Malcolm at Midnight, page 10
But Malcolm didn't have a choice about biting. Malcolm had to stop Jovahn from saying something. He had to.
Malcolm knew one thing: If he was caught by you, Mr. Binney, he wasn't going to be free to wander at night. He probably wouldn't even be at McKenna ever again. And leaving McKenna meant Malcolm would never learn what happened to Aggy. He'd never prove the Academy wrong. He'd never be a rat of valor and merit. He'd be a rat fink—worse, a rat fink who bit.
So he had to do it, Mr. Binney. It probably didn't look like valor and merit from where you crouched on the floor, swearing under your breath. But sometimes doing the right thing and being the fifth-grader you want to be takes some surprising turns.
Malcolm took a deep breath. He trembled. And—he ran.
You said a word under your breath that had gotten Skylar sent to the office last week. Malcolm sprinted across the classroom. He aimed for the door. No clinging to the edges. Straight across. Nutters screeched. Some even pulled their feet up on their chair.
It hurt a little, seeing how the nutters were scared of him.
But Malcolm didn't have time to ponder it.
Because you were after him, Mr. Binney.
Chapter 20
Flushed
Malcolm skittered out into the hall. Unfortunately, the fourth-graders were coming in from gym class. He dodged stomping sneakers and dribbling soccer balls, and narrowly missed getting swept off his feet by a girl dragging her jacket on the floor.
You followed Malcolm out into the hall, Mr. Binney. You chased in that funny half-run, half-walk teachers do when there's an emergency but they don't want to alert the students to it.52 Malcolm was down the hall and almost around the corner before the shrieking started. It was some silly fourth-grader. "Mouse! Mouse! MICE!"
In less than a second, the entire hall erupted in shouts. Some kids ran screaming away from Malcolm, clinging to their lockers. Others (you know the type, Mr. Binney) dove at him. Malcolm wheeled and leaped and twisted like he was avoiding Jovahn's Dodge Balls of Death.
He skidded around the corner, bouncing into a metal garbage can with a bong.
Luckily, this hall was empty. A few kids peered around the corner, but for the most part, their involvement only slowed you down, Mr. Binney. Malcolm raced for the end of the hall. If he could get down the stairs, maybe he could make it to the Lost and Found. The Niche. Malcolm could hide in there.
"Stop!" you half shouted. "Stop that mouse!"
And out of nowhere, a long-handled broom shot out of a doorway. Ms. Brumble. A stealth attack. Malcolm hadn't noticed her cart in the hallway.
The big, fuzzy broom head slammed to the floor in front of Malcolm. A near miss. Malcolm coughed at the cloud of dust that puffed out from the broom. Slam! Again the broom narrowly missed Malcolm.
"Don't hurt him!" you shouted, Mr. Binney. "It's our class pet."
"What?" Ms. Brumble switched tactics. She pushed with her broom, scooting Malcolm along on the floor. She grumbled under her breath, "I don't know what I was thinking, transferring here last year. I could have had Fairfax School! It's pet free. And I wouldn't have to set up tents in a courtyard for some blasted Dedication Day carnival thing." Malcolm zigged and zagged, looking for a way out. You and Ms. Brumble closed in. Malcolm scurried down the row of lockers. Mr. Binney, you put your foot out to stop him. Malcolm went right over your shoe, on the outside of your pant leg, and darted under a door.
It was the bathroom—the same one he and Amelia had been in. Malcolm ran to the farthest corner and hid behind a toilet.
But you were right behind him. The bathroom door flew open.
"We'll find him, don't worry," Ms. Brumble said, bending low. She poked and prodded with her broom. "Did that girl let him out? I told her—"
"What? No." You moved the garbage can, rifling through the paper towels, and groaned. "It's a long story, Ronnie. Where could he have gone?"
You two were looking on the floor, so Malcolm climbed up. He scaled the toilet and jumped on the toilet paper roll. If he could hide until the dismissal bell rang, you'd have to go back, then, Mr. Binney, right? You wouldn't leave the nutters alone, would you?
