CHAPTER 65

HUDSON TRAILED MR. CUTTER DOWN the stairs to the room below the surface, carrying Maggie’s and Pancake’s backpacks along with his own. Neither of them said a word, even after they stepped inside the art room. Mr. Cutter stopped, apparently lost in thought.

Hudson scanned the room for Mr. Mann, and spotted a new sign —or one he hadn’t noticed before. Heroes Aren’t Hard to Find. Hudson could use a hero right now. Thor would do nicely. He could hammer right through these foot-thick concrete walls so Hudson could race to his friends at Taco Bell.

But likely he was in for another pop quiz first.

You’re being marched to a detention, and you know this isn’t going to be a study period. More like an interrogation. What do you do?

There was only one right answer —and it wasn’t A, B, or C. Mr. Mann led the way to the worktable nearest the chalkboard. Hudson and Mr. Cutter followed.

Mr. Cutter sat on the edge of the table. “Okay, Hudson. What just happened last period?”

A trickle of sweat worked its way down his back. “Honest, Mr. Cutter, I don’t know what went down. While you were out of the room I got a text from Pancake —that he and Maggie got hit —and that they left school.”

Mr. Cutter made a fist. “Like physically punched?”

“That’s just it . . . I don’t know.”

Mr. Cutter looked as frustrated as Hudson felt. “The bumper stickers. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Hudson wanted to lie. Wished he could. But it would be so wrong —and stupid. “Yeah. Part of the Creating Change project. I was exerting a little social pressure.”

Mr. Mann smiled. “There were some parents exerting a little pressure on the principal this morning.”

He couldn’t seem to get in front of this thing. “The more I try to help my friends,” Hudson said, “the more they’re getting hurt.” A fat lot of good the Creating Change project was doing. Hudson checked his phone.

“Any more texts?”

Hudson shook his head. “It’s set up for me to meet them later. Pancake said their parents will call the office.”

Mr. Cutter’s eyebrows raised. “I’ll run up there. Maybe I can get some answers.” He looked at Mr. Mann. “This may take a while. Cut him loose whenever you’re done.”

“You’re not going to mention about me and the bumper stickers, right?”

Mr. Cutter weaved between the worktables. “It’s going to come out sometime.”

“But not yet,” Hudson said. “It will all be in the report —and then you can tell the world.”

Mr. Cutter didn’t look back. “Count on it.”

Were Maggie and Pancake waiting for Hudson at Taco Bell right now? He had to get out of here. He glanced at Thor’s hammer suspended from the ceiling.

“Mr. Cutter and I have talked a lot about you, what you’re doing, and your little blacklist.”

Where was this going?

Mr. Mann picked up a piece of chalk and drew a square on the board and wrote the word “leaders” inside in bold letters. “Some say there is sort of a box out there. Guys who fit in the box are the ones at the top of the social heap —or can be. They’re strong. Tend to keep their heads when they’re in a tight spot. Appear unfazed when things fall apart around them. Often good at comebacks.”

Hudson pictured Wolfe instantly.

“They usually seem relaxed. Confident. They’re leaders —and others will follow them pretty much anyplace. Sound like anyone you know?”

Mr. Mann wanted an honest answer, didn’t he? Hudson would give him one. “You’re describing Wolfe perfectly.”

“That’s funny.” Mr. Mann angled his head slightly. “I was describing you.”

“What?” His words hit him like Thor’s hammer. He wasn’t anything like Wolfe.

“You’re a leader, Hudson. You can use your leadership for good or for bad. Or you can bury it and do nothing. Your choice.”

He wasn’t so sure about being a leader, but he definitely was using whatever influence he had to help Pancake and Maggie. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

Mr. Mann juggled the chalk from hand to hand. “You like comics?”

That was a strange question. “I guess.”

He pointed at the Superman cutout hanging from the ceiling. “Imagine I’ve got a Superman comic book here. You can spread the comic book open and see a dozen pictures of Superman —but they all look different. An artist forces himself to look at a scene from every angle. That’s what makes comics so magnetic. The illustrations —with their unique angles and perspectives —draw the readers to them.”

