going to be your project this semester, and he wanted you to be willing to do whatever he asked.”

Gwendolyn sticks out her lower lip like she’s mocking a child. “What difference does it make if he tricked me? Are you trying to tell me that life isn’t fair? Are you really that pathetic?”

It seems like a good time to test my new theory, so I reach for the tablet computer and type out a note.

Why should we have to play Mandel’s little games? You and I are the best of the best. We could take over this place if we put our heads together.

“And what if we did?” Gwendolyn asks. She’s choosing her words carefully. As much as she despises me, she won’t say anything that might condemn me. “You want me to believe that we’d live happily ever after? I’m not stupid. I know you’d find some way to get rid of me. If I didn’t get to you first.” She thinks my proposal was nothing more than a ploy—and an incredibly lame one at that.

I decide to give it another shot, just to be sure. “Why would I want to get rid of you, Gwendolyn? We could be invincible together. Even Mandel thinks we make a great team. He’s letting us share the Dux title, isn’t he?”

She replies in a whisper so soft that the words dissolve into the air. “Yes, and I’d kill you right now if I could. I didn’t work my ass off for three years to share. And if you keep talking like this, we’ll both end up dead. Do you understand? So shut your mouth and smile for the idiots.”

I give her my toothiest grin.

“Good. Now let’s get down to business.” She shoves the tablet computer back across the table. I catch it just before it flies over the edge.

The form on the screen contains a few fascinating facts about a kid named Max. He’s six foot four, 218 pounds. He just turned sixteen, and he’s spent the last two years in juvie. It says he was convicted of four counts of aggravated assault, but it doesn’t elaborate. There’s no photograph of Max, but the description almost makes me nostalgic. He sounds just like dear, departed, decapitated Ivan. At the bottom of Max’s profile, there’s a little box labeled type. It contains a plus mark.

“Scroll down. There’s information on all six new students,” Gwendolyn says.

“What does this mean?” I ask, pointing to the type box. It must mean Max is a member of the 1 percent. A psychopath, a born predator. But I’m curious to find out if Gwendolyn knows.

My question was perfectly reasonable, and yet Gwendolyn snorts as if it’s proof I’m an imbecile. “It means Max has the kind of blood you can donate to anyone. If he dies, the school will store his blood in case another student needs a transfusion. There’s usually a kid in each class who has the right type. I have it too.”

“Interesting. But why the plus mark? The ‘universal donor’ blood type is O negative.”

“Why are you asking me?” Gwendolyn demands.

“Just making conversation,” I reply as I scroll through the files. There are three females—Flora, Violet, and June—and two more males—Orson and Hugo. Of the six, only Max has a plus sign in the type box. “When do we get to inspect the fresh meat?”

“After lunch. Mr. Mandel has arranged an exhibition.”

First we get bread, then a circus. Mandel knows how to keep his top people happy. “You mean a fight? Like the time I kicked Ivan’s ass for your viewing pleasure?”

“Yes. But today it’s not just for fun. Mr. Mandel told us to pay close attention. There’s something strange going on with this Incubation Group. He wants to see what we think.”

“Strange? In what way?”

“He didn’t say, and I’m not a mind reader,” Gwendolyn snaps. “Why do you keep asking all these retarded questions?”

She’s really starting to piss me off. “You know, darling, you might try being more pleasant,” I warn her. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure you flunk out of school. And I’ve seen what Mandel does to the kids who don’t graduate. I bet he’d love to take a cranial saw to your pretty little skull.”

• • •

The elevator gates open, and we enter the Incubation Suites. The name finally makes sense to me now. I was imagining babies and birds when I should have been thinking tenth-grade biology. The incubation period starts when you catch a disease. It ends when you begin to show the first symptoms.

Gwendolyn uses a card key to unlock one of the two Employee-Only doors that I remember from my own stay in the Suites. Just as I suspected, behind the first door is a set of stairs leading up to the glass-enclosed catwalk.

“What’s behind door number two?” I ask, pointing down the hall. “A lady or a tiger?”

“Storage, you dolt,” my tour guide responds. “That’s where they keep all the furniture they’re always moving around.” I can’t even tell if she got my joke. A month ago, Gwendolyn would have laughed just to humor me. Now she only has two settings—silent and snarling.

