How to Lead a Life of Crime by Kirsten Miller
“You will be soon,” Gwendolyn says. She doesn’t live on my floor, but she exits the elevator when I do. I get the impression that she’s planning to follow me all the way back to my room. I stop, blocking her path.
“Look, this has all been extremely educational, but I need to take a shower.”
I don’t think Gwendolyn heard me. She’s watching someone at the other end of the hall. I look over my shoulder and see Lucas opening the door to his room.
“You live next to Lucas?” she asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Have you spoken to him?”
“Briefly.”
Gwendolyn shakes her head as if suddenly saddened. “You know, he’s probably the smartest kid here. He won the Beauty Pageant three semesters back. I tried to help him, too. But I guess it happens.”
“What?” I ask, when she doesn’t follow up on the point.
“I guess some prodigies never live up to their potential.”
We stand for a moment, engaged in a silent game called “How Much Do You Know?” Then she places a hand on my bicep.
“Keep me company at dinner tonight?” she asks.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell her.
• • •
Anything, anything. You have to do anything. I will learn how to blackmail congressmen. I will study all forms of fraud. I will let them put a chip in my arm. I will allow my DNA to be sampled. I thought I was prepared to do anything. But all it took was a pretty girl in a sports bra to make me question my resolve.
I’ve been sitting on the floor of my shower for a very long time. The steam has fogged up the doors. It’s been weeks since I had this kind of privacy. Dinner must have ended ages ago. My room is probably locked by now. I should be thinking about Gwendolyn—trying to figure out what she really wants. Trying to determine whether she can help me while I’m here. Figuring out what I’ll say when she asks why I stood her up. But right now, I couldn’t give a damn about Gwendolyn. I’m doing my best to conjure Joi.
I’ve been making a list of all the things I remember. The scent of jasmine and cocoa butter. Her fearlessness and the way she never flinched at the sight of blood. The sight of her naked limbs treading water in a cold plunge pool. The lumps in her mattress and the feel of her skin. There’s so much more, but it’s not nearly enough. I said goodbye, and I guess goodbye really does mean forgetting. Joi is already starting to fade. I knew this might happen, but I never thought a girl could disappear so damn quickly. I can’t bear to lose any more of her now. I wish it was safe to write down everything I still know. That way I might be able to keep Joi real. Because I’m starting to worry that I may have imagined her. Maybe she was a hallucination like Peter Pan. Maybe when I was weak and scared and all alone, I dreamed up a Wendy to take care of me.
I wish I knew her last name. But I don’t. The one time I asked, it must have sounded like a joke. I thought the less I knew about Joi, the easier it would be to slip away. Now I’m desperately clinging to the little I have left of her. Fantasy or not, I can’t let her go.
I don’t think I’ll be real without her.
I turn off the tap just in time to hear the door of my room slide open and shut. I don’t even bother with a towel. I rush out of the bathroom sopping wet, hoping to catch Peter Pan. I’ll admit he was right all along. I’ll ask him what he thinks I should do. But he’s not there. No one is. There’s just a tray on my desk that’s loaded with food. I pick up the note tucked under a bread plate. You need to eat, it says. The handwriting isn’t obviously feminine, but somehow I know it belongs to Gwendolyn.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
* * *
LIFE AMONG THE WOLVES
There are three kinds of students at the Mandel Academy. Most of the kids belong to a group I call the Androids. Though they’re not exactly a group. It’s not like they’ve banded together. In fact, they’d rather not be Androids at all. Everyone here wants to be special. And it’s easy to see that some of the students were simply born that way. The rest have to work to stand out from the crowd. And that’s what the Androids do. They study all hours of the day, hoping to join the top tier of students—or desperately struggling to stay out of the bottom. They pray that sheer effort can make up for their lack of raw talent. I’ve never seen people work so hard, but I have no trouble understanding why they’re afraid to stop.
If your grades start to plummet, you may end up joining the Ghosts. I didn’t invent the label, but it certainly fits. At the Mandel Academy, Ghosts aren’t just shunned—they’re completely invisible. When students fall to the bottom of the class, they no longer exist. The instructors won’t acknowledge them. The other kids avoid them as if the condition might be contagious. We all have one week of immunity left this semester, but everyone knows who’ll be getting the boot. And it’s easier to pretend that they’re already gone.
There’s not much point in feeling sorry for the Ghosts. I suppose they’ll be fine once they’re back on the outside. A few of them appear to be fairly intelligent. And having done their time in the Incubation Suites, most are attractive and well-spoken. But they don’t belong here. They lack the killer instincts that are necessary in order to thrive at a place like this. You’d think, given the atmosphere, that some of the Ghosts would be eager to leave. But Felix seems to be the only one counting the days left to freedom. I hear he’s failing all of his classes, but every time I see him, he couldn’t look happier. It gives me a perverse pleasure to watch him smile at the Androids. They never know how to respond. I just wish Aubrey shared Felix’s hunger for freedom. She once insisted she wouldn’t be leaving, but everyone knows she’ll be expelled. I’m not sure how she feels about that. I’m not sure Aubrey feels anything anymore.
