How to Lead a Life of Crime by Kirsten Miller
Violet gasps when our instructor arrives. I recognize her as well. The woman used to be a talking head on one of the business channels my father liked to watch. A dark beauty who unnerved me because she never seemed to blink. She walks up to the blackboard and writes Ms. Smith in letters about a foot high. I think she’s a bit worried that someone might slip up and use her real name.
“So . . . what will be the most valuable natural resource in the second quarter of the twenty-first century?” Ms. Smith asks the class.
An Android hand shoots up. “Oil.”
“Perhaps,” says Ms. Smith. “But I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“Rare earth metals?” another Android offers.
“Possibly. Though you’d have to fight the Chinese for them. Any other answers? Let’s hear from some of the new students. Violet?”
“Gold,” says the girl sitting next to me.
“Always good to have around. How about you, June. What do you think?”
“Clean, fresh water.” It’s the first time I’ve heard Joi’s voice in four months. It’s still smooth and low, with no hint of anxiety.
Ms. Smith nods. “I happen to agree with that answer. But why did you choose it?”
“Because you can live without oil or earth metals, but no one can live without water.”
“But water is free, isn’t it?” Ms. Smith probes, playing devil’s advocate. “What’s going to make it so valuable?”
“It’s free here,” Joi says. “For now. While there’s still enough to go around. But in other parts of the world, it’s already disappearing, and the little that’s left tends to be polluted. When people’s children start dying of cholera and typhoid, they’ll do just about anything for clean water. I’ve seen it happen. There are companies all over the world trying to buy up freshwater supplies. And if I had the money, I’d buy one of them. In a few years, I’d be charging top dollar for something everyone in this country has been taking for granted.”
“Excellent answer,” Ms. Smith says. “I know a few Mandel alumni who’d be more than happy to back such a venture.”
“Then tell them to give me a call.” Even though she ends with a laugh, Joi’s response sounds less like a joke than a dare.
I can’t resist spinning around for a look. Because there’s no way in hell that the girl I knew on the Lower East Side could have ever come up with an answer like that. But unless Joi has an evil twin, that is Pitt Street’s former saint twirling her braid and pretending that I don’t exist.
“Brilliant, isn’t she?” I turn back to find Violet watching me.
“Yes.” No point in denying it.
“She said you’d be surprised,” Violet adds with a giggle.
• • •
Ms. Smith’s collagen-plumped lips have been moving nonstop for almost an hour, but I haven’t heard a single word of her lecture. Until now, I assumed there was only one possible explanation for Joi’s bizarre appearance at the Mandel Academy. I thought she’d been brought here against her will. I figured she was meant to be Mandel’s final test—the one that would prove whether my mutant gene had been activated.
But now I realize that there may be another possibility. Maybe Joi got a scholarship because Mandel wants to make her one of his monsters. Maybe he’s not going to give me the choice to trade my life for hers. Maybe he’s found another way to force me to watch the girl I love be destroyed.
I don’t think Joi would let him turn her into a predator. But I’ve never been very good at predicting what other people might do. The last shock I suffered came damn close to killing me. I doubt I could take another. And Mandel probably knows it.
• • •
After class, I wait outside on the balcony for Joi. She’s chatting with Ms. Smith in an obvious attempt to avoid me. But it’s lunchtime, and I’ll spend the whole goddamned hour here if need be. Then I spot Caleb boarding one of the elevators, and I remember the pageant. I start hopping down the hall. I need to be in the cafeteria when the results are revealed.
“Ah, just in time,” Caleb drones when he sees me limping toward the Wolves’ table. “I was beginning to think you had something better to do.”
“I knew he didn’t.” Gwendolyn pats the stool beside her. “That’s why I saved him a spot.”
“Thanks, Fang,” I say. No one laughs.
The friction between us must have been obvious before, but our Beauty Pageant bets made it official. Caleb is observing us with his usual bored expression. But I know he’s too smart to miss the opportunity that’s unfolding in front of him. If Gwendolyn and I take each other out, Caleb stands to inherit our title—and the lifelong rewards that come with it.
