The Whites of Their Eyes by Andrew Clements
A huge Rottweiler snarled and launched himself at the wire-reinforced glass of the door, his teeth snapping shut inches from Ben’s nose. The door rattled from the force of the impact, and Ben jumped away, knocking Robert backward so he stumbled into the steps. Moose snarled and threw his weight at the door again.
Ben’s heart began pumping so fast he had trouble catching his breath, but his mind snapped clear as a cold front, icy sharp.
This was bad. The dog had the three of them bottled up in the stairwell. They could go up to the second floor and go down the south stairs, but they’d have the same problem over there—Moose could probably run to that door in about fifteen seconds, not nearly enough time to safely reach an exit.
Lyman wasn’t in the building now—that was clear. Otherwise, he’d have already come to check out the commotion. So . . . Lyman had left his dog in the school . . . which meant he’d be coming back for him fairly soon—maybe any moment.
Ben turned to Robert and Jill. The exit sign spread a reddish glow over their faces. “Any ideas?”
Robert shook his head. Even in the warm light, his face looked cold and ashy. He gulped. “I’m just . . . really scared of dogs.”
Jill didn’t seem scared, more annoyed that it was happening at all. “It’s pretty clear. We’ve got to switch places. If we can get the dog in the stairwell, we can get to an exit.”
Moose was on his hind legs now, nose against the glass, whining and snarling nonstop. Ben found it difficult to think.
Jill looked at the door, then up at the stairs, then back at the door. “I think I happen to have the right secret weapon with me,” she said.
Robert perked up a little. “A tranquilizer dart?” he said. “That might work.”
Jill shook her head and smiled a little. “Nope.” She reached deep into the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt and pulled out a small white rectangle. “Dental floss.”
Robert looked at her. “Why do you have—?”
Jill cut him off. “It’s a long story. Ben, you and Robert go up to the second floor, around to the south stairwell, and down to the first floor. We’ve got to get the timing right, so when you get there, send me a text. When I text back that I’m ready, open the ground-floor door an inch or so, and yell for Moose.”
The dog at the window heard his name and tipped his head sideways a moment, glaring into the stairwell. Then he growled and snarled and snapped again.
Jill went on, “The dog hears you call, and runs over there.”
Ben saw her plan. “I get it,” he said.
By this time Robert got the idea too. “Here.” He pulled his wooden ruler out of his pack. “This ought to help.” Then he said to Ben, “Let’s go.”
In less than two minutes Ben texted one word: Here!
Jill stepped to the left of the door, back against the wall. She stood still for almost a minute to let the dog calm down a little. Then she texted one word back to Ben: Go!
Two voices echoed through the hallways. “Here Moose, here Moosie boy! Come here, Moose, come on, boy!”
The dog was gone like a shot, his toenails skittering, trying to get traction on the waxed wood like a kid wearing dull hockey skates.
Jill pushed her door open cautiously, just an inch, double-checking. Moose was gone, barking in full voice at the other stairwell.
She pushed the door outward one foot and propped it open with the ruler, sliding it up as high as she could reach. Jill had broken off a short length of the floss, six feet or so. It was tied to the ruler, and she looped the other end around the outer doorknob. The end coming from the dental floss container was also tied tightly to the ruler, and Jill hurried up the steps backward, pulling the thin fiber off the spool like a fisherman paying out line. She got to the landing, and then backed up the next ten steps. She opened the door and went into the second-floor hallway, then let the door close, keeping it open just a crack with her foot. She made a few turns of the dental floss around her hand, gently taking up all the slack in the line.
With one hand she texted again: Stop.
The yelling at the south stairwell stopped, and it was her turn.
“Moose! Hey, Moosie Moosie Moose! Come and get me, Moose. Here I am, boy, come on! Hey, Moosie Moosie Moose!”
She heard the dog running back her way, heard it take a spill when it took the turn by the library too fast, heard its toenails scrabbling closer, and then the dog was through the door and into the stairwell and up the first flight, leaping three steps at a time, low growls heaving from his chest.
Jill yanked on the floss and heard the ruler hit the floor, and then the lower door clanked shut. She shoved her door closed just as Moose threw his weight against it.
