The Mystery of the Mystery Meat (12 page)

“No way,” Lilly breathed, shaking her head. “That’s not true.”

“It makes perfect sense. I can’t believe he didn’t tell you,” Deirdre said, grabbing Lilly’s hands and scanning the crowd. “There he is! No, sorry, that’s one of those goth kids.”

Lilly shook her arms to make Deirdre let go of her. “You’re so wrong. Freekin wouldn’t have anything to do with something like this. Think about it. His father got
fired
from his job because of Freekin’s trial, and Freekin got expelled. They’re trying to make him look bad because they want you to ask questions!”

Just then, the old lady tapped one long, sticklike finger against the microphone. Feedback made the sound system squeal.

“Good evening,” she said. “Welcome to the seminar. What a nice big crowd of Curiosity seekers! We’re so glad you’re here. Please find a chair and we’ll begin in one minute.”

The crowd—nearly all kids around Lilly’s age—hurried to chairs and sat down. Then the old lady and the hunchbacked man left the stage.

Here was her chance. Lilly stayed standing and raised her hands over her head. “Listen, people,” she began.

But no one paid her the slightest bit of attention.

“Deirdre! Janeece! Molly! Tish!” she yelled in her best
cheerleader’s voice. “This is a trick! The Mystery Meat people are trying to get us to ask questions because they need people to be Curious again!”

“Curiosity is good!” Sam Sontgerath shouted back at her.

There was laughter.

“No, it’s not! Not today. I’m serious!” she shouted, but people were hooting and laughing at her.

This is terrible,
she thought. She whipped out her cell phone and dialed Freekin’s brand-new cell phone. She couldn’t even hear the ring, so she hurried out of the basement and tried again.

Behind her, in the basement, there was chanting.

“HOW ARE YOU?”

Oh, no, it’s starting,
Lilly thought.
They’re going to learn how to ask questions. What can I do?
She gasped, realizing she had just asked a question.

She wasn’t sure she was connected, but she took her chances. “Freekin, I’m at the question-asking thingie, and I need you to call me back as soon as you can!”

“WHAT TIME IS IT?” the group yelled.

I have to stop this; I have to,
she thought, rushing back to the door. She peered inside. The hunchbacked man stood on the stage, and a list of questions was written on the whiteboard behind him. They included:

HOW ARE YOU?

WHAT TIME IS IT?

WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

WHERE IS THE BATHROOM?

HOW MUCH DOES THIS COST?

WILL THIS BE ON THE TEST?

She listened to them going down the list. She could just
feel
her own Curiosity awakening. It was…forbidden. Exciting.

And illegal.

She stirred herself. She had to break this up,
now.

Then, just as she was about to reenter the basement, someone behind her grabbed her arm. It was Brad.

“Lilly!” he cried. “You have to get out of here
now
. The Society for the Prevention of Curiosity is on their way!”

“What?”
Her mouth dropped open. She had asked a question. She could feel even more Curiosity surging through her bloodstream. “And what are
you
doing here?”

“Shhh, don’t do that,” he said, grimacing. Then he lowered his voice. “I called the number on the flyer, just like everybody else. I was…kind of Curious, I admit it.” He looked very embarrassed. “I was on my way over here, and I saw the bus coming. I was going to just leave, but then I saw you and I knew I had to warn you. We have to go now!”

“What bus?” She winced.
Another
question! More Curiosity!

“It’s the bus for the Society of the Prevention of Curiosity. It’s almost here!” He turned and pointed. “They’ll arrest us, just like Principal Lugosi said.”

Sure enough, a big lumbering bus was rolling down the street, heading toward the library. It was clumsy and bulbous, and in the moonlight, it looked decrepit and old. But it was moving fast.

“We need to warn our friends,” she said, crossing the threshold.

“No. It’s too late!” he insisted, grabbing her hand and forcing her up the stairs. Then he pulled her along the sidewalk. “Hurry!”

“No!” she cried. “We have to tell them!”

“We don’t have time.” He shook his head as he looked fearfully in the direction of the bus. “Lilly, we can only save ourselves!”

“We have to try,” she insisted.

“You don’t get to be star quarterback by picking losers up off the field after they’re tackled,” he said. “You carry the ball to the infield. You look out for number one.”

“Well…I don’t,” she said. She raised her chin. “I guess I’m not a star quarterback.”

“Okay, fine, Lilly,” he said, frowning at her. “You
stay here and get arrested. I’m outta here.” He took off running down the street…just as the bus pulled up to the curb.

It was very long and rusty, with round bumpers and big, dirty white tires. An equally ancient man sat behind the wheel…and behind
him
, there were at least a dozen beefy men dressed in Mystery Meat gray uniforms.

Lilly’s cell phone rang.

“Lilly?”
It was Freekin.

“Freekin, I’m at the library! I’m at the seminar! We’re in trouble!” she cried.

“Lilly, what did you do?”
Freekin bellowed.

A spotlight surrounded Lilly and a huge circle of light blossomed around her.