“Before we get started, I have an announcement,” I tell the Wolves. “It’s a new semester, which means it’s time to let bygones be bygones. You’re all welcome back to the tower lounge. In fact, your presence there will be mandatory every evening from this point forward.”
If Joi won’t let me get close enough to protect her, I’ll just have to keep Mandel’s assassins locked up whenever I can.
“And do you concur?” Caleb asks my co-Dux.
“Whatever.” Gwendolyn’s eager to move on. “So who won the pageant?”
“Max,” Caleb announces. No surprise there.
“And who lost?”
Caleb takes a leisurely bite of his sandwich before he answers. “Violet.”
“What about June?” Gwendolyn demands.
“She came in third,” Caleb says. “Seems Flick’s vote canceled yours out.”
“Flick doesn’t really think she’ll win,” Gwendolyn sneers. I wonder if she’s angry enough to do something stupid. “He voted for her because she used to be his girlfriend.”
The Wolves all freeze as if the scene has been paused. Then Julian laughs.
“Is that right?” Caleb marvels. I can almost hear his mind whirring away.
That’s when we see Joi. She’s standing at the entrance to the cafeteria, surveying the room. Twelve Wolves stare back at her. I can only imagine what she must think of us. Joi takes her place in the lunch line and strikes up a conversation with one of the lowliest Androids.
“Friendly, ain’t she?” Austin drawls with a mouthful of hamburger.
Leila’s whole body vibrates when she snickers.
“Maybe she’s campaigning for class president,” Gwendolyn smirks. “I can’t believe anyone actually voted for that loser to win the pageant. Who else besides her boyfriend thinks June’s going to make it past ranking day?”
No one says a word.
“Did any of these morons vote for June?” Gwendolyn asks Caleb.
“Votes are confidential,” Caleb says.
“No, they’re not!”
“They are now,” Caleb replies. “I run the pageant. I make the rules.”
When Gwendolyn slaps him, he responds with a single, lizard-like blink and returns to eating his sandwich.
• • •
The Wolves’ Den is packed. Gwendolyn and I are stationed at opposite ends of a long couch. There’s an empty space between us, but no one dares occupy it. The bad vibes are so strong that they would probably prove fatal. Then Caleb arrives and plops himself right down.
“Well! Looks like the semester is off to an interesting start,” he announces to no one in particular. But suddenly everyone is listening.
“Skip the theatrics, Caleb,” Gwendolyn growls. “Just tell us what you want to say.”
“Flick’s girlfriend, June. Turns out, she’s a human resources major.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” I correct him.
“Yes, I’ve noticed you two aren’t on speaking terms. . . .”
“Get to the point, Caleb,” Gwendolyn butts in.
“The point is that Mr. Mandel has put June in some very advanced classes. In fact, she and I have three together. I was surprised when I kept seeing her. I thought maybe she was being set up to fail. You know how our headmaster likes to throw a patsy into every Incubation Group.?
No, Violet is the one who’s been brought here to feed the Wolves. Just like Aubrey. I would have thought that much was obvious.
“Well? What’s your take?” asks Gwendolyn.
“June’s remarkable,” Caleb says. “Quite possibly the finest human resources student aside from yours truly.”
There’s a bruise on Caleb’s cheek where Gwendolyn slapped him at lunch. And yet he’s determined to keep taunting her. Which means he’s settled on a plan of action. Gwendolyn kills Joi. Flick kills Gwendolyn. Mandel kills Flick. Caleb is king. Seems like a long shot, but I guess it could work.
“Perhaps Flick could tell us a bit about his old love?” Caleb inquires.
I just grin and give him a wink. “F— off.”
“I should have known you weren’t the sort to kiss and tell. Does anyone here have any classes with June?” Caleb asks, addressing the other Wolves.
“I watched her spar in kickboxing,” Austin offers reluctantly. “She’s not bad.”
“Not bad?” Caleb scoffs. “I hear she could have kicked the other girl’s ass.”