I’ve never thought of myself as “special.” And before I got here, I don’t think anyone would have used the term to describe me. Yet I’m well on my way to becoming a member of the most elite group at the Mandel Academy. Three weeks into the semester, I’m the number-one student in all of my classes. Much to my surprise, my gifts aren’t limited to pick-pocketing and petty theft. It seems I have a real talent for top-level crime. I’ve planned hypothetical coups in third-world countries. I stole a fortune from the postal employees’ pension fund. I’ve engineered hostile takeovers of small mom-and-pop companies, which I later sold for scrap. Lucian Mandel warned me that life would only get more difficult after I left the Incubation Suites. For once he was wrong. As soon as I accepted that I won’t be getting out of here for a while, I realized there are worse places to be. I’m sure the academy feels like hell to most people, but it suits me just fine. If I have to play Mandel’s game, I’ll play to win. And who knows—if I keep up the good work, I might end up graduating in September after two short semesters. Then I’ll have the proof—and the revenge I’ve craved. I just hope that my father has been monitoring my progress. If he has, he’s gotta be starting to worry. Sometimes I even scare myself.
When the Immunity Phase ends, the school-wide rankings will be announced. I’ll be shocked if I don’t make the top three. Gwendolyn has informed everyone that she expects there to be a new Dux next week. She doesn’t seem to mind, but her friends certainly do. The twelve top-ranking students live cushy lives. Right now, they’re the school’s celebrities, but if I join the pack, one of them will be banished to the Androids. And everyone knows that only nine will be allowed to graduate.
Caleb, Leila, Julian, and Austin probably don’t have much cause for concern. They’re numbers 2 through 5. But I know they’ve been searching for ways to sabotage my rise to the top. I started thinking of them as the Wolves when I noticed that one of them always seemed to be stalking me, waiting for a chance to pounce. Gwendolyn made sure none of them ever got close enough. And now that it looks like I may soon be their leader, they’re as charming and playful as a litter of puppies. They don’t dare bare their fangs until my back is turned.
Gwendolyn is different. Maybe it’s because she’s held the Dux title for two years running. She??
I haven’t told Gwendolyn what I really think of her clique. Lucas is the only person in whom I’ve confided. Still, I wouldn’t call him my friend. Lucas and I never speak during the day. In fact, he rarely acknowledges my presence. And I’ve never been invited into his room. But he’ll often join me on the balcony in the last few minutes before curfew when the other students are busy preparing for lockdown. He’s the only kid at the academy who can’t easily be labeled. He’s not in the top twelve, but he hasn’t hit rock bottom yet. He’s close, though. I’ve seen him talking to Ghosts, and he certainly doesn’t go out of his way to please the people in charge. Our Art of Persuasion instructor despises him. Lucas can find a perfectly law-abiding solution to almost any dilemma, and it drives Mr. Martin insane. Whenever Lucas is in the room, the old backslapper even seems to forget how much he hates me.
“I heard you may be the Dux soon,” Lucas said to me last night as we stood in the shadows. We weren’t exactly hidden, but you’d have had to look hard to see us. “You’ll officially be a member of the in-crowd.”
“You mean the Wolves?”
I’d never heard Lucas laugh before. “You got that one right. That’s exactly what they are.”
Then I asked the question I’d been saving for just the right moment. “You used to be one of them, didn’t you? Gwendolyn told me you won the Beauty Pageant a while back.”
“Ah, sweet little Gwendolyn. A few months ago she was trying to seduce me. Now I’m the hero of her cautionary tales.”
“You and Gwendolyn had a thing?” I don’t think I was jealous—just surprised to discover that I wasn’t the first.
“Yes, but it didn’t last very long. She found out that I’m not her type. Gwendolyn is the Queen of the Wolves, and I didn’t have what it took to run with the pack.”
“What happened?”
Lucas didn’t answer. Instead, he scanned the walls.
“What were you just looking for?” I asked when he’d finished.
“I never have figured out where they hide all the bugs.”
“Do you really think someone is listening?” I mouthed.
“All technology majors take courses in surveillance. Last semester, I tried to conduct an experiment out here, but the acoustics are terrible. The balcony’s definitely bugged, but I’m not sure how much the mikes can pick up if we keep our voices low.” He took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Here’s what happened. I had a lot of fun playing a bad guy for a while. But then all of this stopped being a game. One day it got real, and that’s when the Wolves found out that I wasn’t one of them.” When Lucas suddenly spun around to face me, it felt like he’d wanted to catch me off guard. “You aren’t one of them either. But you might stand a chance if you manage to bump Gwendolyn out of top place. The Dux has a lot of power. And it doesn’t hurt that you’re an incredible actor. You’re doing a very good job of pretending you belong here. You almost had me fooled too.”
“What makes you think I’m pretending?”
“Aubrey told me.”
No good deed ever goes unpunished. “You guys are friends?”
