Read Con Academy for Free Online

bruised stomach muscles where Brandt hammered his elbow. When I get back to my room, I try on my uniform for the first time.
    The jacket, shirt, and pants fit perfectly. I get the tie right on the first try, then rake my fingers through my hair until it looks halfway presentable. For the moment, the guy staring back at me from the mirror almost looks like he belongs here. I smile. If I can fool myself, then the rest of my classmates should be a breeze.
    Five minutes later, armed with my class schedule, I’m speed-walking down to the dining hall for an epic helping of gourmet huevos rancheros with a latte and fresh-squeezed orange juice. The eggs are delicious, light and fluffy, with roast tomato-serrano salsa, corn tortillas, black beans, and fresh cheese, and I manage to polish the whole thing off without getting any on my tie. Meanwhile, it’s almost nine o’clock, which means I’ve got World History 443: Twentieth-Century India and China starting in less than ten minutes. If I hurry, I can make the bell.
    I head out of the dining hall, riding on a river of well-dressed, bright-eyed baby billionaires on their way to various training seminars on how to rule the twenty-first-century world. I’m glancing down at the map to make sure I’m headed in the right direction when I see a big group of students up ahead gathered around the statue of Lancelot Connaughton.
    Except it’s not the statue they’re looking at.
    There’s a student perched on top of Connaughton’s shoulders. He’s wearing nothing but a ski mask and a pair of red swim trunks, and he’s trying to hold perfectly still, like he’s part of the statue, but it’s cold out here and I can see him shivering. Written across his bare chest in what looks like black marker is a stylized letter
S
. As uncomfortable as it seems, it’s pretty obvious that he’s actually
choosing
to be up there.
    â€œWhat is this?” I look at the girl next to me, who’s snapping a photo with her iPhone. “What’s going on?”
    â€œHazing ritual,” she says.
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œThe Sigils.”
    â€œWho?”
    She glances at me. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
    â€œIs it that obvious?”
    â€œThe Sigils are a secret society on campus. Every year they invite two or three new students to join. Nobody knows who’s in it, but the members always make new recruits do something like this to get in.”
    For a second we both stand there looking up at the poor kid. “How long does he have to stay up there?”
    â€œTill his assignment’s over.” She shrugs, and then from behind us I hear a man’s voice shouting. “I guess his time’s up,” the girl says, and I glance around to see two security guards lumbering across the quad, making a beeline for the statue.
    â€œYou!” one of them shouts. “Get down from there now!”
    The kid in the ski mask jumps off Connaughton’s shoulders and hits the ground running at top speed, with the two guards struggling to keep up. The crowd of students cheers him on. Before the guards can reach him, the kid ducks into a nearby building and disappears. A roar of approval goes up from the crowd.
    â€œLooks like he made it,” the girl next to me says, and the other students are already starting to disperse, heading to class.
    â€œSo, this secret society,” I begin. “How long has it been around?”
    â€œWho knows? Some people say that Lancelot Connaughton himself started it as a kind of inner circle. Only the members know who the other members are, or why certain people get invited and others don’t. It’s all very Skull and Bones.”
    I’ve started walking again and am consulting my map when a heavy hand falls on my shoulder.
    â€œHey, hey, there he is.” The voice is grating, intimate, and familiar in a way that makes my skin tighten and slither across