“But she didn’t, did she?” Gwendolyn’s on to him too. “I can see straight through you, Caleb. Which means I always know when you’re full of shit. Someone go get that Max kid who just came up from the Suites. I think it’s time for a second opinion.”
A few minutes later, one of the lesser Wolves arrives with Max in tow. The kid is a born predator, but he’s in the presence of superior beasts. He should be avoiding our eyes and kissing our asses. But the cocky little pup seems to think he could take on all twelve of us. Either we’re not very impressive, or he’s not very bright.
Gwendolyn picks up on the dolt’s lack of deference. “Do you know who I am?” she asks him.
“You’re the Dux,” Max says. Then he gestures toward me. “So’s that guy.”
“You know the word, but do you know what it means?” Gwendolyn demands.
“It means you think you’re in charge.”
I nearly roll off the sofa I’m laughing so hard. Gwendolyn lurches forward, teeth bared, but Caleb sticks out an arm and holds her back. He’s getting bolder by the minute.
“Before Gwendolyn eats you alive, we would like to know what you think of one of the students from your Incubation Group,” Caleb says calmly. “June.”
“I don’t mess with her.” That’s unexpected. I hear genuine respect in Max’s voice. “She’s a witch.”
“A witch?” I ask.
“She has special powers.” I thought he was joking, but I see no trace of a grin.
“Interesting.” Caleb sits back and crosses his legs. “And what form do these powers take?”
“Huh?”
“What sort of stuff does she do?” I interpret.
“You know that chick Flora?”
It takes me a moment to put a face to the name. Flora was in Joi’s Incubation Group. A tall blonde with a Barbie-doll figure.
Even Caleb is struggling to make the connection. “Flora? One of the new students? What does she have to do with any of this?”
“She’s hot, right?” Max responds as if we’re all certain to agree. “So I thought Flora could be my girl for a while. But every time I tried to make my move, something crazy always happened.”
“Like what?” Caleb asks.
“One time a bookcase fell on top of me. A couple days later, I was in the gym and one of those five-pound dumbbells slammed into the back of my head. Knocked me out cold for a few minutes. Stuff like that.”
“And you think June was responsible? Did you actually see her do those things?”
“No. Sometimes she wasn’t even in the room. But she told me she’d put a curse on me. She’s not from here, you know. She’s from someplace where the women are all trained to be witches.” Max looks directly at me. “He knows it’s true. He was watching when I fought June the other day. I almost killed her, right? Then my knee gave out all of a sudden and June got away.”
“Why do you suppose June kept attacking you?” Caleb asks. “Did it have something to do with Flora? Was she protecting the girl for some reason?”
“No. June just said I needed to learn my place,” Max says with a shrug. “She told me she owns this school and everyone in it.”
Someone in the lounge starts laughing. It builds from a giggle into a full-blown howl. We all turn to see Ella, clutching her stomach as if her guts might spill out.
“What’s so funny?” Caleb asks.
“Oh shit! ” she wheezes. “I’ve heard that one before!”
I know where she heard it. It’s almost exactly the same thing I told Ivan the first time I saved Aubrey.
While the Wolves watch Ella, I feel Gwendolyn’s eyes on me. She knows too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
* * *
THE BATTLE FOR THE THRONE
The Wolves of the Mandel Academy have hunkered down. A witch has conjured a powerful storm, and we’re all waiting for the tempest to hit. Our instructors have taught us that destruction always brings opportunity. Fortunes were made in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. Careers were built on the wreckage of the World Trade Center. And now the Wolves are watching the skies and scheming. If the academy’s current order collapses, every one of the twelve best students intends to survive—and emerge from the rubble on top.
