“S.Q.! Hey, S.Q.!” Kate called out. “I wanted to ask you a question about your lecture this morning.”
S.Q. turned to see Kate barreling toward him. “I’m afraid I can’t talk right now, K —”
Before S.Q. could finish, Kate took a spectacular fall. Her feet shot out from under her; her arms and legs flew in every direction; her bucket clanged and scraped against the stone floor, sending up sparks; and at last — with her feet first in front of her and then somehow behind her — Kate tumbled and slid to a stop a few yards away from S.Q., where she did a very convincing job of rolling her eyes back into her head.
“Kate!” S.Q. cried, hurrying to check on her as the boys came running up. “Step back!” he ordered. “Give her room to breathe!”
As Kate made a great production of fluttering her eyelashes and rolling her eyes loopily about, Reynie and Sticky edged past S.Q. to talk to Charlie Peters, who stood a little distance away, gazing impassively down the corridor, apparently not the least interested in Kate’s fate. A terribly pale boy, with pale eyes, pale hair, and pale skin, Charlie looked like a figure made of wax. When the boys approached, he didn’t even acknowledge them. He wore a faintly confused expression, as if he couldn’t see why he had to leave the Institute, why he couldn’t just keep on being a Messenger forever.
“She’ll be fine,” Reynie said, jerking a thumb toward Kate as if Charlie might actually care. “Falls down a lot, but she always recovers.”
“What?” Charlie said, looking at the boys for the first time.
Reynie’s face took on a sympathetic expression. “Oh, I guess your mind’s on other things, since you’re graduating. No one could blame you for that. I’ll bet you’re sad to go, aren’t you? You’ll miss all those special privileges.”
“What special privileges?” Charlie said warily. “I don’t remember any special privileges. Being a Messenger is a responsibility, a matter of leadership. When you’re a Messenger, you’re so busy helping Mr. Curtain that you hardly have time to think. In fact,” Charlie said, looking disappointed now, “in fact, it seems like only yesterday I was made Messenger, and now I’m going home already. I’ve been so busy that everything in between seems like a blur.”
“Busy doing what?” Sticky asked.
Behind them, S.Q. was struggling to help Kate back to her feet. Kate was making it difficult by slipping on things that had spilled from her bucket.
Charlie grew agitated. He glanced left and right, then fixed them with a decidedly suspicious look. “I can’t say.”
“But why not?” Reynie urged. “Did they threaten you? Can you tell us
Charlie shook his head doubtfully. He seemed to be considering, though, and the boys felt their hopes rise. Then he shook his head again, more vigorously this time. He seemed extremely distressed by their questioning. “I can’t say,” he repeated. “I really can’t.”
“— lucky to be alive,” S.Q. was saying to Kate behind them. Then his voice sharpened. “Hey! You boys get away from Charlie!”
“Okay, bye, Charlie,” Reynie said quickly, and Sticky gave a playful salute, but Charlie only stared at them with a distraught expression, as if they’d done him some grievous wrong. Casting the boys a disapproving look, S.Q. took Charlie’s arm and led him away toward the exit.
“Any luck?” asked Constance, who had finally come down the corridor and was standing there, conspicuously unhelpful, as Kate gathered her things.
Reynie picked up Kate’s slingshot and handed it to her. “He isn’t talking. He wouldn’t say why.”
“I did all that for nothing?” cried Kate, dismayed.
“I’m not sure,” Reynie said. “There’s something curious about what Charlie said. Something . . .” He frowned. “I’m going to have to think about it.”
“Anyway, Kate, don’t tell us you didn’t enjoy doing that,” Sticky said.
“That’s true, I did,” Kate admitted, with an impish grin. “How did it look?”
“Like you fell out of an airplane,” Reynie said as they started toward the cafeteria again.
“Really?” Kate gazed at him with shining eyes. She was deeply touched.
Tests and Invitations
During the last class of the day, near the end of the lecture review, the classroom door flew open and Jackson came in. “Don’t mind me,” he said to the Executive he’d interrupted, though from the way Jackson strutted, it was clear he enjoyed the attention. “Just posting the new Messenger list.”
Every student in class sat up straighter. The new Messenger list! It was well known that the list hadn’t changed in over a month. Now Charlie Peters’s departure had left an open slot. Who had filled it? As Jackson hung the paper at the front of the room, everyone strained their eyes to make out the names. Kate was the only one sharp-eyed enough to succeed. “No luck yet,” she whispered to Reynie. “Your name’s not on it.”
The moment class was dismissed, the students swarmed toward the list. Martina Crowe, the first in line by virtue of her sharp elbows, announced that Bonnie Hedrickson was the new Messenger. This prompted a collective moan of disappointment. Still, no one stepped out of line. Everybody wanted to see for themselves, perhaps hoping Martina was playing a joke, or that Bonnie’s name would magically disappear, replaced by their own.
The Mysterious Benedict Society had gathered near the back. “Let’s get out of here,” Kate said. “It’s Bonnie, all right. I saw her name.”
“You three go on,” said Reynie, who felt strangely compelled to see the list up close. “I’ll meet you on the plaza.” And so the others left, and Reynie got in line, wondering why he felt drawn to look. Perhaps he was not so different from the other students after all. Perhaps he, too, hoped for something impossible.
“The secret privileges!” said a girl wistfully.
“And those tunics!” said a boy. “I’ll get on that list if it kills me!”