But you two lankies weren't giving up easily. You opened the first stall door with a bang that shuddered the toilet paper roll Malcolm crouched on. It started spinning. Malcolm jogged to keep up.
Bam! That was the next door. The roll spun faster. Malcolm ran faster. Gristle, this was like his tail-safe wheel, only he was on the outside of it and there was no way to get off!
Bam! Malcolm panted, barely keeping up. Layers of toilet paper spooled onto the floor.
Bam!
"He's here!" You and Malcolm locked eyes.
Malcolm froze. The momentum of the toilet paper roll flipped him over and around. He landed with a lurch on the toilet seat. But those seats are slippery.
And you know what happens next, don't you, Mr. Binney? How could you forget? I mean, it's not every day that you corner a rat you think is a mouse who has bitten one of your students and is probably going to cost you a very long conversation with her parents, not to mention the principal. And it's been a really long day and how is it possible that you've lost so many things of importance lately?
To your credit, you did reach out. But Ms. Brumble barged in and also tried to scoop Malcolm,53 and the two of you tangled and wedged in the narrow stall door.
Let's face it, neither of you has the reflexes of a rat. Only lankies.
Splash.
And before you or Ms. Brumble or Malcolm could do anything but wrinkle your noses, a roar rose in the room.
The automatic flush.
Malcolm swirled once, twice. He reached out to you. But the pull of the water was too strong.
The last thing he saw was the look of horror on your face, Mr. Binney. And Ms. Brumble, putting her hand on your shoulder.
Chapter 21
Not a Rat
That look. That look in your eyes, Mr. Binney.
It hurt.
I know, the look was probably because you were seeing a critter being flushed down the toilet, but to Malcolm it was much more than that. Your look was the final crushing blow. He felt like that time Kiera pulled the chair out from under Skylar and he sprawled on the floor in front of everyone. Here Malcolm had thought he was a beloved pet, but instead he was another problem. A dirty rat.
Down and down he went, taking bends and battering his sore head and ear and nose and tail along the way. Each curve in the pipe seemed to bang open a memory of his rattiness. His lie about the mouse-rat business. Aggy's disappearance. Rat fink. The Academy shrinking away from him in the kindergarten room. The nutters' screams as he escaped. And finally, Amelia's shocked whisper, "He bit me."
Let's face it, if you looked in Amelia's encyclopedia or dictionary, Malcolm swirling through the skuzzy pipes of McKenna would be the exact opposite of valor or merit.
The crooked pipe shot him out into a larger one. Malcolm tried to gulp a bit of air before getting tugged down again. Even as he gasped for breath, he wondered, What was the point? Everything he wanted was gone. He'd messed it all up, in the Academy and in the classroom. And now, with every second, he zoomed farther and farther away from it.
But ... hold on a whisker.
What was the point?
Why had he bothered to take a breath back there when the pipe split?
Why, when all hope and air and bacteria-free water were gone, when he was the sneaky, lying, dirty, stealing, biting, skuzzy rat fink that everyone warned that he'd be, when he had been flushed down a toilet, for crumb's sake—why did he take a breath? Not everyone would.
But Malcolm had.
And Malcolm remembered something.
Honey Bunny, talking that night in the kindergarten room. "You don't know rats. It's all about survival for them. They'll do whatever it takes to get their next meal, their next breath. They're cunning, sly creatures. Not to be trusted."
And Snip: "You rats are virtually indestructible. That's why you've survived so long as a species."
Malcolm's mind careened out of control, like Skylar on a field trip with too much Mountain Dew in him. What if all the bad stuff—being exiled from the Academy, running away from Room 11, getting flushed— had happened because of his rattiness?
But what if his rattiness was what could get him out of all of it, too?
Malcolm dragged his claws on the next bend, slowing slightly. Snip and Honey Bunny had spit out those comments as if those were bad things, but maybe they weren't. Not entirely. I mean, "doing whatever it takes" in the right light is determination and perseverance, isn't it? And cunning—well, isn't that really being clever and smart about solving problems? And survival certainly isn't anything to sneeze at, no matter what kind of critter you are.