“Stay where you are! This is the Society for the Prevention of Curiosity! You are under arrest!”
a voice called out.

“Hurry, Freekin!” Lilly cried.

“Lilly! I’m on my way!” Freekin shouted into the cell phone Pretty had “purchased” for him. He’d forgotten to turn the ringer back on; like the other kids, he put it on vibrate during school hours, and he could kick himself for missing Lilly’s first call.

“Guys, Lilly went to the question-asking seminar at the library, and now she’s in trouble,” he told Pretty and
Scary. “So we have to save her. Scary, you transform into the super-secret spy plane and we’ll fly over there.”

The little phantom led the way out of the window and onto the tree branch, where he obediently transformed into the super-secret spy plane. Pretty and Freekin climbed inside, and they were off.

Sooner than one could say “autopsy,” they hovered above the library. But no one was there! Not one single kid, no bus, nothing.

“Land,” he told Scary.

The little spy plane descended among the maple trees. Freekin jumped out, dialing Lilly’s cell phone number as he crept toward the entrance of the basement. Scary and Pretty trailed after him.

“Knock knock, oof,” Pretty whispered, bumping into Freekin as he stared in horrified fascination at the scene in the basement.

No one sat among the jumbles of folding chairs; he saw a cardboard stand-up figure of himself and a whiteboard with questions written on it.

So now the Snickerings had rounded up the most Curious people in Snickering Willows…and Lilly.

“No,” Freekin whispered. He thought a moment. “If they’re arresting the kids for asking questions, they’ll take them to the Juvenile Detention Facility. That’s where they
took me.” He touched his fingers to his forehead. “This is a nightmare!”

“It okay, nice boy,” Pretty promised him.

“Zibu,”
Scary ventured.

Freekin turned around and hurried up the basement steps. “Quick, Scary, morph into a spy plane,” he said as he dialed Raven’s number.

Less than ten minutes later, Freekin had organized a meeting with Steve, Raven, and Tuberculosis in Horatio Snickering Memorial Park, which was within walking distance of the Juvenile Detention Facility. Scary-plane touched down behind a large stand of trees, then changed into a corgi. Pretty growled at the statue of Horatio Snickering III and stuck out her tongue. Scary, still disguised as a corgi, woofed and defiantly passed some gas.

“Freekin,” Raven greeted him. He was holding up a cell phone. “I just heard from Shadesse. The Society for the Prevention of Curiosity picked her up at the graveyard. She wasn’t even at the meeting in the library.”

“The graveyard,” Steve said as he pushed along on his skateboard. Repeating something you didn’t understand was a Snickering Willows way of asking a question, such as,
What was she doing in the graveyard?

Raven nodded, looking stricken. “She was placing flowers on the graves of dead poets, in honor of the completion of my most recent poem. ‘The bolts, the jolts, ten thousand volts…’” He trailed off.

“I
knew
it.” Steve exhaled and balled his fists. “We should have warned everybody. Now they’ve been rounded up like—like
cattle
. They’re going to be tried for Curiosity, found guilty, and sent off to work in the fermented fat factory until they die of old age. And then they’ll be ground up into Mystery Meat. And it’ll be all your fault, Freekin!”

“That is
not
going to happen,” Freekin replied. Raven and Steve traded looks, and Freekin could practically read their minds: Steve was right. This was his fault.

“It’s not going to happen,” he repeated. “We’ll go bust them out right now!”

“Lead the way,” Steve said.

“Woof,” Scary-corgi barked.

The group moved out across the snowy park. Tuberculosis fell in step beside Pretty. “You’re Freekin’s little sister,” he said. “I haven’t seen you around much.”

“Oh, me so busy,” she said, waving her hands.

“I’m still diggin’ your dead bunny head,” he added, gesturing to the decoration on her jumper.

Him so nice boy,
Pretty thought.

“Me say thank you, doll,” she replied.

“Maybe once this is over…” he began. “There’s a dance…”

“Okeydoke, sure, whatever,” she said, scooting past him to catch up with Freekin.

The Juvenile Detention Facility was one block across and one block down from the courthouse, the site of Freekin’s trial for Curiosity. Freekin gazed up at the scudding clouds as they gathered behind the courthouse cupola, shrouding the face of the bone-white full moon as it hung in the sky.

Then the six stopped running and stood on the street opposite a large brick building with bars on all the windows. A large sign read,
JUVENILE DETENTION FACILITY
. At the top of the stairs, two burly men in police officer uniforms flanked the mayor of Snickering Willows and Principal Lugosi. More police officers stood in a semicircle at the bottom of the stairs, behind a white plastic barrier erected between them and a surging crowd of angry adults.

“My daughter is not a question asker!” That was Mr. Weezbrock, in his Mystery Meat union T-shirt, coat, and jeans.

“My sons are innocent!” a skinny little man bellowed. “Set them free!”

“We have to do something,” Steve said. “But look at all those cops.”

“When I was brought here, they drove me in through the back way. There’s a big courtyard back there. If they’ve gathered up a bunch of kids, they’re probably unloading them in the courtyard,” Freekin said.