Hazed Page 4

  “So what did we get ourselves in for?” Joe asked. “We heard something about rules for being a perfect servant.”

  A group groan went up. “They’re insane,” Gabe told us. “You have to know the name of every one of the masters. That’s first, middle, and last. And you have to know a bunch of other garbage about them too. Like the lyrics for every guy’s favorite song. Which you have to be able to sing on request.”

  “You have to wear the right color socks. There’s a schedule. You have to memorize it,” Bobby added. “And you have to know the years every dean served from the time the academy was founded.”

  “If you mess up on any of this bull, you get punished,” a guy in the back of the room called out.

  “Punished?” I repeated. “Punished how?” This could be key. Had Roy died during a punishment?

  “Just more drama club productions like what happened in the cellar?” Joe asked.

  “They did the blood-drinking thing, right?” Bobby asked. “That’s what they started us with.”

  “Yep,” I answered. “It was a little freaky. For a second, I really thought they might have offed Joe.”

  Joe snorted. “Really? I knew the Frank they showed me was a dummy right away.”

  My brother is so full of it.

  “I almost needed new underwear when they did it to us,” Keaton admitted. “But the punishment stuff is usually just whatever they think of at the moment.”

  “It’s almost like a competition among our ‘masters,’” Gabe added. “Who can come up with the most original punishment.”

  “Wes made me eat a whole bag of marshmallows in thirty seconds,” Bobby told us. “I took thirty-two, so I had to eat another one.”

  “Which made him puke,” Gabe said. “And then I was ordered to clean it up. With my hands!”

  “Nasty,” Joe commented.

  Completely nasty. But it’s not something that would make you have a heart attack.

  “Sounds pretty tame to me,” I said. “I heard about this kid in Dallas who died during a hazing.”

  The room went quiet, except for one guy who was still clacking away on a computer keyboard.

  I caught Gabe and Bobby exchanging a worried look.

  “Yeah, it was a frat thing,” Joe jumped in. “The guy’s frat brothers put a funnel in his mouth and poured gallons of water down him. Maybe they’d never heard of water poisoning. But the guy still died.”

  “Like Roy,” someone muttered. I couldn’t see who.

  “Roy had a heart condition,” Keaton said.

  “Who’s Roy?” I asked.

  “A first-year guy who died a couple of months ago. Down in the cellar,” Gabe answered.

  “Not in the cellar. He died in his own bed,” Keaton corrected.

  “After he was taken down to the cellar for a couple of hours. I still say he was dead when they brought him back upstairs and dumped him in bed,” Gabe insisted.

  “He was in the cellar alone? None of the rest of you were there?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah. Sometimes they choose one of us for a private cellar session,” Bobby explained.

  “I still say Liam Sullivan brought Roy down there to murder him,” the guy working on the computer said, without looking away from the screen.

  “Meet David. Our conspiracy theorist. He’s probably on one of his favorite conspiracy websites right now,” Keaton told us. “Like the one about how it was aliens who really killed Kennedy.”

  “Or my fave—the one about his inhaler,” Bobby added. “Remember that one, David? You thought the government was putting psychedelic drugs in the inhalers of everyone who had asthma as part of some plan to create … What was it again?”

  “Mutants, like the X-Men,” Gabe volunteered.

  “Not like the X-Men,” David said. He still didn’t bother to turn around and really join in the conversation. He was still focused on the computer.

  “So what’s your theory on Roy? Why would this guy Liam have wanted to kill him, David?” I asked.

  “Roy was going out with this girl, Emma. And Liam wanted her for himself,” David answered.

  “That’s pretty extreme,” I observed.

  “Yeah, well, Liam was pretty extreme about Emma,” David answered. “He was, like, almost stalker extreme. P.S., Liam and Emma are together now. So killing Roy worked.”

  “Roy had a heart attack,” Keaton burst out. “The doctor said he had a heart attack!”