“Good boy, Moose, good boy,” she said through the door, and got snarls in reply. She felt sorry for the dog. Her aunt Sarah up in New Hampshire had a Rottweiler, and it was a big, lovable sweetheart. “Poor fella,” she said out loud. “It’s all right—your master’ll be back soon, I just bet he will.”
And that thought set her off at a trot for the south stairwell.
By the time she got into the first-floor hallway, the other two were already back over at the north stairwell—on the outside of the door.
As Jill came running up, Robert had just taken the loop of floss off the doorknob. He knelt down in front of the door and gently pulled the string while Ben banged on the glass to keep Moose occupied. Robert eased his ruler under the door, and then yanked all the rest of the dental floss out as well.
They didn’t even pause for high fives. The three of them ran toward the art room, then down the causeway and right out the doorway on the south side. They streaked past the lighted area near Captain Oakes’s gravestone and didn’t stop until they were out in the deep darkness beneath the largest tree on the school grounds, a giant copper beech that was over a hundred and fifty years old.
“Whew!” Ben said, totally winded. “That was amazing!”
Jill took a minute to catch her breath. Then she said, “Robert, I have to apologize. You were right about this. That little room is definitely the most important thing we’ve found yet. It’s a total game changer, and you nailed it.”
Robert sounded almost modest when he answered. “Well, if you hadn’t showed up tonight, Pratt and I would still be dog food—or maybe in a police van by now.”
Ben said, “Listen, we’ve gotta get out of here before Lyman comes back. How about we walk home along the harbor?”
Jill shook her head. “I’m fine getting back by myself—nobody’ll even see me.”
“I just think we all need to look out for each other,” Ben said, “and this way no one has to walk home alone.”
Jill said, “It’s okay with me. Let’s go.”
If it hadn’t been so dark, Ben might have noticed the slightest hint of a blush on Jill’s cheek.
And in stronger light, Jill would have noticed Ben’s smile for sure.
CHAPTER 16
Connected
Robert’s grandmother dropped Ben off at Parson’s Marina around ten fifteen on Saturday morning. He stumbled along the pier out to the Tempus Fugit, opened the hatch, and walked down through the galley, through the saloon, and into his forward cabin. He dropped his backpack on the deck, then dropped himself like a rock onto his bunk.
His dad came to the doorway. “Hey, Ben—you have a good time at Robert’s last night?”
Ben lifted his head an inch or so. “What? Oh . . . oh, yeah. A good time. Stayed up really late . . .” His head hit the pillow again.
His dad smiled and closed the cabin door.
Around twelve fifteen Ben started swatting at a fly. It buzzed around and around his head. He knocked it away, but a few minutes later it was back, buzzing again.
Then he realized it wasn’t a fly.
He sat up on his bunk, frowning at the sour taste in his mouth. He reached for his phone as it vibrated for the third time. It was a text from Jill to him and to Robert—three words: Chk yr email.
There was an e-mail from his mom—two days old. And then there was an ad for new sailing gear, a random assortment of spam, and there was something from . . . the Glennley Group?
What . . . ?
Ben clicked, and the document opened up.
The e-mail had been sent to Jill’s mom at her Historical Society address, and then Jill had forwarded it to him and Robert.
It was a press release.
Ben read the release once, then a second time, trying to process what it meant. Halfway through the third reading, it hit him: No one turned the baluster! We left that triangular door unlocked!
And that giant dog had been stuck in the stairwell, sniffing and clawing away at that woodwork. When Lyman came and found the dog in the stairwell, he must have discovered the hideout . . . and then the whole Glennley organization kicked into high gear. It seemed incredible that they’d been able to act so quickly, but a company that was paying a man like Lyman to stay on-site and protect its interests had probably developed plans for all the possible things that might keep Tall Ships Ahoy! from moving forward—including another push to landmark the building.
Ben was angry, crushed, completely deflated—and it didn’t help that he felt exhausted.
Last night had been such a high point, a huge victory. And now . . .
He clenched his fists and shut his eyes tight to hold back tears. He almost sobbed.
His phone buzzed again—another text. Robert this time:
Saw that thing from GG—bummer, huh? No biggie. It’s just a bunch of words. There’s still time, and a codicil, and a ton of cash. More safeguards too. Later—WOOF!
Ben smiled, but then shook his head. For a kid so smart, Robert could still act like he was an idiot. And if he didn’t see that this was a massive loss, then he was either truly stupid, or just kidding himself.
