Live and Let Shop (7 page)

Yeah, well, rules this and responsibilities that, and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

I didn’t know what to say. I had a feeling that I could argue with Mr. Kim forever and all he would do is smile and nod and make a little Zen speech to me about mastering my rage before my rage becomes my master. Maybe that was his style. He just kept after people until he wore you down.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay here,” I said.

“Because, deep down, you really don’t want to leave.”

Whoa. What was he doing now? Joking with me? Like I couldn’t wait to see Blackthorn Academy in my rearview mirror.
Adios, amigo.
Catch you on the flip-flop. If you see me getting smaller, it’s because I’m walking away. There was no way I wanted to stay here. He was crazy.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you are intrigued by this place. It has piqued your curiosity. It is a puzzle that you have not yet
figured out. And because you want to find out if you are tough enough to make it through a year here.”

With that, Mr. Kim turned and walked away and left me standing alone with my thoughts.

I’m not stupid. I know he was trying to psyche me out. Telling me I may not be “tough enough” to make it through a year so I’d get mad at him and stay just to prove him wrong. Like those cheap reverse-psychology tricks could work on me. He’s not as smart as he thinks. Or else he doesn’t know anything about teenagers.

I stood there for quite a while after he left, thinking. I don’t know how long. I was aware of people coming and going through the atrium, but nobody paid any attention to me. What was really bugging me is that he
was right. If I really thought about it, what other options did I have?

Charles and Cynthia didn’t want me. They may have thought it was neat to have a kid when I was little. But to them a teenager was nothing more than an annoyance. I didn’t have any close friends or relatives I could turn to, now that Gramps was dead. Jamie and Grego were fun to hang with, and I guess Jamie and I were pretty good girlfriends, but in the end, look at the evidence. They left me hanging that night in the car. They took off as soon as they had the chance. Same with Boozer. But with Boozer, I knew up front he couldn’t be counted on. It wasn’t like I had any expectations of him.

The plain fact, and Mr. Kim had somehow figured it out the moment he’d laid eyes on me, was that I really was alone. I had no place to go. This Academy was it for me. I could go back to L.A. and try to hide out, but they’d catch up to me eventually. Even if I crashed at Boozer’s, he’d end up blabbing to someone and eventually I’d get busted. And the living-on-the-street option was not so appealing. Besides, there was no Internet access on the street either.

But the thought of staying at this school was just
weighing me down. I didn’t see any way I could last a year here. I’d have to give it the rest of the month and think of something else. Mr. Kim had promised me he’d let me go and not tell the judge. I’d figure out something then. Once my month was up, I could leave. Okay. I could do this. I was still me. I could treat it like the army or something. Just get through the next two weeks and then I’m back to me. No problem. Really.

And then all of a sudden it was two weeks later. My one-month “probation” was up. It seemed like it had rocketed by. Except for Kitchen Duty. And Tae Kwon Do. But a funny thing there. After three weeks of taking classes every day, Mr. Kim had me test for my ninth gup. That’s the first rank in TKD. I thought he was crazy, but I got through the first pattern without any mistakes. To my great surprise, I passed the test. At the belt ceremony Mr. Kim put a piece of yellow tape around the end of my belt. He smiled and bowed and looked at me like I’d just won an Oscar or something, and the whole class applauded. (Well, technically they applauded for everybody who moved up in rank, but it was still cool.) He told me that in another month, if I took class every day and worked hard, I could test for
eighth gup, and if I passed I’d get a yellow belt.

After that first hurdle, I started not minding Tae Kwon Do class so much. It kind of started to get interesting. For one thing, after the first week, I wasn’t so sore after class. And Mr. Kim started to tell all kinds of cool stories about how Tae Kwon Do was invented by Buddhist monks to give the Korean peasants something to fight back with every time the Japanese Samurai would invade Korea. All of a sudden, these peasants learned Tae Kwon Do and started kicking the snot out of these Samurai invaders and the Japanese didn’t know what to do about it. I love stories about that kind of stuff. I still had problems with some of the more advanced movements, like that stupid
chwa dwi chagi
move, but I was making progress.

Still, I felt restless and I was looking forward to my month being up. I was sure I didn’t belong here, even if I hadn’t heard a word from Charles and Cynthia. No surprise there: out of sight, out of mind.

Part of the reason I felt so weird about the place was Pilar. I mean, we seemed to get along okay and we had worked our way into this kind of truce. But there was something that wasn’t right about that girl. She kept star
ing at me all the time. Most of the time it was like if she stared at me long enough, she’d be able to figure me out. Then sometimes I’d catch her looking at me and she’d have a frown on her face as if I was about to break something. I’d stare back at her then, and she’d look away and act all embarrassed like I’d caught her up to something. It was almost like she was spying on me. It was a little unsettling.