“I just thought someone should talk to her,” Lucas said.
I didn’t let him glimpse my embarrassment. I tried to reach out to her, but I should have tried harder. I should have been keeping an eye on Aubrey. That’s what Joi would have wanted. “Do you think Aubrey’s ready to go home?”
If Lucas answered, I didn’t hear him. The dorm doors started to shut, and I barely made it inside.
• • •
Yesterday’s conversation is now playing on an endless loop inside my head. I’m studying the beautiful girl who’s sprawled across a divan, reading a book while she absentmindedly twists her golden hair into a knot. I don’t know why I never thought of Gwendolyn as Queen of the Wolves—even though she’s clearly their leader. And as usual, her subjects have gathered around her. We’re all in a lounge that’s reserved for the top twelve students—a large, sunlit chamber inside one of the building’s two towers. I didn’t even realize the lounge existed until Gwendolyn brought me up here today. I shouldn’t be allowed inside before the new rankings are released. But no one is stupid enough to complain.
The room’s furnishings may be posh—leather seats and velvet sofas—but the lounge has a homey, lived-in feeling. The floorboards bear grooves etched by rearranged chairs and dimples left by girls’ high-heeled shoes. A century-old portrait hangs above the flickering fireplace. The painting’s obese subject is either the school’s founder, Madame Mandelbaum, or one of New York’s first female impersonators. Still, it doesn’t detract from the salon-like atmosphere. Generations of Wolves must have gotten their first taste of the good life in this very room. They probably stood at the windows and surveyed the city they’d be setting out to conquer. As far as I know, this is the only place in the school with a view. You can see the outside world from up here. And it can see you.
I took a quick peek but didn’t linger. I was far more intrigued by the listing towers of books propped against the walls. It seems to be the sole library at the Mandel Academy, and I thought I’d find some reading material that could give me hope for the human race. But all the books here are just outdated texts from decades-old classes. I thumbed through a few, and the only thing that brought a smile to my face was a sheet of yellowing paper that fell out of a manual for an old Mac PowerBook 100. Some former student had typed up a list of twenty personality traits and labeled it Hare Psychopathy Checklist. The title instantly grabbed my attention. I learned about the checklist in a criminal justice class back at military school. The test is usually given to prison inmates who are suspected of being dangerous psychopaths. The subject gets a 1 or 2 for each psychopathic personality trait he possesses (pathological lying, inability to feel guilt, impulsive behavior). Then the 1s and 2s are all added up. The highest score you can get is 40. That’s Ted Bundy and Charles Manson territory.
There was a column of numbers jotted down on the right-hand side of the paper I found. Someone must have felt the need to evaluate a student here at the academy. The kid who got tested received a rather impressive 38. At the bottom of the page was a message scrawled in purple marker.
See? You’re the crazy one, you redheaded freak.
I’ve been attempting to translate the phrase into Latin. If I ever succeed, I shall make it my personal motto. But it’s difficult to concentrate when you’re surrounded by Wolves. Caleb, the counterfeit aristocrat, is slouched in a leather club chair with his legs flung over one of the arms. He’s flipping through a history of the Sicilian Mafia, which he told me is required reading for all Human Resources majors. Leila’s fingers are flying across the keys of her computer. Gwendolyn says Leila is pursing a solitary career in technology because she can’t stand to be in the presence of men. I guess Julian doesn’t really qualify as a “man,” because she’s sitting so close to him that she might as well crawl onto his lap. He’s sketching the molecular structure of crack cocaine on a notepad. Some leisure studies majors are trained to be pimps, but Julian’s sole focus is the international dr
I thought Gwendolyn’s friends were trouble before I ever got to know them. Now that I’ve had a chance to observe them up close, I see how truly dangerous they could be. I may soon be their leader, but I doubt they’ll ever respect me. I’ll always have to watch my back. And yet each and every one of the Wolves is completely in awe of Gwendolyn.
She’s caught me staring at her. “What?” she inquires with a smile.
“Nothing,” I say, but I can’t pull my eyes away from her face. How did Little Red Riding Hood manage to conquer the Wolves?
“Hey, guys,” she calls out to the others. “Give us a few minutes, okay?”
And just like that, the four fiercest beasts at the Mandel Academy grab their things and trot right out of the room. This is not what I wanted. It’s been getting harder and harder to resist Gwendolyn’s advances.
“I’ve lured you into my lair, and now we’re alone,” she says when they’re gone. “Are you scared?”
My laugh doesn’t sound quite as confident as I’d like. “You’re pretty tough, but I think I could take you.”
“Are you sure you want to put up a fight?”
She’s slinking across the divan toward my chair. I stop her with a shake of my head.
“Not until I’m one of you,” I tell her. “Not until it’s official. I’m not going to risk my ranking for a piece of ass. Even an ass as attractive as yours.”
Gwendolyn sits back on her haunches and sighs. “That excuse is getting really tired, Flick. Why don’t you just tell me the truth? There’s another girl, isn’t there?”