“But it will buy time—and I can keep throwing up roadblocks to stall things.”

And then Grace chimes in. “You know what’s better than roadblocks?” she says. “Detours!”

Lev and the others take it as Grace being obtuse, but Connor, who knows her better, takes it seriously.

“Explain what you mean, Grace.”

Now that she’s the center of attention, she gets animated and excited, gesturing with her hands so much, it almost resembles old-world sign language. “See, if you stop them with roadblocks, they’ll break through each one soon enough. A better strategy would be to send them down some winding path that goes on and on, so’s they think they’re makin’ progress, but really they’re just spinnin’ their wheels.”

Stunned silence for a moment, and Pivane grins. “That actually makes sense.”

Lev looks to Connor, raising his eyebrows. Clearly there’s more to Grace than meets the eye.

Chal gets a far-off, but intense look, like he’s pondering an equation. “The Hopi are desperate for me to represent them in a major land dispute. I could agree to do it, and in return, the Hopi council could agree to announce that they’re giving Connor and Lev asylum.”

“So,” says Connor, putting it all together, “even if people around here start talking, the Juvies won’t hear it, because they’ll be all over the Hopi—and when they finally find out we’re not there, they’ll be back to square one!”

The mood, which just a moment ago lay flat with despair, is quickly rebounding toward hope. Lev, however, feels a sizeable lump in his throat. “Would you go out on that much of a limb for us?” he asks his hosts.

They don’t answer for a moment. Pivane won’t meet his eye, and Elina defers to Chal. Finally Chal speaks for all of them. “We did wrong by you before, Lev. This is a chance to make things right.”

Pivane grasps Lev’s shoulder hard enough that it hurts, but Lev doesn’t let it show. “I must admit I take a little bit of pride to be harboring modern folk heroes.”

“We’re not heroes,” Lev tells him.

At that Elina smiles. “No true hero ever believes that they are one,” she tells him. “So you go ahead, Lev, and keep denying it with every fiber of your being.”

27 • Starkey

Mason Starkey knows he’s a hero. He knows this beyond any shadow of doubt. The many lives he’s saved proves it. The evidence is all around him—his storks, all spirited from the death throes of the airplane graveyard, kept alive and safe through cleverness and well-placed sleight of hand. But it’s only a beginning. The groundwork has been laid for a great work—and for his own personal greatness, which he will more than earn. Starkey knows that there’s a grand destiny waiting for him, and his first foray into the limelight of history is about to begin.

“The Egret Academy,” says the pleasant woman, reading the logo on his forest-green T-shirt, as Starkey signs the guest registry. “Is that a parochial school?”

“Nondenominational,” Starkey tells her. “I’m the youth minister.”

She smiles at him, taking him at his word. How could she not? His clean-cut, blond, well-groomed appearance reeks of honesty and integrity.

“Is the school here in Lake Tahoe?”

“Reno,” he says without hesitation.

“Too bad. I’m looking for a good school for my own kids. One with the right moral values.”

Starkey gives her his most winning smile. He knows the names of her kids and her home address. Not that he’ll need the information this time, but it’s turned out to be a solid protective policy for the storks.

This time it’s not a campground but a high-end retreat. The Egret Academy has rented all ten cabins for the next four days. It’s an expense, but Jeevan has managed to squeeze even more money from the storks’ parental accounts, more than enough to pay for four days of comfort . . . and considering what’s coming next, his storks deserve it.

While the storks explore their new environment themselves, all in their new Egret Academy shirts, the woman gives Starkey the grand tour.

“The dining hall is to the left—you provide your own food of course, but the kitchen is fully stocked with cookware, dinnerware, and everything you’ll need. Tennis court and pool is up the hill. Come. I’ll show you the clubhouse. It’s down by the lake. We have a theater-quality TV, a classic arcade—even a bowling alley.”

“And a cloud connection?” Starkey asks. “We have to have a high-speed connection to the public nimbus.”

“Well, that goes without saying.”

BROCHURE

For more than twenty years, The Egret Academy has brought together knowledge and character in order to inspire our students to be leaders of the future. Our strong academic program is designed to pull information from the widest variety of sources and impart learning through experiential hands-on experience. At the Egret Academy, we strive to give every student a unique and personal education.

Through spiritual retreats and eye-opening field trips, we expose our students to the past, present, and future—all in a nurturing environment that encourages self-reliance as well as trust and camaraderie among fellow egrets.

Our emphasis on personal accountability and social responsibility is exemplified in our Peer Leadership Program, in which our youth ministers organize and run retreats of up to a hundred students at a time. By combining traditional education with special programs, projects, and activities, our faculty is dedicated to creating well-educated, well-rounded, ethically responsible students with the ability and the confidence to take on the world!

“You really outdid yourself this time, Mason. This place is fantastic.” Bam peers over Starkey’s shoulder at the computer screen that he and Jeevan strategize over. “I mean a bowling alley? I can’t even remember the last time I bowled.”

Starkey can’t help but be irritated by Bam’s intrusion, but he tries not to show it. “Enjoy it while you can,” he tells her. That sobers her up a bit.

“When are we going to tell the others the whole plan?”

“Tomorrow,” he tells her. “It will give them time to prepare themselves.”

Yet another clatter of bowling pins from the other side of the clubhouse sets Starkey’s nerves on end. The clubhouse is one big open space. He would much prefer quiet privacy right now.

“Bowl a game for me,” he tells Bam. I would but”—he holds up his stiff hand—“I bowl lefty.” It isn’t true, but it gets her to leave them alone.

On screen is a schematic of Cold Springs Harvest Camp, north of Reno. “I think I’ve figured out a way to jam communications,” Jeevan says. “I’ll need a few kids to help me out, though. Smart ones.”

“Choose whoever you want for your team,” Starkey tells him. “And anything you need, just let me know.”

Jeevan nods but, as always, seems nervous, concerned. He’s a kid who can never just relax and go with the flow.

“I’ve been thinking of after,” he says, “and how, after we hit Cold Springs, we won’t be able to be out in public anymore. At all.”

“So give me options.”

Jeevan pecks at the computer, swipes various windows off the screen, and pulls up a map covered in blinking red dots. “I’ve isolated a few possibilities.”

Starkey clasps him on his shoulder with his good hand. “Excellent! Find us a new home, Jeevan. I have every faith in you.”

Which only makes Jeevan squirm.

As Starkey strolls through the clubhouse, the cacophony of his storks enjoying themselves transforms from a distraction to a testimony of all he has accomplished for them. But it’s only a glimpse of what he has planned for their future.

Yes, Mason Starkey is a hero. And in just a few days, the entire world will know.