  “Well, heart attacks can be helped along,” David said calmly. “Spend five minutes online and you can come up with a list of drugs that will do it.”

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Liam Sullivan

  Hometown: Madison, Wisconsin

  Physical description: Age 17, 5’7”, 182 lbs., blond hair, brown eyes

  Occupation: Student

  Background: Average student; parents made a contribution to the academy to get him in; artistic.

  Suspicious behavior: Obsessed with Roy Duffy’s girlfriend.

  Suspected of: Murdering Roy Duffy and making it look like a hazing incident gone wrong.

  Possible motive: Wanted Roy Duffy’s girlfriend for himself.

  “And in your theory the other guys just went along with it?” Keaton demanded. “A bunch of them were down there with Liam and Roy. You’re saying they just stood around and witnessed a murder?”

  “I don’t think they even know they witnessed a murder,” David explained. “I don’t think that kind of conspiracy went down. But I think they all thought they pushed Roy too far. I bet they think they were responsible for giving him a heart attack. Then they were stuck with a dead body. So they decided to just dump Roy in bed and let it look like he died there.”

  “And none of them told the truth? Not one? I just find that impossible to believe,” Keaton said to David.

  “Would you want to admit that a guy died while you had him in the cellar, basically torturing him?” David replied. “It’s not exactly something that’s going to look good on your college applications.”

  7.

  So Dead

  “So what do you think?” I asked Frank when we were back in our dorm room. “You think this guy Liam could have set out to give Roy a heart attack?”

  “Well, David does seem like the kind of guy who sees a conspiracy behind every tree,” Frank answered. “But that doesn’t mean he’s necessarily wrong about Liam. We definitely need to talk to him. Get some more info.”

  “Hopefully he’ll be in a class with one of us tomorrow,” I said. “I’m thinking Keith is a suspect too. He loves the idea of giving back what he got when he was a servant a little too much, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah. But Wes seemed to really enjoy the idea of having a servant too,” Frank commented.

  “It seems as if Wes just likes having someone to wait on him, though.” I grabbed some chips out of the bowl the guys had left on the dresser. “Who wouldn’t want someone to fetch you snacks and clean your room and all that?” We’d found out that another part of our jobs as servants was keeping the masters’ rooms in order. Fun, fun.

  “True. Keith seemed a lot more about the punishment. Like he wanted to make sure every one of the servants had as hard a time as he did,” Frank said. “I can see him getting out of control and pushing Roy too far. I don’t think he would have actually meant to kill the guy or anything. But it’s not impossible to imagine him letting one of the punishments or rituals get way too dangerous.”

  I flopped down on my bed. “What’s your take on Douglas?”

  “That he’s trying to be exactly what his dad expects him to be—and that he’s not making it,” Frank answered.

  I nodded. “That’s what I got from him too. I can see him taking part in a cover-up. I think he’d do anything not to have to tell his father that he and the guys ended up accidentally killing someone.”

  “That’s all I can see, though,” Frank told me. “I don’t see Douglas as a guy who would actually push someone so hard it could
hurt them.”

  “Wes either,” I said. “Although that dude kind of has a twisted sense of humor. If he thought something was funny, he might take it too far.”

  “Those servant jokes of his were definitely sick,” Frank agreed.

  I let my head hang over the edge of the bed. I think the increased blood flow makes me think better. Plus, it feels kind of good. “So I say we put Liam on the top of our suspect list—at least until we get more info. Then Keith. With Wes and Douglas coming in tied for third.”

  “I think I might put Wes ahead of Douglas, instead of tied with him.” Frank didn’t hang his head over the edge of the bed. He says it gives him a headache, and the headache stops him from being able to think at all.

  “Douglas is really tightly wound, though. Sometimes those are the guys who just lose it,” I commented. I could almost feel my face turning redder.

  “But Wes isn’t tightly wound enough,” Frank countered. “That’s just as bad. If you think everything’s a big joke, is there anything you won’t do?”

