The Mysterious Benedict Society

This time Reynie said nothing. He understood too well how Sticky felt. If only he knew of something comforting to say, something to ease Sticky’s anxiety — and, yes, something to ease his own. He thought and thought. He lay awake a long while, thinking. Surely there was something.

But if there was, he could not think of it.

Sticky’s anxiety took its toll on him; he slept quite poorly, and all the next morning he had trouble staying awake. By the time Jackson’s class started, his eyelids felt heavy as anvils. It required a heroic effort — including a lot of painful pinches on the leg — to keep his eyes open and pay attention to Jackson’s long, droning lecture. At last Jackson finished, however, and despite his drowsiness, Sticky had managed to lock all the information securely in his head. The end-of-lecture review would not require his attention, which meant it would require willpower instead — it would be all he could do to stay awake. He needed to occupy his mind with something.

And so Sticky focused on Corliss Danton, who was back in class this morning, looking no worse for wear. On the contrary, he seemed the exemplary student: He sat ramrod straight in his desk, listening with attention, and his Messenger uniform was impeccable. In fact his entire person fairly shone. From finger to foot, his fair skin was rosy from scrubbing; even his fingernails seemed meticulously groomed. He looked as though he would smell like a bar of soap. Corliss obviously meant to make a good impression, Sticky thought. He wanted to appear cleansed of any past wrongdoings.

Only after Corliss had glanced past him toward the door a few times did Sticky realize he was not entirely recovered from his visit to the Waiting Room. His face was weary, even dazed, as if he hadn’t slept a wink, and an unmistakeable remnant of misery showed in his eyes. Not for the first time, Sticky found himself wondering what sort of ordeal Corliss had gone through. Then he found that he didn’t want to think about it, as it made his stomach hurt. And then he found that he was asleep.

Sticky wouldn’t have known he was asleep, though, had Martina Crowe not hissed, “You! Skinny bald-headed four-eyes! What are you doing sleeping? Aren’t you supposed to be the super student?”

Sticky’s eyes snapped open. On all sides of him students were tittering, and the Messengers (including Corliss) were sneering disdainfully. In a flush of embarrassment, Sticky reached for his spectacles.

“Watch him go to polishing his glasses now!” said Martina. “What a weirdo!”

“Silence!” shouted Jackson from the front of the room. His icy sharp gaze fell on Sticky. “You can say whatever you like when you have permission,” Jackson said, adding: “Right now no one has permission.”

Paralyzed, Sticky couldn’t even manage to nod.

Kate, however, was too outraged to hold her tongue. “But it wasn’t Sticky who spoke!”

Martina, who happened to be sitting right in front of Kate, whirled about with a look of shock. Kate met her gaze defiantly, which surprised Martina even more. Before they could exchange words, though, Jackson had come charging down the aisle to stand over Kate. “Did you raise your hand to ask permission to speak?”

Kate shook her head, and then, with a bright look, raised her hand.

“No,” Jackson said. “You don’t have permission to raise your hand. And let me just warn you and your friend,” he said with a glance at Sticky, “it won’t benefit you to challenge a Messenger.”

Martina ran a hand through her raven-colored hair and nodded with remarkable smugness. Kate’s face burned bright red — she fairly radiated fury — but she held her tongue. Jackson returned to the front of the room, and the students returned to their busy note-taking.

All except Sticky, who was too upset to concentrate. Instead he stared miserably at Jackson, and then at his other tormentor, Martina, who seemed exceedingly pleased with herself. His gaze was distracted by a movement below Martina’s desk. Kate was slipping her feet back into her shoes. But why had she taken her shoes off? It was too cool for bare feet. Just then Martina shot a glance toward Sticky. Sticky averted his eyes and didn’t look that direction again. He could feel the malice even without looking.

And so it was that when Jackson dismissed class and Martina leaped from her seat, Sticky heard, but did not see, Martina crashing face-first onto the floor. He glanced over in surprise. Notebooks, papers, and pencils had spilled everywhere, and Martina was raising herself slowly to her hands and knees, spluttering and shaking her head as she tried to get her bearings. Messenger or no, her fumblings prompted a burst of laughter from the other students — except for Kate, who pretended not to notice as she grabbed Sticky’s arm, dragging him toward the door.

“I tied her shoelaces to the desk,” she whispered. “With my toes.”

“Great,” Constance said at lunch. “Not only do we have a dangerous secret mission, but now we have enemies, too. Nice work, Kate.”

Kate laughed. “She was already the boys’ enemy. I just added myself to the list. What did you expect me to do, let her get away with it? She called him bald-headed, for Pete’s sake.”

“I am bald,” Sticky said, running a hand over his scalp. “It’s my own fault. I used hair remover when I ran away, to disguise myself.”

“That explains it,” said Reynie. “I’d wondered but was afraid to ask.”

“Isn’t hair remover supposed to sting like the dickens?” Kate asked.

“I’d heard that, so I invented my own mixture, adding other ingredients to keep it from stinging.”

“Did that work?” Constance asked, plainly hoping it didn’t.

“No,” Sticky admitted. “It felt like my head was on fire, and now it’s taking forever for my hair to grow back! It hasn’t even started!”

The others smiled. Then grinned. Then giggled. And finally — unable to help themselves — they burst out laughing. Sticky groaned and ducked his head, but at last even he had to smile. For a while their laughter wiped away the troubles at hand, and they were reluctant to give it up.

But eventually — too soon — their laughter fell away. And unlike Sticky’s hair, the troubles at hand did not hesitate to come back.

Poison Apples, Poison Worms

That afternoon in class, Jillson lectured on the national economy. She also spoke about