‘But I know—” Jason fumed. “He — I mean, I’m sure of the others. I’m positive!”
“Um-hmm,” Mr. Talbot said. “I bet you just made up those names, trying to save your own skin.”
Suddenly Patrick/Tyrone spoke up.
“He is, sir. My· name is really Robert Jones.”
“I’m Michael Rystert,” Sherman/Ryan added.
The other two gave different names, too — Joel Westing and John Abbott. All four boys spoke in calm, even voices. Luke was stunned. What was going on? How could they possibly pull this off?
“They’re lying! Look at their records!” Jason screamed.
“Good idea,” Mr. Talbot said. “Is there a teacher or administrator who would be so kind—?”
At a far table, Luke’s history teacher, Mr. Dirk, stood up.
“Just give me a minute,” he said. Luke wondered how he could have ever found the man intimidating. He scurried out of the room like a mouse. In no time at all, he returned with four thick files. He handed them to the police officer. “Mind, please don’t let any of the boys see. We like to keep their records private—”
But everyone was craning his neck, straining to see. Luke had the advantage because he was still standing next to Mr. Talbot. The police officer flipped quickly through the top file — Luke could see MICHAEL written again and again on each page. And in the next file, it was ROBERT, over and over and over.
“They’re fake!” Jason howled.
‘Aw, who could have faked these? In the two minutes we were standing here?” the police officer said in disgust. He threw the files down on the table and jerked on Jason’s arm. “Come on. Out of here. Enough of your lies. We’d better go make that other pickup quick, or Mr. Talbot here will make me reimburse him for his lost greens time.”
“But — but—” Jason sputtered, all the way out of the dining room.
And then he, and Mr. Talbot, and the Population Police officer were gone.
Thirty Six
It was strange, after everything that had happened, that the boys could shuffle off to their classes as usual. The hall monitors watched as usual. Once the bell rang, the teachers cleared their throats as dryly as ever and began lecturing about integral numbers or laws of thermodynamics or long-dead poets.
Luke took his history exam that afternoon, as scheduled. He was surprised that he could pencil in responses about Hercules and Achilles, Hannibal and Arthur, heroes of the distant past, even as his mind raced with questions about the present. He longed to ask Patrick/Tyrone — no, make that Robert now — for an explanation. Or any of the others. How had they known the right names to say? How had their records been changed? How was it that nobody in the entire dining room had stood up to challenge their stories? And — who had betrayed Jason?
But each time he saw the other boys, they only groaned about their exams, complained about the school food, told stupid jokes. They acted like their names had always been Michael, Robert, Joel, and John.
Nobody mentioned Jason.
‘Are we going to the woods tonight?” Luke whispered to Trey as they were leaving dinner. ‘To talk about — you know.”
Trey looked at him as though Luke was speaking a foreign language.
Guess not, huh?” Luke said, unable to just let it go.
Luke felt an arm on his shoulder just then.
“I’d like a word with you, young man,” a voice said.
With all his fears from breakfast-time rushing back, Luke had to force himself to turn around.
Mr. Dirk, his history teacher, stood there, looking stern.
“You are Lee Grant, are you not?” Mr. Dirk asked.
The other boys stepped past him. Luke watched the doors of the lecture hall close before he could bring himself to nod.
‘Then come with me,” Mt Dirk sai4 and turned on his heeL.
Luke followed a few paces behind. So Mr. Dirk was going to tell him how badly he’d failed the history exam. So what? Luke remembered that, with Jason gone, there was no one to doctor his grades. But Luke had never cared about the grades.
“I’ll work harder next term,” Luke started to say “1 didn’t even start going to your class until last week —”
“Hush,” Mr. Dirk said.
Luke fought the urge to giggle. It was so ridiculous that, after surviving the Population Police raid, he was getting in trouble because he had forgotten the names of a few dead guys most people had never heard of.
Mr. Dirk walked past his classroom. Luke started to protest, but Mr. Dirk was walking briskly now. Luke had to hurry to keep up. Mr. Dirk walked right up to the front door and turned the knob.
“Isn’t it locked tonight?” Luke wanted to ask. But he was beginning to understand that Mr. Dirk wasn’t going to scold him about ancient history He kept his mouth shut.
The door opened easily Luke and Mr. Dirk stepped outside together.
Tiers of steps lay before them in the twilight. Luke remembered his trepidation climbing these very stairs, his first day at Hendricks. They didn’t seem quite so imposing now, probably because he was at the top looking down, instead of the bottom looking up.
‘Where are we going?” Luke couldn’t resist asking.
For an answer, Mr. Dirk put a finger to his lips.
They climbed down the steps and walked along the expansive driveway June bugs sang, far off in the distance. They made Luke homesick. Back on the farm, his dad and brothers were probably just coming in for supper after a hard day of baling. Mother would just be getting home from the factory.
It didn’t seem right that Luke had just had one of the most terrifying days of his life, and his own family would never know.
“Watch your step,” Mr. Dirk said.
Luke had been so lost in thought, he hadn’t even noticed that they had turned, and were now standing in front of a small cottage. No — not a cottage — the small scale had fooled him. This building had turrets and arches like a castle, but was nestled so neatly behind lilac bushes and rhododendron and forsythia that Luke could have walked right past without seeing it at all.
“Ring the bell,” Mr. Dirk instructed. He turned to go.
Luke was swept with panic.
“Wait!” he cried. Mr. Dirk was hardly a comforting figure, but at least he was familiar. Luke didn’t like being abandoned in a strange place, without explanation.
“I trust you can find your way back on your own, when you are finished,” Mr. Dirk said, and disappeared into the shadows.
There was nothing for Luke to do but press the doorbell.
“Come in,” a deep voice called from inside.
Luke gave the door a little push. It was made of the same kind of heavy wood as all the doors at Hendricks. It barely moved. Timidly, Luke edged it open and stepped inside.
A dim room lay before him. Prisms hung from old-fashioned lamps. Wood-framed couches curved between oddly shaped tables cluttered with dozens of framed pictures. Luke didn’t even notice the man in the wheelchair until he cleared his throat.
“Welcome, young man,” the man said. He was older than either Luke’s parents or Mr. Talbot. He had thick white hair that swelled above his forehead like a snowbank. He wore crisp khaki pants and a pale blue shirt — the same kind of Baron clothes Luke had almost become accustomed to wearing himself. “Would you care for a drink? Bottled water, perhaps?”
Luke shook his head, baffled. Questions swarmed in his mind.
“George,” the man called.
Mr. Talbot stepped into the room from the back part of the house.
