Free Special Dead by Patrick Freivald Page A

pole, using the
leverage to force him into the room.
    So that’s what the ring is for, Ani thought .
    A visored twin to Mr. Clark followed the pair into
the room, flamethrower held at ease. The guards unlocked the ring and backed
out of the room without a word, taking the pole with them. The metal door
slammed, and the external bar slammed home.
    With no sign of discomfort, Mr. Cummings stuck out
his hand to Mr. Foster. “Rich Cummings, nice to meet you.”
    Mr. Foster giggled at the hand, stuck his half
out, pulled it back and wiped it on his pants, then stuck it out again. He
giggled again when they shook, and stumbled back as soon as Mr. Cummings
released his grip.
    Mr. Cummings rolled his eyes, then took the
upperclassmen to one side, leaving Kyle, Lydia, and Teah to Mr. Foster and Ms.
Pulver.
    “If you put your desks in a circle—” He grunted, a
wheezing flatulence that escaped between the exposed roots of his teeth, then
kicked the cast-iron chair leg bolted to the floor. “Never mind.” He grabbed an
easel-sized pad of paper and a box of crayons, then sat on the floor. They
joined him, Mike clapping his hands at the novelty.
    “So who’s heard of the Laffer Curve...?”
    A half-hour later Ani’s head hurt, swimming with
tax policies and fragments of Thomas Sowell quotes, but it was a good kind of
hurt. She’d actually had to think, which made a pleasant contrast to the rest of
the day.
    Mr. Cummings said his goodbyes, gave Sam a hug,
and was steered out of the room on the end of the pole.
    “That’s a little weird,” Devon said.
    “What?” Joe asked.
    Devon looked at Sam. “A little comfortable, aren’t
you?”
    “What do you mean?” Sam asked.
    Mike smiled from his seat on the floor. “I’m
comfortable.”
    “The hugging, the extra attention. It’s a little
weird.”
    Sam cleared her throat. “Mr. C taught my mom. I’ve
known him forever.” She looked at Ani for support. “He’s like an uncle, you know?”
    Sarah Romero had always claimed to have been an
only child. Ani had never known her dad, and not long before the Prompocalypse
she’d learned that her mother’s identity was fake, but it never occurred to her
until that moment to ask if her mom had had any siblings in her previous life.
    “Sure,” Ani said. “Like an uncle.”
     
    *  
*   *
     
    As her mom finished dinner, Ani played around on
the piano. She stole the melody from Thelonius Monk’s “Straight, No Chaser”; played
it down an octave and larghissimo ; and improvised a trilling melody with
her right hand over the top. Her mom’s frequent annoyed glances told her all
she needed to know about the overall effect.
    Ani held the final cord and smiled. “Hey, Mom, can
I ask you a question?”
    “Sure,” Sarah shut the binder in front of her—a
treatise on epidemiology she’d agreed to critique for a graduate student.
    Ani walked her fingers down the keys in Dorian
mode as she summoned the courage to ask. “Did Jenny Picknett have any siblings?”
    Without missing a beat, her mom picked up her
dishes and dumped them in the sink. “Who?”
    Ani wasn’t expecting a gushing soliloquy, but her
mom knew she knew. So why the denial? “You know, Jennifer Picknett. The biologist?” You know. You.
    “What brought this on?”
    “Just curious,” Ani said. “I know, curiosity
killed the cat—”
    “Curiosity killed lots of things, Ani.”
    “I know, but—”
    Sarah cut her off with a raised index finger. Ani
stopped, stunned. She hadn’t pulled that since before prom. Ani opened her
mouth, saw the warning in her mom’s eyes, and thought better of it. She turned
to the piano and started back in on her composition.
    Her mom clanked around in the kitchenette for a
minute, then Ani felt warm breath on the back of her neck. She almost couldn’t
hear the whisper. “Any link between this lab and Jennifer Picknett would be
devastating. The truth must never, ever go public. She’s dead now, and my name
is Sarah