When we reach the top of the stairs, she grabs a remote control from its cradle on the wall. The device has a single red button, and Gwendolyn keeps her thumb on it as we stride toward our destination. She must be worried I’ll snatch her precious remote away, but I’m too entertained by this rare behind-the-scenes glimpse of the Mandel Academy. Walking down the catwalk is like floating through the open air. You’re so high up you can’t help but feel like a god.

Gwendolyn clicks the red button before we enter the gym. The stretch of catwalk in front of us shimmers. The glass looks a shade milkier, but we’ll have a perfectly clear view of Mandel’s “exhibition.”

“Max, June. On the mat!” I recognize the voice of my former self-defense instructor.

Far below, seven people assume their positions. Two of them will be facing each other in battle. But it doesn’t appear to be a fair match. One of the combatants is a beast of a boy. The other is a tall, willowy girl with jet-black hair pulled up in a bun.

I take a step toward the glass, and my own ghostly reflection comes into view. My mouth is open, and my good hand is preparing to wave. My teeth almost touch, and my tongue presses against the top of my mouth, but Joi’s name never makes it past my lips. I watch my hand fall to my side. The only thing I hear is the sound of my heart trying to break free from my chest.

I thought I’d forgotten her, but I didn’t even need to see her face. I would have known her by the curl of her hair, the shade of her skin, the curve of her spine, the length of her fingers. Nothing about her has changed. She’s the girl I watched treading water. The girl who smiles in her sleep. The girl who didn’t need to be told how much I loved her.

The girl I deserted and betrayed is down there on the mat. Mandel has brought me here to watch her fight one of his predators. I won’t let Joi get slaughtered today. But even if she survives this sick exhibition, it’s only a matter of time before she knows what I’ve done. She’ll hear about Gwendolyn. She’ll discover just what it takes to be Dux at this school. And she’ll hate me even more than she already does.

But that doesn’t matter. Joi’s clearly been brought here to die. I thought I could take whatever Mandel threw at me. I’d endure the beatings and battle his Wolves. I’d make him believe that I was his masterpiece. Then I’d graduate and destroy the academy. I thought this time, I was willing to do anything. Now Mandel will know that it’s all just an act. Because there’s one thing that I will not do. Not even to save the world from a monster. I won’t let Joi die.

“Who is she?” I try to make the question sound casual.

“That’s June,” Gwendolyn replies, and I realize I should have kept my mouth shut. “I wouldn’t get too attached. She won’t last long at this school. She doesn’t even have a criminal record. But Mr. Mandel wanted to give her a shot. He says she had a very interesting childhood. But who didn’t, right?”

“Where did she grow up?” I ask, wishing I’d paid more attention to June’s profile.

“What do you care?” Gwendolyn demands. She almost sounds jealous.

“I thought we’re supposed to figure out what’s going on with the group. Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that Mandel would make a girl fight a guy the size of a grizzly bear?”

Gwendolyn reluctantly pulls the tablet computer out of her handbag and scrolls through June’s profile. “She grew up in Bosnia. Says here her father was some kind of war criminal.”

“Does it mention her last name?”

This time Gwendolyn doesn’t even bother to check. “No,” she replies.

I’m holding my breath when the fight kicks off. I force myself to stay calm. I need to wait for the right moment to intervene. When Joi’s in real danger, I’ll clear the catwalk glass. That’s how Gwendolyn ended my battle with Ivan. But I can’t act a second too soon or I’ll risk looking desperate. If Mandel suspects that I still have feelings for Joi, her fate may be sealed.

The first time Max lunges at Joi, I almost tackle Gwendolyn for the remote control. I resist the urge long enough to see Joi gracefully step to one side, grab the beast by his elbow, and flip him onto his back. Max doesn’t seem surprised, and I begin to wonder if they’ve fought before. He immediately leaps to his feet and mounts a second attack. This time Joi sends him skidding facedown across the mat. She’s obviously been trained in some form of judo. And she’s good. Really good. Five minutes into the battle, Max’s torso is drenched in sweat, and his chest is heaving. Every time Joi throws him, it takes him longer to recover. She should go on the offense. One vicious kick would bring the beast to his knees. But Joi simply refuses to fight.

“The girl’s a loser,” Gwendolyn observes coldly. “She just defends. She won’t attack.”

“Looks to me like she’s winning,” I counter.

“For now. But as soon as June makes one mistake, she’s dead.” I see a self-satisfied smirk appear on Gwendolyn’s face, and I know she doesn’t mean beaten. She’s actually waiting to watch Joi die.