  “Like kill someone?” I asked. “Nobody kills another person just for laughs.”

  “If they’re a psychopath, they do.” Frank’s face was solemn. Even though I was looking at him upside down, I could tell he was worried. “We need to keep watching—”

  The door swung open before he could finish. I sat up so fast I got a head rush.

  A tall man with his brown hair in a short pony-tail stepped into the room and gave us a half salute. I noticed he had a couple of scars on his palm. Just raised white slashes.

  “I’m Mr. Diehl,” the man said. “I teach history—World and European—here at the academy. I’m also in charge of this dorm. I just wanted to introduce myself and say welcome.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “So, welcome.”

  “Thanks. I’m Frank Hardy, and that’s my brother, Joe.”

  Frank’s always on top of introductions and other politeness kinds of stuff. I space sometimes. It makes Aunt Trudy crazy. She says I’m going to convince people I was raised by bears.

  Which actually, it might have been cool if I was. Think about it.

  “I have an office up on the third floor. “You’ll see my name on the door. My quarters are next to it,” Mr. Diehl told us. “Come find me if you need anything.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Mr. Diehl headed back out the door. But he hesitated before he closed it. “I know you boys are here to see what life at this type of school is like. And I think that’s a great idea.” As he spoke, I realized he had a few scars on his face, too. They were so faint you didn’t notice them right away, but one of them cut through his eyebrow. A quarter inch lower, and Mr. Diehl might have lost his eye.

  “I do. I think it’s a very good idea. You boys—all you boys—should know what kind of options are available. I hope Andrew and Jamie will tell all the other students about their time at public school. But …”

  He glanced back and forth between me and Frank, then continued. “But there are some traditions at the academy … no, traditions isn’t exactly the word I’m looking for. Although they were going on back when I was a student here—so maybe that is the right word. Anyway, there are things that happen at the academy that I don’t think have any place at a school. Things that I don’t think make for an environment conducive to learning. I don’t want you to think that I approve of these things. Even though the administration encourages the faculty to turn a blind eye.”

  I nodded. Even though he wasn’t being very clear.

  “What I’m trying to say is, if there is something you are asked to do that makes you uncomfortable, you can refuse,” Mr. Diehl told us. “So—good night, then.” And he was gone, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

  “I hope he’s clearer when he teaches his history classes,” I said. “But he had to have been talking about hazing, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah. Unless there’s something else ugly going down around here,” Frank agreed. “It’s kind of creepy what he said about the administration encouraging the teachers to—what did he call it?”

  “Turn a blind eye,” I answered. “Yeah. But remember how Dean McCormack told Mom and Dad and us that he was a student here. Maybe he’s kind of like Keith. Maybe he thinks if he went through the servant thing, everyone should have to. Or he’s like Douglas’s dad and thinks it’s part of the bonding that leads to all those great business contacts later.”

  “Makes sense.” Frank picked up the giant black binder Keaton had given us. “We better get started memorizing the song lyrics and all that other junk we’re supposed to have cold by tomorrow morning.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I don’t want any of the potential psychopaths coming up with punishments for me.”

  I watched Liam Sullivan. He was sitting one row over and two seats down from me in my world history class. I was pretty sure he was doodling and not taking notes as Mr. Diehl lectured. I couldn’t see his notebook from where I was sitting. But the way his hand was moving gave him away.

  Liam wasn’t the only guy in class who wasn’t exactly paying attention to Mr. Diehl. Keith and another boy were playing hangman behind me, and I was pretty sure I could hear somebody snoring a little in the back row.

  Mr. Diehl had given a few pleas for attention, but they hadn’t worked. He was one of that kind of teacher. The kind who just give off this vibe that says you-don’t-have-to-do-what-I-say-because-I’m-never-gonna-do-anything-about-it.

  “That’s not the way you spell that,” Keith whispered.

  “How do you know? It’s not like it’s in the dictionary,” the guy he was playing hangman against whispered back.