Add to that the fact that she talked in her sleep a lot. She would mumble words and phrases that made no sense. She’d wake me up in the middle of the night with all the talking in her sleep. The next morning I’d ask her about her dreams and she’d say she didn’t remember, but I knew she did. She just didn’t want to tell me.

And it wasn’t just Pilar, either. Mr. Kim always seemed to be keeping pretty close tabs on me. Maybe it was just my imagination, but it seemed like I would be walking to class or in the cafeteria or somewhere and I’d glance up and he’d be there watching me. A few times he asked me about the dream I’d had in the woods. Did I ever have the same dream again? Did I have any ideas about what the dream might have meant? He always made it sound like he was just interested in people’s
dreams and he would tell me about strange dreams he had, but I still found it all a little weird.

One good thing was after those first weeks I finally could find my way around the Academy better. It was a big place and there was still a lot of the Academy that I hadn’t explored. In fact, it seemed like the school was a lot bigger than it needed to be for the couple hundred students that were there. But each day was busy, and I really didn’t think about things all that much. I was just looking forward to my month being up so I could get out of here. Then that day finally arrived.

And all hell broke loose.

The morning that Mr. Kim disappeared was the day after we went on a class trip into Washington, D.C. We’d been to see a special exhibit at the Randall Gallery, which was a gallery that specialized in antiquities and rare manuscripts. In our Cultures class we were studying medieval societies, and we were on a section of our text that dealt with literature about the Crusades. I never thought the words “Medieval” and “Literature” would ever be anywhere near a conversation that had anything to do with me, but Mr. Pollock made the class so interesting. He
wanted us to go to the gallery to see several actual books and manuscripts that had come from that period.

If this had been BH High, I would have cut the field trip and gone to the mall, especially since it was on a Sunday. But Mr. Pollock told us all kinds of cool stories about the stuff we were going to see, like that these manuscripts told the stories of Crusaders from both sides of the Holy Wars. They told about the exploits of the English kings and Muslim potentates who fought battles for dozens of years in the Middle East.

Mr. Pollock was all excited because part of the exhibit was something called the
Book of Seraphim,
which told the story of the Emperor Flavius, who ruled Rome in the last days of the Roman Empire. It was first discovered in what is now the country of Kuzbekistan during the Middle Ages. Apparently the
Book of Seraphim
was more than two thousand years old, and King Richard III had spent many years trying to capture it during the Crusades, because the Muslims believed that whoever possessed it would have mystical powers. Nobody knows why they thought that. Supposedly Flavius had written down stuff that was supposed to give armies great power. King Richard III thought if he had it, the Muslims might
give up and surrender, but he could never get his hands on it. Then it was apparently lost for several centuries, until just a few years ago. Now the government of Kuzbekistan was letting it tour museums around the world, and it was a really big deal to get to see it. When Mr. Pollock talked about this stuff, he got all excited and sort of bounced around the room telling us the stories. You practically forgot that you were learning about some dusty old book.

The next day, on our way in from yet more rock climbing (apparently Mr. Elliot felt that all of us would be climbing Mt. Everest someday), we passed the corridor that led to the Top Floor. Mr. Kim was in the hallway talking to these two guys in suits. They were having an animated conversation, and Mr. Kim was pacing back and forth. One of the guys seemed familiar to me somehow, but I didn’t know why. He was taking notes in a notebook as they talked. It seemed to me that Mr. Kim was a little excited or upset (it was hard to tell with Mr. Kim), because it looked like the two men were trying to calm him down.

It looked weird. Since they hadn’t noticed me yet and I’m incurably nosy, I bent down and pretended to be
tying my shoe while the rest of the class filed in from outside. This enabled me to do what every smart and conscientious teenager would do: eavesdrop on their conversation. Unfortunately, I could only make out two words: One sounded like “Misses” and then I clearly heard Mr. Kim say “Seraphim.” Then Mr. Kim motioned for the men to follow him. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door to the Top Floor wing. The guy who was taking notes shut his little notebook, and as he moved forward a piece of paper fell out of it. All three men disappeared inside the door.

Now, hold on just a minute! We full-time students can’t go to the Top Floor, and it’s all secret-secret, but a couple of suits show up and Mr. Kim takes them right on in? How fair is that? Not very.

Well, my curiosity was killing me. I know it’s wrong to pry into other people’s business, but I just can’t help myself. It’s my worst vice. I snuck over and picked up the piece of paper—only it wasn’t paper, it was a business card. It said
SPECIAL AGENT NATHAN TYLER
,
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
and it had the FBI seal on it.

