The Throne Read online

  Quietly, determinedly, Meredith hissed. Then, straightening her shoulders, she pushed out from the wall and strode, not to the nearest girls washroom, but to her locker, where she ditched her knapsack, along with the roll of duct tape, scissors, and extra rain hats that it contained.

  “Hey,” said the guy at the next locker. “You’ve got a wad of gum stuck to your butt.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Meredith said coolly. Unlike most of Polkton Collegiate’s home forms, which had been assigned lockers in blocks, Home Form 75’s lockers were scattered all over the school. That was what came with being the very last home form, Meredith supposed, and as a result, she didn’t know the name of the guy right next door.

  “And,” he added, glancing bemusedly at her posterior, “something that looks like duct tape. Four pieces of it.”

  “Oh, yeah!” Meredith repeated, considerably less coolly. “Thanks.” Pulling off the pieces of tape, she wadded them into a ball and stuck it to the inside of her locker door. The gum wad she left undisturbed. “What color is the gum?” she asked.

  “Black,” said the guy.

  Meredith winced. Her jeans were blue; whether this was a Black Cat wad or not, there would be a stain, no two ways around it.

  “What happened to the daffodils?” asked the guy.

  “Someone picked them,” said Meredith. “All of them.”

  “No shit,” said the guy. “That’s a bummer.”

  “You said it,” replied Meredith. Closing her locker, she headed down the hall toward home form. Enclosed by the crowd, she braced herself and waited; the first comment came quickly.

  “Hey dude,” a male voice said into her ear. “You, like, sat on someone’s Juicy Fruit.”

  Glancing to her right, Meredith saw a scraggly-haired guy sporting several lip studs. “I didn’t sit on it,” she corrected him. “Someone stuck it there.”

  The guy gaped back at her. “Huh?” he demanded. “You mean, like, on purpose?”

  “Exactly,” said Meredith.

  “Strange hobby,” shrugged the guy. “The Underwear Gummer.” Cackling maniacally, he meandered on down the hall.

  Wouldn’t have to invent a new dwarf for you, Dopey, thought Meredith. Walking into home form, she stopped in surprise when she found the room milling with students. Then, recalling that it was Tuesday morning, one of the Concert Band’s regular practice times, she stepped to one side to wait until the classroom had emptied out. On the third riser, she could see Gene setting the double bass into its case; beside him, a girl was putting away the tambourine and maracas. Directly below them, a trumpeter was also packing up; as Meredith watched, he pressed a valve on his trumpet, releasing a long line of saliva, which dripped to the floor.

  Yuck! thought Meredith, recoiling. Do they all do that? This place must be crawling!

  Gradually the room cleared of band members, and Home Form 75 students moved in to claim their seats. “Hey, Meredith,” said Gene, glancing over at her as she started to step onto the third riser.

  Before she could reply, however, a voice called out, “Stop this instant! Meredith Polk, this is an order: Do not move!”

  Whirling around, Meredith spotted Mr. Woolger approaching, baton raised in alarm. “No closer!” he barked. “Back away from the instruments right now!”

  Open-mouthed, Gene stared at the agitated teacher, but Meredith instantly got the man’s drift. “It’s gum,” she told the teacher, feeling defensive in spite of herself. “Just a gum wad. Someone else stuck it there, not me.”

  “That may well be,” snapped Mr. Woolger, distractedly waving his baton. “Nevertheless, you cannot bring gum into this room. I’ve told you many times—gum is not allowed in the music room. Take it out of here this instant. You may return when you’ve cleaned yourself off.”

  “But ...” stammered Meredith, staring at him. “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ...”

  Forlornly, her voice trailed off. The teacher’s words were entirely reasonable—she knew that. In fact, she had anticipated a negative reaction from him, albeit not one this extreme. The question now, she thought uncertainly, her gaze dropping, was whether every Polkton Collegiate teacher was going to respond similarly—kick her out until she had removed the gum wad, then let her back in as if this had solved the problem. When, in fact, it solved nothing. Because, sure, she could head to the nearest girls washroom and remove the offending wad, but by the time she returned to class, another wad could conceivably already have taken its place. And if not by that point, then within the hour, or by lunchtime, or mid-afternoon break. That was the reason she had decided to come to home form this morning without removing the gum wad first—she had finally realized how pointless this action would be.