The water rushed around Malcolm, over his head and his ratty ears and tail and stubby whiskers.
And then it hit him straight in his ratty face: Maybe Malcolm should stop trying to avoid being the rat everyone thought he was. Maybe he should stop trying to become the rat he thought he should be. Instead, maybe Malcolm should be the rat he was. His true self—who he was when no one else was looking.54
Malcolm shot out all four of his paws, twisted his body, and wedged himself from going any farther down the pipe.
Was that what Oscar had meant when he had spelled out "NOT A RAT"? Maybe Oscar hadn't meant what species Malcolm was; maybe Oscar meant what kind of critter he was. You know, inside.
Yawning up in front of him was a wide grate. Malcolm knew from a recent report by Jovahn exactly how the city plumbing worked.55 He couldn't get sucked into the sewer. He was a survivor, after all. A survivor rat who would do anything to get what he wanted. And what he wanted was here in McKenna. Room 11, Amelia, the Midnight Academy's respect—and Aggy.
Malcolm turned, and he swam. He didn't even know he could swim. But he rat-paddled like no rat ever had before.
And slowly, inch by inch, he moved backwards against the current. And when he reached a Y in the pipe, he ducked into the calmer water. And he kept swimming. The water grew shallower and shallower, until finally Malcolm came to a drain. He barely had the strength to pop the drain cover. He poked his head out into a dim, hot, rust-smelling room.
Where in nubbins was he?
Malcolm sank back down, letting the drain cover settle over him. Tired. Wet. Cold. He curled up into a ratty little ball. And after a few minutes, he drifted off to sleep.
It was exhausting being the rat that he was.
Chapter 22
A Meeting in the Boiler Room
Malcolm woke at midnight with a headache and a stomachache. The headache from all the knocks in the pipe. The stomachache because he was starving. Do you realize that Malcolm had never had to find his own food before? Ever. From the sawdusty pellets at the Pet Emporium to the buffet of treats in Room 11, Malcolm had always been fed. But now he would have to start scavenging. Like a real rat.
Malcolm uncurled his body and poked his head out of the drain cover. He sniffed around. The room was about as big as Room 11, except the floor was crumbling cement and the walls were tile. In one corner, a monstrous metal box—as big as your Toyota, Mr. Binney—rumbled and roared. Farther back, a huge round tank burped and hissed. Both were laced and woven together in a crazy jumble of pipes and ducts that twisted and turned and angled all around the room before they disappeared through the walls and ceiling. It reminded Malcolm a little of what he had learned about hearts and veins and arteries in our circulatory system unit. He wasn't positive about what was being pumped around McKenna—heat? water? peanut butter?—but it was clear that this room was the heart of it all.56
Malcolm's feet started to sweat. First, because of the heat of the room. But also because—well, those pipes! It was a giant maze waiting for him to explore. A rat amusement park, if you will. Malcolm wished Jesse James and Billy the Kid were there. How they'd love this place.
But no. Focus. Nosh first. Then—well, where would he go? Not back to Room 11, that was for certain. Malcolm pushed the thought out of his head and focused on his stomach.
He was about to slip out into the hallway when his slashed ear twitched. A whirring—familiar somehow.
Malcolm scrambled to a hiding place behind the Toyota-sized monster. It roared to life as he ducked under it.
Suddenly, a spear of light pierced the room as the door opened.
Malcolm watched the wall for shadows. But there were none. The ghost of McKenna?
No, critters. Malcolm couldn't see them, but he heard them. Two voices. One, a soft mutter he couldn't quite make out. The other, a hissing, hacking noise that ended in a cough. Snip. But what was she doing down here?
"It's ready," Snip rasped. "I've moved it down here for the big day. Do you know how long I've dreamed about stepping out of the shadows and finally biting back? I want to slash my claws and leave a mark on those hideous creatures they call nutters."
The second voice said something. Malcolm strained, but he couldn't catch the low tones over the roaring of the monster above him. What was ready? And who was she talking to? Malcolm raced to the other side. But the jungle of pipes blocked Malcolm from seeing anybody else.