“Has anyone ever been killed in the Incubation Suites?” I ask.

“If not, there’s a first time for everything,” Gwendolyn responds, keeping her eyes on the action. “I only saved Ivan because I thought he’d be useful. But June is worthless. Maybe you’ve got a hard-on for her, but I couldn’t care less if she makes it upstairs.”

“You’re such a charmer,” I say as I slide a bit closer to Gwendolyn.

“It’s a gift,” she replies, edging away.

The contest continues for another ten minutes—long enough for my hope to build beyond reason. And then Joi finally makes a fatal error. Her hair breaks loose from its bun, and black curls spring in every direction. She should tie it back immediately, but she doesn’t. And the next time Max lunges, he gets ahold of a hunk of it. He drags Joi to his chest and wraps a massive arm around her neck. I can see his bicep flex as he starts to squeeze.

Gwendolyn is watching with such glee that she’s forgotten to guard the remote. When I pluck it out of her hands and click the button, she responds by karate-chopping my injured arm. It’s a shameless move, and it’s not very smart. One good limb is all I need. I send the girl flying.

Gwendolyn slams against the side of the enclosure and drops to the floor with a loud thump. They must have heard it down in the gym because five sets of eyes are now trained on the catwalk’s clear glass. The instructor and four of the newbies are all staring up at me. The other two students are still locked in mortal combat. Max hasn’t let Joi go. Then without any warning, a foot shoots out and slams into the back of his knee. Max’s leg buckles, and he loses his balance. When he topples, Joi rolls away, out of his reach. I’m pretty sure I’m the only person who saw what just happened, and I can barely believe my own eyes. Another newbie rescued Joi. And it wasn’t one of the athletic-looking specimens standing on the sidelines. Joi’s savior is a girl who resembles an overfed chipmunk.

Joi jumps to her feet and casts a quick glance at the kid who helped her. Then she looks up at the catwalk. Her face gives nothing away. I’d understand if she didn’t recognize me. I’m not the person she used to know. But Joi is still the most magnificent girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Get a good look,” Gwendolyn sneers behind me.

• • •

The worst thirty-six hours of my entire existence culminates with the Beauty Pageant. I have not slept or eaten since I last saw Joi. I’ve been searching in vain for some way to rescue her. But I can’t think of anything that won’t put her life in more danger. Mandel must know what I did in the Incubation Suites’ gym. He wants to see what I’m going to do next.

I have no option but to wait with the crowd for the pageant to begin. When the elevator arrives, Joi is the last one to exit. My gaze never leaves her as the newbies are led to their lodgings. I’m glad the academy’s groomers let her keep her hair long. I hope it still smells of jasmine. The other contestants are dressed to the nines, but Joi has chosen a simple black shift dress. I wonder if my classmates see what I do—the last person on earth who should be here.

When the newbies have vanished into their rooms, the rest of the students rush to one end of the balcony, where Caleb is waiting to take their bets. I follow the gamblers, hoping for a chance to slip inside Joi’s room while everyone else is distracted. I’m outside her dorm, and I see her. She’s standing in the doorway as though she knew I’d come. She purses her lips and blows me a kiss—right before she slides the door shut in my face.

I feel a hand grip my arm. Someone is leading me away. “Come on, Flick,” I hear Gwendolyn say. “Let’s go have some fun.”

The mob goes quiet as we approach. I don’t recall Gwendolyn betting at the beginning of last semester. But tonight she’s carrying a scrap of paper, which she presents to Caleb. He unfolds it and looks up at her. The others are breathlessly awaiting the verdict. Gwendolyn is the Dux. She knows things that the rest of them do not.

“Win or lose?” Caleb asks.

“Lose,” Gwendolyn says with a smile. “Tell them who.”

“One vote for June to lose,” Caleb calls out to the crowd. The Wolves among them smell blood, and that drives all the killers half-wild.

I see Ella standing nearby with a pad and pen. “May I?” I ask.

Her eyebrows are much more expressive now that she’s let them grow back. I wonder what she thinks she knows. She doesn’t say anything as she hands over the pad and pen. Someone else witnesses the exchange and quickly hushes the frenzied gamblers. I pass my bet to Caleb. I’ve written the name JUNE in letters large enough for everyone to read.

“To lose?” Caleb asks.

“To win,” I correct him.

If there’s no way to escape, I’ll just have to help Joi survive. And that’s going to take a set of flaming brass balls.