Two: There was a cult entirely dedicated to discussing preexisting conspiracy theories and determining if they were true. They met in a janitors’ closet.
Three: The cult was run by Tucker Beaumont.
Four: Mr. Gunthrie, the most in-your-face teacher in the school (because of the yelling, see), was nicknamed “The General” because of his penchant for going on war-related rants and wielding his treasured golden fountain pen as a weapon. He’d done two tours in Vietnam, and he had a long family history of war-related deaths, which rendered me almost incapable of not calling him Lieutenant Dan.
Five: Twenty years ago, as the senior prank, someone had let the biology teacher’s pet python loose. It had escaped behind the ceiling tiles, never to be seen again.
Six: Everyone—and when I say everyone, I mean absolutely, positively everyone, from the librarians to the students to the staff to the oldest, crustiest janitor—was piss-down-their-legs scared of Miles Richter.
Of all the crazy things I heard about East Shoal, that was the only thing I couldn’t believe.
Chapter Thirteen
I must have set a record. With the backpack-pushing and the assignment-ripping and all the general childishness that occurred between me and Miles, it only took him a month to banish me to work in the concession stand with Theo.
I was fine with this because a) I liked Theo better than him, b) I was less paranoid when he wasn’t around, and c) I didn’t have to sit in a gym full of people I didn’t know. It didn’t take me long to get used to Theo—she was so good at getting things done that I figured if she wanted to hurt me, she would’ve done it by now.
I thought I had a lot of homework, but Theo’s back should’ve broken from the size of her bag.
“Seven AP classes, plus I’m retaking the SATs and ACTs because I know I got cheated last time,” she said. “I keep all the other stuff I need over here in this pocket, and then my first-aid kit is in this pocket. . . .”
“Why do you have a first-aid kit?” I asked.
“When you have two brothers like mine, someone’s always getting hurt.” She shoved her physics book onto the counter and opened it up.
“I don’t know how you do that,” I said. “Do you go home after club and do homework all night?”
She shrugged. “Not most of the time. I work graveyard shifts at the Showtime. You wouldn’t believe how late people come in to watch movies.” She paused, then said with a sigh, “My parents make me.”
“Why?”
She shrugged again. “That’s just the way it is. They’ve always been like that. They wanted me to take all these AP classes, too.”
“They made you join the club, too?”
Theo grinned. “No. None of us voluntarily joined the club. Except Jetta. Evan and Ian and I got put here when we snuck laxatives into the chili at lunch two years ago.” She laughed. “So worth it.”
I snorted. Theo was okay. “How’d everyone else get here?”
“They found Art with some weed in the bathroom, but he’s the best wrestler we’ve got, so instead of suspending him from the team, they sent him here.”
“I didn’t peg Art as a pot smoker.”
“That’s because he’s not,” said Theo. “He was trying to stop some of his teammates from smoking, and they let him take the fall.”
“Does anyone actually get thrown out of this school, or are they all given to Miles for safekeeping?”
“I’ve only ever heard of people getting expelled for violent stuff, like fighting or bringing a weapon to school.”
“What about Jetta?”
Theo stared at her physics textbook and sighed. “I think Jetta’s here because of Boss.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jetta came here last year, and she didn’t speak English very well. Boss was the only one who bothered to talk to her.”
“What about Miles?” I asked quickly, before Theo could turn to her homework. “What’d he do to get here?”
“Hmm?” Theo looked up. “Oh, Boss? I’m not sure. Me and Evan and Ian were the first people to join the club, but Boss has always been here. He used to do all this stuff by himself.”
She suddenly stopped talking. Miles was at the big concession stand window. He dropped a worn black notebook on the counter and leaned in.
“How’s the game?” Theo asked.
“Imagine a thousand starving orphans on a sinking ship in the middle of a shark-infested sea, and you’re getting close to how much I don’t want to be there,” Miles said dryly. “I get to hear Clifford talk about how nice Ria’s ass is every fifteen seconds. They’ve been dating since seventh grade; you’d think he’d be over it by now.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’m bored,” said Miles.
“What’s new?” asked Theo.
“Let’s play Five Questions.”
Theo snapped her book shut. “Why, may I ask? It’s not going to make you any less bored. And we might as well start calling it Three Questions, because it doesn’t take you five anymore.”
“What’s Five Questions?” I asked.
“It’s like Twenty Questions, only not twenty because Boss can do it in five,” said Theo. “I’ve got someone. Go.”
“Are you a president?” asked Miles.
“Yes.”
“Do your first and last names start with the same letter?”
“Yes.”
“You’re Ronald Reagan.”
“See?” Theo threw her hands in the air. “Two! Two questions!”
I didn’t mind not having many responsibilities with the club, as long as Miles kept reporting that I was doing what I was supposed to. It gave me more time to write out long-winded college essays about how my illness shaped me. My nightly mountains of homework made the Tower of Babel look like a toothpick, and it was only worsened by my late shifts at Finnegan’s. Finnegan’s wasn’t too bad on its own, but as soon as Miles waltzed in, I had the sudden urge to both hide and put soap in his food.
Every time I walked past Miles, I got the distinct feeling that he’d stick his leg out and trip me. He didn’t, of course, because that wouldn’t be subtle at all, and not Miles Richter’s style. Nail files, hedge trimmers, and homemade flamethrowers were more his speed.
I gave him his burger and retreated behind the counter, where I asked the Magic 8 Ball, Will Miles Richter try to kill me?