  “What happened to your rain hat?” asked Gene, breaking into her thoughts. Glancing up, Meredith saw that he had stepped down off the third riser and come over to stand beside her.

  “Someone pulled it off,” she told him, gulping around a sudden lump in her throat. “Yesterday. Then this morning, the new rain hat that I bought to replace the old one was pulled off, too.”

  Gene’s eyebrows lifted. “So much for that, then,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Meredith agreed heavily.

  Quietly, Gene stepped behind her and assessed the situation. Shoulders hunched, Meredith tried not to wince too obviously. “Hey,” said Gene, stepping back around to face her. “I’ve got a Kleenex. Want me to take it off?”

  Heat stampeded across Meredith’s face.

  “Or we could ask one of the girls,” added Gene, thinking better of it.

  “No, that’s okay,” Meredith assured him. “Just get it off fast.”

  Several seconds of gentle prodding was all it took, and then Gene was holding out a wad of Kleenex, his face as flushed as her own. “We got the vermin,” he grinned weakly. “But it left a stain. I don’t know if it’ll come out.”

  Meredith shrugged, her eyes flicking past his. “Whatever,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” said Gene, turning to Mr. Woolger, who was still standing nearby, conducting the procedure with his baton. “The gum-wad invasion has now ended.”

  Gingerly, the teacher plucked the Kleenex-wrapped gum from Gene’s hand. “Are you certain you got it all?” he asked.

  “Uh, I think so,” drawled Gene. “D’you want to double-check?”

  “No, no. That’ll be quite all right,” Mr. Woolger said fussily. Taking a step back, he bumped into Morey, who was peering over his shoulder.

  “Sorry, sir!” gasped Morey, ducking an agitated swing of the teacher’s baton. Pointedly ignoring him, Mr. Woolger strode to his desk, where he deposited the offending gum wad into a wastepaper basket and sat down.

  “You okay, Mor?” asked Gene. “Mr. Woolger just about conducted you into the next galaxy.”

  “A bit woozy,” admitted Morey, gently patting his flyaway hair. “Got spun around there in his armpit breeze. Now I know why you play bass instead of flute. But what’s going on with you two?”

  “Gum on my bum,” Meredith told him, flushing slightly. “Again.”

  “And they got her rain hat,” added Gene.

  “Did you see who it was?” asked Morey.

  Meredith shook her head.

  “D’you think it’s all been the same guy?” asked Morey.

  At that moment, Seymour walked into the room, spotted the three of them grouped together and talking, and came to a dead halt. Swiftly, Meredith’s eyes flicked across his, and away.

  “Which guy?” she asked Morey.

  “Y’know—the first time we talked about it,” said Morey. “Last week. You said you thought you knew who it was, but you couldn’t prove it.”

  “I still can’t prove it,” said Meredith.

  Morey shook his head. “I don’t get it,” he said, puzzled. “You. Why would you be a target?”

  A careful expression on his face, Seymour stepped up onto the second riser and sat down. Neither Gene nor Morey appeared to have no
ticed his entrance.

  “I’ll ask around,” said Gene. “Someone’s bound to know something. How about you, Mor?”

  “Sure,” agreed Morey. “I’ll check it out.”

  A surge of relief burst through Meredith, so intense it left her momentarily shaky. “Really?” she demanded. “You will?”

  “Sure,” Morey said again as Gene nodded. “Why not?”

  “Thanks!” exclaimed Meredith as the final bell went, cutting short her gratitude. Reflexively, all three turned to the risers to take their seats. About to follow Gene up onto the third riser, Meredith found her gaze drawn irresistibly to Seymour, who was maintaining a rigid forward gaze, apparently unaware of her presence.

  In spite of herself, Meredith felt her heartbeat quicken and her palms grow moist. Then, before she could think twice about it, she walked over to the Mol and asked, “Are you a Boggs? I mean, are you related to the Boggs family?”

  Surprise flickered across Seymour’s face. “My grandmother is a Boggs,” he said, not quite looking at her.