Jill didn’t text. She called.
Ben couldn’t face some kind of phony pep talk, so he pressed the reject button and sent her to voice mail. A minute later his cell phone made a ding—she’d left a message.
Ben stood up from his desk and lay down on his bunk, staring up at gray sky through a porthole. He selected Jill’s message and pushed play.
“Hi, Ben. I’m looking in my crystal ball, and I see you. Stop feeling so sad about this, okay? It’s amazing we didn’t all end up at the police station last night. And not locking that space? It just happened, that’s all. We all forgot about it. And Moose? He was just doing his thing—you can’t ask a dog not to be dog, right? And that goes for Lyman, too. It’s actually pretty impressive, how fast Glennley moved on this, don’t you think? Anyway, call me. Okay?”
Ben took a deep breath and pushed it out slowly. Then he scrolled to Jill’s number and punched call. Might as well get it over with—she’d just ring him again and again till he answered.
“Hi,” she said. “I left you a message.”
“Yeah, I got it. Thanks.”
“Did you hear from Robert?”
“Yup,” he said, “how about you?”
“Just a text. Said he wasn’t worried about it. Do you believe him?”
“Yeah . . . but I don’t know if it’s intelligence or stupidity that keeps him happy. It could also be that he just doesn’t care about this like I do.”
“Look,” Jill said, “I know you’re really serious about this, but you can’t let it get to you. And besides, last night wasn’t a total loss.”
“Yeah?” Ben said. “How do you figure?”
“Well, we’re trying to keep the school from being torn down, right? And now we know that the northwest corner of the place is going to stay right where it is, forever. So that’s something, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.”
Jill was quiet a moment. “And there was something else good about last night.”
“What?” he asked.
“I got to hold your hand in a dark room for five whole minutes . . . of course, I was terrified of being chewed to bits and then arrested, but still. Five whole minutes.”
Ben smiled, then laughed a little—just enough to let Jill know that he liked what she’d said.
“I’m glad you counted that in the ‘good’ column,” he said. Then he added, “But . . . if Robert had been the one there next to you, don’t you think you’d have held his hand?”
“Maybe,” she said. “But it wouldn’t have been the same.”
Ben smiled again, but this smile he kept for himself. Just like that, he felt as if Jill had rescued him from drowning.
Jill knew he was fine now too.
“So,” she said. “I’ll see you Monday—if not sooner. Okay?”
“Yup. See you Monday. If not sooner. And thanks for calling, Jill.”
“Thanks for calling back, Benjamin. Bye.”
Ben put the phone down and closed his eyes, lacing his fingers together behind his neck.
The sailboat rocked gently in its berth, and Ben had this feeling of being connected, but also floating free. If they pushed off from the pier, the Tempus Fugit could sail anywhere—the water of Barclay Bay was connected to all the other water on the planet. It was all one big thing.
Would the Captain Oakes School still be there on the shore at the end of June? Ben felt completely sure that even if the Keepers lost this war—even if the school was destroyed and the town was changed—it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
Yes, he did think one way would be better, and he wasn’t backing down from that, not for a second.
But all he could really do was his best, each moment. That was what mattered most—even more than the final outcome. Because the final outcome wasn’t up to him alone.
The history of the school was one thing. The history of Benjamin Pratt was something else.
At that moment, Ben wasn’t mad at Lyman, or his dog. He wasn’t mad at the Glennley lawyers, or any of the people in town who wanted to tear down the school. And he wasn’t mad at his mom or his dad about the way their family was right now.
Ben opened his eyes. The view through the porthole above him had improved. There were patches of blue, with clouds scudding from south to north.
It might be a decent afternoon for sailing.
Also by Andrew Clements
Benjamin Pratt & the Keepers of the School
We the Children
Fear Itself
Big Al
Big Al and Shrimpy
Dogku
The Handiest Things in the World
A Million Dots
Extra Credit
Frindle
The Jacket
Jake Drake, Bully Buster
Jake Drake, Class Clown
Jake Drake, Know-It-All
Jake Drake, Teacher’s Pet
The Janitor’s Boy
The Landry News
The Last Holiday Concert
Lost and Found
Lunch Money
No Talking
The Report Card
Room One
The School Story
Troublemaker
A Week inthe Woods
Andrew Clements, The Whites of Their Eyes