Strange. What was an FBI agent talking to Mr. Kim about? And even stranger, why did an FBI agent seem so
familiar to me? The FBI had never busted me, so that couldn’t be it. Still, I could swear I’d seen him somewhere before. I didn’t have a lot of time right then to think about it, because the rest of the class was almost out of sight already. I stuffed the card in the pocket of my shorts and moved on to my next class.

But all day long it drove me nuts. Mr. Kim was talking to some FBI agents and I had very clearly heard him say “Seraphim.” This on the day after we had gone to see the
Book of Seraphim
at a nearby museum. Plus, he had taken them into the Top Floor wing. And I could swear that that FBI agent was familiar, and that was really bugging me.

I didn’t see Mr. Kim for the rest of the afternoon. That was highly unusual, since he was always a visible presence around the school. He usually came into the lunchroom to talk and eat with students, and you would see him in the hallways between classes a lot. But for the rest of that day he was nowhere to be seen. I hoped he showed up soon, because I wanted to meet with him so we could arrange to get me out of here.

By the time Kitchen Duty rolled around, I couldn’t take it anymore. All the strange feelings I had about this
place seemed to crystallize: (1) The classes were weird. Code Theory? Criminal Justice? (2) My roommate stared at me all the time and talked in her sleep. (3) How had Mr. Kim known so much about me when I got here? I mean, he knew
everything
. And then (4) there was this separate floor of the school that apparently no one but “special” students and FBI agents was allowed to see. It was all just too weird. There had to be a explanation. So I hatched a plan.

It wasn’t a very good plan. Kind of lame, actually. My plan was to sneak into Mr. Kim’s office and see if he had some kind of files I could check out. Not for the other students—I’d only look at my own file, not anyone else’s. If I could find it and read it, maybe it would tell me how he’d known all about me. Maybe it was the FBI that had checked up on me before I came here and that was how I recognized that guy. Maybe he had been sent to California to check me out and I had spotted him somehow.

I knew it wasn’t much, but it was a place to start. Mr. Kim was hardly ever in his office, so I figured it would be easy to get in. Making sure I didn’t get caught would be the hard part. But I had a Plan B. Since it was one month
to the day since I’d come to the school, Mr. Kim and I needed to have our little “chat” about my future. If I got caught in his office, I’d just say I was looking for him so we could have our discussion.

I mean, as far as I was concerned, I was already on my way out of this school. I still didn’t have a plan once I got to California. But now all this strange stuff happening had made me curious and I didn’t like the idea of leaving with a mystery unsolved.

I had about thirty minutes before I had to be in the kitchen, so I headed to the corridor that led down to Mr. Kim’s office. I peered around the corner and made sure there was no one there. So far, so good. I crept quietly down the hallway and listened in front of Mr. Kim’s door, but couldn’t hear any noise coming from inside. I reached out and started to turn the knob, but just as I was about to open it, the door directly across the hallway flew open. Mrs. Marquardt stood there staring at me. She startled me so much that I almost screamed. How did she know I was there? She must be a witch.

She gave me a curious look.

“Rachel, what are you doing?” she asked. Probably the most words I’d ever heard Mrs. Marquardt say in a row.

“Hi, Mrs. Marquardt. How are you today?” I tried to keep that “I’m up to something” tone out of my voice.

“Fine. What are you doing here?” Her intense gaze was a little intimidating.

“Oh, I was just on my way to Kitchen Duty and I forgot something in my room.”

“This isn’t the way to your room.” I noticed for the first time that Mrs. Marquardt had a very long nose, and right then she was looking down it at me. I could also tell that since she had caught me with my hand on the doorknob to Mr. Kim’s office, I had just screwed up and told a very bad lie.
Come on, Rachel. Get in the game.

“I know that. I was just daydreaming and turned the wrong way. I still get lost around here a lot. But since I was here anyway, I thought I’d check and see if Mr. Kim was available. We were supposed to meet today.” I kind of shrugged my shoulders and sighed. Poor little lost Rachel Buchanan. So far from home. Mrs. Marquardt’s expression didn’t change, so I let out another big, sad-sounding sigh. Nothing. She was a tough one.

“Mr. Kim is quite busy. In the future, make an appointment. Now you’d better get going. Work period starts soon.”

Mrs. Marquardt dismissed me and went back into her office. Before she shut the door she turned around and stared at me again, like she wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to hang around. “Make an appointment”? I’d make an appointment all right. How dare she? I waved and started back down the hall. Just then I heard Mr. Kim’s door open and looked back to see Mr. Kim and the two men he’d been talking to come out of his office. The two agents nodded at Mrs. Marquardt and turned to walk the opposite way down the hallway. Mr. Kim didn’t say anything; he just went back into his office and closed the door. I felt my knees turn to jelly. I had almost walked in on them! That was close. Would have been fun trying to explain that one. Thank goodness Mrs. Marquardt had caught me.

