Page 20

“Pretentiousness,” said Jack with derision.

“What’s the text?” Greer tried again.

“Oh,” said Jack. “It’s from an old book I found in the S.C.Y.T.H.E. archives about how the company works and stuff.”

Greer nodded and dug back into the image, nibbling a nail.

“Have you heard of this ‘Room of Records’?”

Jack shook his head.

“Well,” said Greer, “apparently that’s where this Master List is kept, assuming this information is still accurate. How old is the book?”

“It was published in 1887,” said Jack.

Greer gave a heavy sigh. “Great.”

“But that’s like a drop in the bucket when you think about how long death’s been around, right?” Jack added quickly. “Plus, S.C.Y.T.H.E. has been in operation since the dawn of civilization, so that’s actually pretty modern by the company’s standards.”

He couldn’t tell whether or not that was enough to make Greer feel any more optimistic about the situation, but she went back to the photo all the same.

“Assuming this room still exists, you’ll get to it from between the bathroom and the break room.”

“Which ones?”

“Which ones what?”

“This branch of S.C.Y.T.H.E. has five floors, and each floor has bathrooms,” said Jack. “There’re at least three break rooms, too. It doesn’t say which ones?”

“It doesn’t,” said Greer.

“We could go back and check them all out,” offered Dale.

Jack shook his head. “You can’t come back with me, bud. It’s too risky,” he said to Dale. “You were already caught once. Besides, I can’t go nosing around the other floors without a reason to be there.”

“What about office blueprints?” said Greer. “Those should be able to tell us where to look.”

Jack tried to blink the hearts out of his eyes at the suggestion. Blueprints. Yes. That was the perfect way to find this hidden room without raising suspicion. If they were anywhere, they’d be in the archives, most likely in Section 301 D. As it happened, Jack already had an easy way in, in the form of an elderly startled lemur. He’d just have to flirt a little harder. He’d wear one of Margaret’s most scandalous skirt suits into the office on Monday. Maybe the baby blue one with the tartan print. It hit just below the knee and went perfectly with a pair of brown-and-tan heeled oxfords Jack only pulled out when he really wanted to dazzle. Gerard wouldn’t know what hit him.

11

Éclairs

March 2002

The great thing about schools being forever underfunded was that they required students and families to raise money to prevent the cafeteria ceiling from falling down again. That meant coming home with boxes of chocolates or cookies intended for selling but used for eating. Or auctions where covetable Lego sets could mysteriously disappear. Or an annual spring bake sale featuring some of the best and sugariest confections the local parents could dream up. Every year, that bake sale rolled around like clockwork, and every year, each member of the You Again gang was given only enough pocket money to purchase one treat apiece. This was, of course, depressingly inadequate. There were pies in every color and filling Jack could ever hope for. Cakes that had so many layers they nearly reached his chin from the display tables. Cookies with chocolate chips or chocolate chunks or chocolate frosting. Or raisins, but he decided not to think about those. That he had to choose only one option among them was an injustice, and after years of unnecessary suffering, Jack decided to take a stand.

The school bake sale took place on the first Saturday of March. Friday was load-in day, which meant the gym sat empty of people but full of baked goods from school dismissal that afternoon until midmorning the following day, the smells of rubber and sweat and athletic disappointment replaced by vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. It was now nine p.m. on Load-In Friday, and Jack wore black from head to toe.

Despite the hour and the lingering chill in the air, Fort You Again was warm. Everyone sat shoulder to shoulder as Carter unrolled the school blueprints he’d found in the library: the initial spark that had set this plan alight. The gym was always locked on Load-In Friday after the raccoon incident of ’98, which rendered it firmly out of bounds and off Jack’s radar, but all it took was one rainy recess stuck indoors and suddenly Mrs. Leigh’s Oreo cheesecake was within his grasp. Carter laid the blueprints on the cold earth that acted as the fort floor and pointed to a line among the many other lines that crisscrossed the page.

“That’s the air duct that leads directly from Principal Singh’s office to the gym. It also goes off to the boys’ locker room, so you’ll have to stay left, but you’d be able to smell it if you took a wrong turn.” This Carter said to Jules, who was by far the smallest of the group in the days before puberty hit, and thus the best suited for duct spelunking. She nodded diligently, pigtails bouncing with her determination.

“Got it.”

“The rest of us will be just outside the gym doors,” said Jack. “All you have to do is unlock them and we’ll nab the goods.”

Another nod. She was ready. She always was. Nothing Jack asked of her ever seemed to faze Jules. She was like a hardened military official packaged in pink overalls and nose freckles. At nearly nine, she was the youngest of the group, but it was a fact Jack often forgot.