He looked at Hudson like he’d just revealed some deep truth to him. Whatever it was, it was over Hudson’s head.

“You said you didn’t know what else you can do. Before you quit, or before you move forward, be sure you’re looking at all the angles. There’s an art to war.”

War. Hudson swallowed. Mr. Mann understood.

“If you only look at this from your perspective, don’t expect results that are truly unique or amazing. Look at things from the viewpoint of all persons involved.”

But he was doing that, wasn’t he? Seeing things from Pancake’s perspective was what got him into this mess, wasn’t it? “I’ll try harder.” What else could he say?

Mann gave him a long look. “You want to get out of here?”

Hudson’s heart leaped at the thought. “Definitely.”

Mr. Mann stepped over to the side door emergency exit and swung it open. “Detention served. Take the shortcut.”

Hudson grabbed the backpacks and jogged through the doorway —and into the October air. A concrete staircase led back to the surface. He took the stairs two at a time, with Mr. Mann right behind him. “Thanks, Mr. Mann.”

“There are two kinds of leaders in this world, Hudson. Those who build up others, and make people happy wherever they go . . . and those who make people happy whenever they leave. You’re the first type. Keep it that way.”

Exactly Hudson’s intention. He waved and ran for the bike rack. Seconds later he had Blue Boy unlocked. He pedaled as fast as he could for Taco Bell. He couldn’t imagine how weird he must look. Who carries three backpacks when they’re on a bike?

I was describing you. Mr. Mann’s words echoed in his head. But Hudson wasn’t like Wolfe. Not in any way. After whatever happened to Maggie and Pancake, he’d show Mr. Mann how different he was from Wolfe. And he’d take Wolfe and all the others down in the process. Pieces of a plan started clicking in place. Even a name: Operation Show and Tell.

He spotted Pancake’s and Maggie’s bikes in Taco Bell’s parking lot from fifty yards away. He tore up to the entrance, dropped his bike, and ran inside —half afraid of what he’d find. Pancake and Maggie sat in the far corner by the windows —each with a soda cup in front of them. Orders of cinnamon twists dominated the center of the table.

Pancake motioned Hudson over. No black eye. No napkins shoved up his nose to stop the bleeding. He looked . . . good. Maggie smiled, but there was no heart in it.

Hudson set the backpacks on the seat next to Maggie. “You okay?” Which was stupid, because Pancake’s text said she was. But she looked . . . lost. “Are you hurt?”

“Sit down, Hudz.” Pancake grabbed a handful of cinnamon twists.

He spilled out the details of the pack attack at the urinal —and everything that had happened to Maggie.

“Now for the ammo I got.” Pancake set up the clip and handed off the phone. “Feast your eyes, amigo.”

Hudson watched in disbelief. Played it again. “We can totally nail them with this. You caught Wolfe’s and Zattora’s faces. The mic picked up the threat too.”

“Every word of it.” Pancake took the phone. “But wait, there’s more!”

“You sound like one of those TV commercials.”

Pancake snickered. “I saved the best for last.” He waggled the phone. “I got a short clip immediately after the paint incident with Giovanna.”

Hudson glanced at Maggie, but couldn’t read her face. It was like she was still in shock that her ex-best friend would do that.

Hudson sat there glued to the screen. Stunned.

The moment it was over, Maggie grabbed her cup without a word and walked to the giant container of sweet tea.

“Maggie loves those shoes,” Hudson said.

“And now I know why.” Pancake filled Hudson in on the details of the insole inscription and his conversation with Maggie.

Hudson tried to swallow down the lump swelling in his throat. “This is making so much sense.” If Giovanna wanted to stab her ex-best friend in the back, she couldn’t have found a sharper knife. “I can’t believe you got this all on film. Unreal, Pancake. Great job.”

Pancake pocketed the phone. “So how are we going to use this?” He took another handful of the cinnamon twists.

“I have an idea,” Hudson said. “But first things first. Send me a copy of both of these clips. We’ve got to protect the evidence. And be careful —they’ll want to get their hands on your phone.”

Pancake grinned. “They’ll have to go through me, first.”

Hudson nodded. “Exactly what I’m afraid of.”