  Gotcha! thought Meredith. Stepping up onto the third riser, she sat down on her throne.

  chapter 13

  She got hit with another gum wad during the lunch-hour break. When, exactly, it happened, she wasn’t able to pinpoint, but sometime during a cafeteria conversation with Dean, Meredith stepped out from the wall she had been leaning against and was followed by a wet, stringy, tightly-clinging yellow mass.

  “Uh-oh,” Dean said mournfully. “Don’t look now, but ...”

  “Butt?” clarified Meredith, and her friend nodded. “Okay,” sighed Meredith, her heart beginning a slow, deep pound. Turning to peer over her shoulder, she spotted her long yellow tail. Whatever brand of gum this was, its ooze factor was high—she could feel its warm, wet presence seeping through the seat of her jeans. Which, she realized, her interest beginning to quicken, should add exponentially to its stretchability factor.

  “Watch this,” she told Dean, taking a careful step forward, then another, and another. Resolutely, the gum tendril held.

  “Whoa!” said Dean, grinning slightly.

  “Too bad Reb’s at the dentist,” said Meredith, now seven steps out from the wall and continuing her forward momentum. “She should catch this—it’s as good as the monster wad from math class.” Behind her, she could see the gum wad holding firm to its position on the wall, the impossibly long thread connecting it to her butt taut as a tightrope. From a nearby table, an admiring whistle cut the air, and conversations faltered as students turned to look. Cautiously, Meredith took another step, and another.

  “Twelve,” Dean called after her. “Thirteen.”

  Someone began to applaud; others called out encouragement. Fifteen steps, sixteen, seventeen—still, the gum tendril held steady. Abruptly, a figure stepped out of the gathered onlookers and swung a hand through the yellow strand, causing it to sag to the floor.

  “Hey!” cried Dean, starting forward. “What did you do that for?”

  The guy who turned to face her was Neil Sabom, the expression on his face so stern that, for a second, Meredith wondered if he had been telepathically possessed by his father. Without a word, the principal’s son fixed Dean with a contemptuous glare; then, turning it on Meredith, he let loose with several rapid-fire mouth clicks before pivoting and stalking off into the crowd. Open-mouthed, Dean stared after him.

  “Whoa!” she said again. “Does that guy have problems, or what?”

  At that moment, a vaguely familiar voice called out from the watching crowd. “Hey, Meredith!” it singsonged. “Your name’s Meredith, right?”

  Turning, Meredith saw Ronnie Olesin seated atop a nearby table, her feet straddling the bench that ran alongside. Pudgy face piqued with interest, her pale blue gaze was fixed on the wad still glommed to Meredith’s butt.

  “You’re a walking target!” she crowed. “Might as well hang out a sign: Open for business!”

  Ronnie’s tone was gleeful, the implications of her comments breathtakingly nasty; both slammed into Meredith like a speeding semi. At the same time, she was becoming aware of the apprehension that had reared through her at the mere sight of the other girl. All over herself, Meredith could feel it—the weird vibes Ronnie Olesin gave off. No question about it—this girl creeped her out big time.

  Beside her, Dean let loose with a loud hiss and started toward Ronnie. Quickly, Meredith blocked her with an arm. “Don’t,” she said quietly. “She’s trouble. Just leave it.”

  “She’s a bitch, whatever else she is,” muttered Dean.

  Without warning, the girl seated next to Ronnie threw back her head and hooted with laughter. “Yeah!” she half-shouted, bumping Ronnie’s shoulder with her own. “You got it, Big R! Open for business! Open for business!”

  Dean’s eyebrows skyrocketed. “Slow circuit,” she mumbled under her breath. “That one’s on a definite time delay.”

  Lana Sloat, thought Meredith, eyeing the second girl. Like Ronnie, Lana was in Grade 11—give or take a few credits. Thin and lanky, with an uncertain hangdog look, she generally skulked at the fringes of school activities—usually in Ronnie’s wake and functioning as her sidekick. Nothing about her presence did anything to dispel Meredith’s unease.

  “Yeah, it’s a drag,” she said, trying to sound noncommittal. “Someone in this school has a real thing for plastering me with gum wads.”