  Mr. Diehl called on Liam. When he stood up to answer, I got a look at his notebook. Yep, I was right. He’d been … well, not doodling. The drawing of the girl’s face that covered one whole page was way too good to be called a doodle.

  I wondered if the girl was supposed to be Emma. The Emma who was formerly Roy Duffy’s girlfriend.

  Yeah, it was. I spotted the name Emma written sideways next to the drawing. Emma was definitely cute.

  But that wasn’t enough evidence to convict Liam of murder.

  I didn’t have any more time to think about Emma and Liam, because it was my turn to answer one of Mr. Diehl’s questions. And I got it right, thank you very much.

  Then the bell rang, and we were outta there. World history was the last class of the day, so I headed to the dorm. I was wondering whether Frank had found out anything interesting, when I heard someone behind me shout, “Freeze, new meat!”

  I froze.

  Liam Sullivan circled around in front of me. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

  “Liam Alexander Sullivan,” I answered. A couple of other masters stopped to take in the action.

  “And what’s my favorite color?” Liam asked, eyes narrowed.

  “Green.”

  Liam started to shake his head.

  “That’s lime green,” I quickly added. “As opposed to forest or sea foam.” I sent out a silent thank-you to Frank for keeping me up until four a.m. studying the big black binder of everything a slave had to know.

  “And my favorite song?” Liam demanded.

  “‘Bohemian Rhapsody’” I said, praying he wasn’t going to make me sing it. Have you ever heard that song? If you haven’t, you need to know that it is long. As in looong. There was no way I was going to get through it without messing up on the lyrics. No possible way.

  “Sing it,” Liam told me.

  I was so dead.

  8.

  Dirty Socks

  “I thought I was dead,” Joe told me as we headed into the dorm together. He’d caught up to me as I was heading up the hill to the building. “I could only come up with two words. Mama. And Beelzebub.”

  “Mama and Beelzebub. That could be the name of a new song,” I joked.

  “You wouldn’t have thought it was funny if you were the one surrounded by masters while having an inten
se brain freeze,” Joe complained.

  “But he only made you do a push-up. And that’s it?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” Joe shook his head. “How psycho is that? And in a good way. Not in a raving-psychopath-who-killed-a-guy-to-get-his-girlfriend way.”

  “Maybe he could just tell that one push-up for your puny arms is like a couple hundred for a regular person,” I suggested. Because I’m the big brother. It’s my job to say things like that.

  Joe socked me in the arm. “So clearly he’s not a guy who gets off on doling out the punishments. Not the way Keith does. But there is one thing about Liam, though. He’s definitely into that Emma chick. He spent all history class drawing her picture.”

  We started up the stairs to our floor. “Maybe we need to talk to Emma herself.”

  “Frank Hardy, wanting to talk to an actual girl?” Joe gasped in mock horror. “How are we supposed to make that happen?” he continued in his regular voice. “In the first place, it’s an all-guys school—in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “There’s a dance tonight. I guess no one bothered to tell you about it,” I explained. I opened the door to our room and stuck my backpack under the desk on my side. Joe threw his onto his bed. He’s a total slob. I had to remake the bed he’d made for one of the masters this morning. When my brother was finished, it looked like he’d made the bed with the master still in it.

  “A dance, huh?” Joe asked, flinging himself down next to the backpack. “Sweet.”

  “Not so sweet for us servants,” I told him. “Keaton gave me the rundown. Servant types aren’t allowed to dance. We are allowed to serve punch and whatever else the masters can think of.”

  “How do the guys survive a year of this?” Joe asked. “No dancing. No TV No use of the pool table. Just memorizing pages and pages of worthless info and making sure the chip bowls are filled.”

  I ignored his complaining. There are times where ignoring Joe is the best course of action. “I figure Emma’s definitely going to be there with Liam,” I said. “We just need to find a few minutes to talk to her alone.”

  “Maybe I could spill punch on her and talk to her while I clean it off,” Joe suggested.