Free Academic Assassins by Clay McLeod Chapman Page A

tattoo of a circle—an O or maybe a zero—etched into the skin between his thumb and index finger. “You
deaf? Has Mickey come around here or what?”
    I had no idea who this Mickey was, and I wasn’t about to open my mouth to tell this punk that.
    â€œYou’re hopeless, man,” he said, giving up on me. “You see him, you tell him I’m looking for him. Mickey knows who I am.”
    Just then, the bell rattled throughout the Ant Farm.
    â€œEverybody line up,” Grayson shouted from the gallery floor, the jingle of his keys sounding like sleigh bells. “
Move it, move it, move it!
”
    This scrawny kid nodded for me to follow him.
    â€œHeadcount happens three times a day,” he said. “Once in the morning just before breakfast, once following lunch, and once at night, right before lights out. If
somebody’s missing during roll call, Grayson puts Kesey on lockdown.”
    I shuffled out from my pod and saw the rest of the ants line up along the Yellow Brick Road. Everyone made sure his toes didn’t cross the painted edge.
    Walking down the gallery, I glanced past the glazed-over eyes of each resident—unblinking, as glassy as a pair of marbles sewn into a stuffed animal.
    I took my place in line.
    Babyface stepped up next to me, strapped in with his own dog collar. “Looks like they gave us the same accessory, huh?”
    Buttercup followed a step behind Grayson, trailing after him like his own shadow. She held back as Grayson kept wandering down the row of ants. Her lips puckered ever so slightly at me, as if
she were waiting for a kiss. “Feeling at home? Finding everything you need?”
    I stared forward, keeping quiet.
    Is Buttercup flirting with me?
    Grayson counted off each resident as he went—“One, two, three, four….”
    I decided to do a little tally of my own. Five Men in White. The orderlies at Kesey weren’t doctors or nurses, like the medically trained staff on duty. The orderlies had one job. All they
had to do was what the name implied:
Maintain order.
As in—keep things under control, uphold the status quo, and make sure nobody hurts themselves or anyone else….
Unless
they’re the ones doing the hurting
.
    Most of the Men in White I’d seen so far wore the telltale signs of past skirmishes—scars lining their cheeks, bite marks on their noses, missing chunks of cartilage.
    We are at war
, Grayson had said,
and you punks are the enemy
.
    He made his way down the row, the retractable key chain fastened at his hip rattling with each step, counting off—“Five, six, seven…”
    Buttercup pressed her hand into the small of my back and pushed. One second she’s batting her eyelashes at me—the next, she’s shoving me around. I’ve heard of playing
hard to get, but this was taking it to a whole new level of insanity.
    I stumbled forward.
    Grayson halted, staring at the floor.
    Looking down, I realized the tip of my left foot was off the yellow line.
    I pulled my canvas shoe back as fast as I could.
    Too late.
    Grayson had his C.R.U.’s out, his thumb already on the button. “
Residents must keep their feet on the yellow line at all times
,” he recited. “
Residents who fail
to comply will receive a three-second response
.”
    I held out my hands in hopes of showing him I meant no harm.
    Just an accident, I wanted to say. Won’t ever happen again, boss….
    No dice.
    Grayson pressed his thumb on the button and I felt the electricity surge down my spine and just before the jolt could flood my brain I thought
quick Spence think back to a happier moment
think back to something anything and block out the pain the pain oh man here comes the pain and
MOM TOOK ME TO SEE SANTA CLAUS AT THE MALL WE HAD TO WAIT IN LINE TO GET MY PICTURE TAKEN WHEN HE
ASKED ME WHAT I WANTED FOR CHRISTMAS I TOLD HIM I WANTED MY MOM AND DAD TO BE HAPPY AND SANTA SAID