Snip spit something out of her mouth, saying, "Yes, here it is. Ah-ah-ah—" She slipped a paw over it. "Not so fast. It's yours, once you keep the Academy out of the way. All you need to do is watch. The tall creatures will go up to set the clock. And when they leave the building, you make the call. And then—splashy, splashy!" She wheezed out a laugh that ended in a coughing fit.
A faint clinking sound, another murmur. Malcolm raced back to the other side. He could hear better there.
"Don't be greedy. It shouldn't be hard. The Academy's already chasing after that pathetic pet rat. But when they finally find that scaly leader of theirs? Well, let's just say that'll keep them ... occupied."
Malcolm shivered. Pathetic pet rat—that was him. Scaly leader? That must be Aggy!
But the rest?
In truth, Snip made about as much sense as Jovahn does when he babbles on and on about the different levels of his video games. All Malcolm knew was that something bad was going to happen.
Something to the nutters. And something to Aggy. But when? And what?
Out in the hall, a soft thump. Malcolm's ears swiveled.
"Go!" hissed Snip, and the two critters scurried toward the door. Malcolm crept behind them. He had to know who was with Snip! He squeaked through the heavy door before it slammed shut.
Malcolm blinked in the dim light of the hallway. It was narrow, damp, and cold, without any of the once fancy woodwork or glazed tiles of the upper floors. It reminded Malcolm of the back of the Pet Emporium.
It was also empty. Snip and whoever had been with her had vanished.
Malcolm glanced behind him. "Boiler Room," he read on the door. He wasn't sure at all what a boiler room was, but nevertheless, he thought he should know. So he put the boiler room into the rat map system of his brain. Then he started looking for a way out.
Malcolm bobbed his head right and left, so his nose and what remained of his whiskers could warn him of anything coming up. He turned the corner. What was this? His nose tingled.
An open metal sliding door. Of course, the whirring sound! The elevator.
To a lanky, the elevator was its usual grimy, empty box. But to a rat—well, Malcolm's nose was as twitchy as a nutter before spring break. He breathed in deeply and his head swam in confuddlement. That tang, that chemical mixture ... science! This was the same smell from the science room on the Fourth. Malcolm remembered—what had Snip called it?—the brew in the sink. Had Snip brought it downstairs?
Then Malcolm caught a whiff of a third smell. He stooped lower. He even pawed a little with his claws to make sure. Yes, it was undeniable.
Banana chips.
There was only one critter he knew who noshed on banana chips.
Oh, scrap.
Suddenly, everything clicked into place. Honey Bunny! The other critter with Snip!
"You'll have what you want," Snip had hissed. And Honey Bunny did—he had control of the Midnight Academy. Without Aggy, he was their leader. And it couldn't be more obvious that Honey Bunny longed to be in charge. How many times had Malcolm heard Honey Bunny gripe about Aggy being too soft?
Malcolm sucked in his breath, remembering Honey Bunny's bandaged leg the night of Aggy's disappearance! Could Honey Bunny have gotten cut on the window by breaking it himself? And then Malcolm and his lie had happened along at just the right time! Malcolm's rattiness was the perfect thing to pin this all on. No wonder Honey Bunny was so eager to jump all over him. It was to cover his own big, rabbity tracks!
The realization made Malcolm shrink against the wall. He drew a sign in the dust on the floor.
But he couldn't "get out—fast," as much as he wanted to. He had to stop Snip and Honey Bunny. Before it was too late for Aggy. Or the nutters. Because if he didn't, who else would? Not the Academy. Thanks to him, the lying, skuzzy rat, not only would they not believe him, but they were looking in all the wrong places.
He eyed the elevator. Better to leave it where it was. The only advantage Malcolm had was that Snip and Honey Bunny didn't know that he knew. (Whatever it was that he knew.) Malcolm's head felt as snarled up as when you do those brainteasers in class, Mr. Binney.
Malcolm did need to go up. But how? He didn't relish going back the way he came down. Besides, he wasn't sure he had it in him. He was all rat-paddled out.
No, there was only one other way Malcolm knew to get back upstairs.