  Ronnie’s eyes gleamed. “Maybe he’s got the hots for you,” she sneered. “A secret admirer. Or not so secret—have you figured out who it is?”

  “No,” Meredith said shortly. She was beginning to actually taste her dislike of this girl. The problem was how to cut and run, with Ronnie sitting next to the only available exit route.

  Apparently struck by inspiration, Lana leaned forward and blurted, “A rearview mirror—tape one to your forehead, dozo! Then you’ll see the bugger coming up behind you!”

  Face in an expectant grin, she glanced at Ronnie, as if seeking her approval. For a long moment, Ronnie sat motionless, seemingly considering her sidekick’s suggestion. Finally she nodded, and Lana’s grin widened.

  “You got it now!” she announced loudly to Meredith. “Get yourself a rearview mirror and your problems are solved, dozo.”

  Uncertainly, Meredith glanced at Dean, who was wearing a carefully pained expression. That it would be unwise to offend Ronnie went without saying. Extending the conversation, however, wasn’t high on the agenda, either.

  “What d’you think?” Dean asked abruptly, crossing her arms and fixing Ronnie with her gaze. “What would you do if this was happening to you?”

  “Me?” demanded Ronnie, startled by Dean’s directness. “Nothing like that would ever happen to me.”

  “Pre - tend,” drawled Dean. Beside her, Meredith winced. Mount Matsumoto was clearly running out of patience; the condescension in her voice was impossible to miss.

  Ronnie got Dean’s drift. Stiffening, she leaned forward as if about to speak but, before she could get out the words, a voice called authoritatively from the cafeteria’s central aisle. “Hey—you there!” it barked. “You two, sitting on the tables!”

  Glancing toward the speaker, Meredith spotted Ms. Runcie—a business teacher on lunch-hour patrol. “You there!” the woman repeated, pointing at Ronnie and Lana. “Get off the tables! There is no sitting on cafeteria tables!”

  “Shit!” hissed Ronnie as she caught sight of Ms. Runcie. “It’s the fuckin’ Nazis. We’re outta here.” Surging to her feet, she ducked into the crowd, followed by Lana, and the two girls began bulldozing their way toward the nearest exit.

  “Come on,” said Meredith. Grabbing Dean’s arm, she took off in their wake, using the space the girls had opened up to weave a quick route through the crowd. “No, not that way,” she said to Dean as they emerged from the cafeteria—halfway down the hall, Ronnie and Lana could be seen veering into a stairwell. “Over here.” Crossing the corridor, she pushed open the door to a girls washroom.

 
; “Whew!” said Dean, following her in. “For a second there, I thought you actually wanted more social interaction with those two. What is the inside of their skulls made of—papier mâché?”

  “Forty-watt bulbs,” replied Meredith. “The lights are on, but nobody’s home.” Now the encounter was over, it was the last thing she wanted to talk about. Ronnie and Lana were, simply put, out of sight, out of mind. “Look,” she continued, turning to face the mirror. “Can you help me clean off this gum before gym? Check to see if there’s a stain, okay?”

  Placing both hands on the washroom counter, she tried to avoid her resigned reflection as Dean checked out her butt. “Yeah,” her friend reported dismally as she removed the remaining gum. “It’s pretty yellow, Mere. Well, the stain’s actually a light green because your jeans are blue. And you can still see the black stain you got this morning.”

  “My best jeans!” exploded Meredith. “I won’t be able to wear them ever again. If this keeps up the way it’s going, I’ll have to toss all my clothes. Maybe I should start wearing Pampers.”

  Face distressed, Dean leaned against the counter beside her. “I wish I knew what to do,” she sighed. “If only I could walk along behind you all the time and fend them off.”

  Turning her back to the mirror, Meredith tried unsuccessfully to get a sight line on the two stains. “8:35 am,” she said gloomily. “And 12:40 pm. Two moments of doom, documented on my butt. What a pain in the—”

  “Hey!” said Dean, her expression coming out of its dejected slump. “That’s it! I mean, why not? Your jeans are already stained.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Meredith asked half-heartedly, her attention still focused on her reflection.