In the past four days, the Wolves have talked about nothing but Joi. And Joi talks to everyone but us. Whenever I see her, she’s always chatting with someone new. Androids in the lunchroom. Ghosts between classes. Joi refuses to respect the boundaries between the academy’s three groups. But every time I try to speak to her, she bolts before I get close. My injured leg is slowly healing, but I’m still not quick enough to catch her. All I can do is watch from a distance as she flouts every unwritten rule. The other students from her Incubation Group are almost as bold. They don’t seem to understand that their lives are at stake. Violet’s already flunking all six of her classes—but she’s still as chipper as the day we met. Flora, like countless pretty newbies before her, has had the misfortune to catch Austin’s eye. Yesterday, she responded to his crude advances with a swift, perfectly aimed kick to the groin. Orson and Hugo were on the scene within seconds. The three newbies never uttered a word, but the warning they delivered was loud and clear. If Austin messed with one of them, he’d have to answer to the rest.
Mandel knew that something strange was going on in the Suites. Whatever happened down there is now happening here. No one taught Joi’s Incubation Group how to behave once they got upstairs. Mandel must be watching, but so far he’s done nothing. I haven’t seen him, and I don’t think Gwendolyn has either. No orders have been issued, but the Wolves are predicting a bloodbath on rankings day.
The big question is what’s going to happen to our resident witch. Joi brought this chaos upon the academy. But there’s no longer any doubt of her gifts. She possesses the mind of a brilliant criminal, and she’s risen to first place in five of her classes. Gwendolyn claims Caleb let Joi take the lead in the three courses they share. I’m not so sure. Joi’s given me a real run for my money in Hidden Treasures. Between the two of us, we’ve made hypothetical billions on freshwater, rain forest lumber, and arctic oil. I never expected to find myself in competition with a girl who used to leave a receipt whenever she shoplifted a can of soup. But I suppose I don’t know much about Joi. In fact, it’s possible that I never really knew her at all.
Every evening in the Wolves’ Den, Caleb feeds the pack a slab of fresh gossip. Some of the rumors beggar belief. Caleb claims Joi was trained as a sniper and once worked as a nurse on an organ farm. But a few of Caleb’s other rumors are harder to ignore. He says she’s the daughter of a man who ran a detention center for women during the Bosnian War—a man whose crimes against humanity would put those of the most accomplished Mandel alumni to shame. There might be some truth to that tale. The academy’s profile said Joi grew up in Bosnia. She’s the right age to have been born during the bloody Yugosl
I’ll give credit where it’s due, though. Caleb has certainly been handling this whole affair with remarkable skill. Gwendolyn knows he’s making a play for the Dux title. But that doesn’t keep her from listening to his stories with as much interest as the rest of us. The “witch” has become a serious threat. Gwendolyn shouldn’t have told the Wolves about my history with Joi. It made her look desperate—and Joi seem more fascinating. And now that Caleb’s gone rogue, everyone can see that Gwendolyn’s in trouble. She’s been Mandel’s favorite girl for two full years, but he hasn’t stepped in to support her this time. No one knows what happens when a Dux falls from grace. No one but Gwendolyn and me. We’re the only ones who’ve had a glimpse of the headmaster’s morgue.
The stress is starting to show. Gwendolyn’s hair has lost its luster and her once porcelain skin looks chalky. The serene facade has crumbled. She barks, snaps, and growls like a rabid animal. I know exactly how she feels. And I know just how dangerous she can be. When the time comes, she’ll go straight for Joi’s jugular. But no blood can be shed before the month-long Immunity Phase is over. There are still three weeks until ranking day. I’m just hoping that’s enough time for my arm and leg to heal properly. Right now, I don’t have the strength to save anyone.
• • •
It’s lunchtime, and I’m enduring another post-coma checkup. The doctor has already lectured me for refusing to wear my arm sling and forbidden me to participate in Brazilian Jujitsu. As if I’m crazy enough to take the mat with only two of my limbs fully functional. Now he’s demonstrating a series of rehab exercises that he must have learned while working at Abu Ghraib. Each one is more excruciating than the last. It’s pretty clear that I’m still in terrible shape. And I find it a bit troubling that the man in charge of fixing me seems to get his jollies from watching me suffer. The appointment was only supposed to last thirty minutes, but he’s kept me here for two hours—straight through lunch and fourth period. When a nurse tells him he’s wanted in the lab, I almost shed tears of relief.