As Mrs. Marquardt turned to watch them head toward the atrium, I ducked quickly into a nearby doorway and waited. I could hear their footsteps getting farther away. Then I heard Mrs. Marquardt’s office door close. I peeked. No one in the hallway.

This whole thing was just out-of-control bizarre. Mr. Kim had clearly been upset this morning. And now it looked like the agents had been here the entire day
talking to Mr. Kim. Something was going on. As Boozer, a great fan of Spider-Man, would say, “my spider-sense was tingling.”

I figured I had nothing to lose by confronting Mr. Kim directly and asking him what the heck was going on. I knew he probably wouldn’t tell me anything, but I could be persistent and annoying, and I might be able to wear him down until he spilled the beans.

I walked quietly back down the hall to Mr. Kim’s office. I could hear a radio playing softly in Mrs. Marquardt’s office, and the soft
click-click
of her keyboard. I knocked on Mr. Kim’s door. No answer. Maybe he couldn’t hear me. So I knocked a little louder, but not so loud that Mrs. Marquardt would hear me. Still no answer.

Okay. I could do the smart thing here and go back to my room and forget the whole episode. That would work. Just forget the whole thing.

I tried the knob. Like everything else at the Academy, the door wasn’t locked. Very trusting souls, these Blackthorn Academy residents. I knocked lightly as I opened the door.

“Mr. Kim? Hello?”

I swung the door open all the way and found the office empty. No Mr. Kim. Strange. I had only had my back to the office for a few seconds, and I was sure he couldn’t have left without me seeing him. So where did he go? I closed the door and crossed the office to his desk. Maybe he was hiding. Right. A game of hide-and-seek. I walked around the desk and looked under it. No Mr. Kim. The windows were shut and the blinds were down, so I didn’t think he could have left by the window. But just to be sure, I pulled open one of the blinds and looked out the window that was directly behind Mr. Kim’s desk. No rope or bedsheet hanging down to the ground. No Mr. Kim anywhere in sight.

So had he disappeared? Did he have some kind of secret ninja invisibility mojo he was using? Had he actually been standing in the corner, but I couldn’t see him?

“Mr. Kim? Are you here?”

No answer.

I noticed a pad of paper on his desk. When I’d been in his office a few weeks before, his desktop had been completely clear; no pens or anything. Now there was a pad of paper on the desk, with a single word written on it: “MITHRAS.” Was that what I’d heard him say in the
hallway when he was talking to the suits? I’d thought he said “Mrs.” or “misses.” What the heck was MITHRAS? And yet it sounded oddly like something I’d heard before somewhere else. There was something out there, in a thread of memory that I couldn’t quite place. Mithras.

Since I was snooping anyway, I decided to look in a desk drawer. Maybe just one. But to my surprise, all of the desk drawers were empty. No pens or paper or paper clips or Scotch tape or markers or staples or stamps or anything. Completely empty. Apparently Mr. Kim was not a fan of office supplies. All of a sudden, I noticed the knob on the door start to turn. Whoa! I’d be in so much trouble if I were caught in here. I quickly ducked underneath the desk.

I couldn’t see who was coming in, but I could hear Mrs. Marquardt’s radio from across the hall. She must have left her door open and come into Mr. Kim’s office for something. Then I heard a gasp. Definitely Mrs. Marquardt. For a minute I thought I was busted. I tried to move my head a little bit to look up at the window behind Mr. Kim’s desk where I could see Mrs. Marquardt’s reflection. I saw her reach down and tear the top sheet of paper off the pad on Mr. Kim’s desk. She looked upset. I
realized then that she didn’t know I was there. She gasped again, and then I heard her crumple the paper. Her reflection moved away and then I heard the office door close, followed a few seconds later by the sound of Mrs. Marquardt’s office door closing. Safe.

What the heck was going on? That was a really strange display from Mrs. Marquardt. Or, okay, this might be normal behavior for Mrs. Marquardt, for all I knew. But Mr. Kim had definitely vanished from a closed room. Then Mrs. Marquardt blanched when she saw the word “MITHRAS” on a sheet of paper. And two strange FBI guys in suits were the last people I’d seen talking to Mr. Kim. Maybe, while my back was turned, they offed him and stuffed his body in a file cabinet. I’d better check those file cabinets in the corner. One of them could be holding Mr. Kim’s body!

Hmm, on second thought, maybe I’d let someone else check those.
Sorry, Mr. Kim, I truly hope you’re not dead, but Rachel doesn’t do the “find the dead body” thing.
Besides, he was about a million-degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do. I doubted two guys like that could take him without shooting him or something. So he was almost certainly still alive, just gone. But where?