The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek(77)

Since his arrival, Leif had wanted to believe that Rex was coming up with some kind of plan to save him, to expose the school for what it was. But Leif was the one with the advantage of being on the inside. If he could get through to even just some of his peers, could convince them that they too could choose not to follow, it might have a ripple effect. Maybe they could be the ones to change things around here. Maybe they could take down the whole school.

He found himself thinking that Rex would be proud, but then he realized that’s probably not how leaders thought.

This wasn’t going to be easy.



* * *



—

LEIF TOOK A seat in the corner of the meeting hall and watched his schoolmates quietly file in for Reports. He’d spent most of his day—including a four-hour lecture on the evils of pop culture (the two C’s in C&C Music Factory, they’d been taught, actually stood for crack and cocaine)—resisting the voice in his head telling him that leading a rebellion would be foolish.

As he surveyed the defeated faces in the room, all of them looking down at their feet, he was reminded just how strong the spell was. These students had been conditioned to follow for weeks or months. Why did he think he’d be able to change their minds in a few days?

But then he saw J walking in.

She cracked the slightest, shortest smile.

Once everyone was present, the female helper from his first class spoke. “Welcome, Candidati. Does anyone have anything to report?”

Sweat dripped from Leif’s underarms.

After a young redheaded boy reported an older girl for longingly looking out the window for an extended period of time, and a tall teenage girl outed her roommate for asking her how she was doing, the helper prompted again, “Does anyone else have something to report? No infraction is too small.”

Leif heard himself swallow.

He looked over at J.

She locked eyes with him.

Keep fighting.

He shot up from his seat without thinking.

“Hey, everybody,” he said, immediately wanting to sit back down and pretend it hadn’t happened, but knowing it was too late for that.

So he kept speaking.

“My name is Leif Nelson—not Candy Datoose or whatever—and I want you all to know: There’s some truly evil stuff going on in this place.”

“Stop that!” the helper shouted as she started marching toward him from across the room, weaving through the crowd, stepping over those seated.

Leif tried to speak faster, knowing he had minimal time. “And I’m not just talking about being rolled up in a carpet. Kids are being murdered!” His heart was pounding so hard, he felt it in his ears. “But guess what? There’s more of us than there are of them! So we don’t have to follow!”

Flattop and Sideburns were now making their way to Leif along with the woman, pushing students aside. Not one of his peers was showing any indication they were hearing him.

But then J stood up.

“He’s right! We don’t have to follow!”

The female helper, already feet away from J, turned to grab her, affording Leif a few extra seconds to speak.

“They can’t put us all in that carpet at once, right?” he said. The two male helpers reached him, hooking him by the arms and beginning to drag him out of the room.

But he kept talking.

“Don’t follow!” he shouted, trying not to get disheartened by the complete lack of a response from anyone other than J.

“Don’t follow!” he repeated.

“Don’t follow!” J joined his chant.

The female helper grabbed J by the arm, but she and Leif continued shouting, leading their defiant, two-person mantra from the unhappy clutches of the helpers, the rest of the students silent and staring down.

“Don’t fol—”

Everything went black as Leif was whacked in the head with something hard.



* * *



—

WHEN LEIF OPENED his eyes, he was covered by a cushy purple comforter.

He blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. Even without his glasses, he could see the room was decorated with bright splashes of color, and the bed was about a hundred times more comfortable than the one in his dorm.

“Well, there you are.”

Leif almost screamed when he saw that Wayne Whitewood was practically next to him, sitting at a desk, writing.

“Your glasses are here if you want ’em.” He pointed a gloved finger toward the corner of the desk, which was almost close enough to the bed to serve as a nightstand.

Leif sat up, reaching out a trembling hand to retrieve them.

Was this how it ended?

Was this where it had ended for Alicia, too?

With glasses back on, it became clear he was in a little girl’s bedroom. Maybe that should have been comforting, but in the context of a school where every other room was that same insipid beige, Leif found it chilling.

The door was closed.

“You could try to run,” Whitewood said, as if reading Leif’s mind, “but I wouldn’t recommend it.” Leif didn’t know whether that meant there were helpers standing guard outside the door, or if Whitewood himself would pummel him if he stood up. Either way, his head was still aching—pounding, really—from whatever had knocked him unconscious earlier, so he had little choice but to lie there.