by Joy Jenkins
With a groan, Carter dropped her head back. “Those things are terrible! The girl characters are weak and pathetic. They rely completely on the male to do everything and don’t even try to protect themselves.”
A twinkle came into Maggie’s eyes. “And is that why I came over the other day to find you had fallen asleep to one of those stupid movies?”
Glowering, Carter crossed her arms. “Yes, I was not watching it. It merely came on after I fell asleep.”
Lips squeezed together like she was keeping a secret, Maggie nodded. “Of course. It’s not because, although you deny it, you still have some girl in you.”
Carter lifted her chin. “I will neither confirm nor deny that statement.”
“Fair enough,” Maggie said. “We can decide what to do later. Now tell me how was school? Are you still talking to those two transfer students or did you scare them off?”
As Carter finished off the last of her cookie, she frowned. “Surprisingly, they sat with me again. There is something about them that’s…puzzling. I don’t know what it is but I will figure it out. The fact that they are still hanging out with me leads me to believe they enjoy pain.”
Maggie slapped Carter’s arm. “You should be nice. They probably just see how wonderful of a person you are.”
“To that, I will refer to my previous question: how long have you known me?”
Maggie softened with memories. “Long enough to know that you are fiercely protective of your father and love him more than anything in this world. That kind of girl still has a heart.”
“Or part of one, at least,” Carter said.
“Maybe they can help you find the other half,” Maggie teased.
Carter wiped the crumbs off her fingers like she was trying to discard a bad dream. “No need. We all know it left four years ago in a taxi.”
The glimmer of playfulness in Maggie’s countenance fell away, leaving behind something sober and sympathetic as she laid on hand on top of Carter’s.
“Hon, you know…”
Carter balled her fingers and Maggie retracted her hand.
“A movie sounds fine for tonight,” Carter said. “You choose. I don’t care.”
Maggie nodded, her smile sad. A bright chime from the bell floated over the deli and Carter glanced at the entrance before ducking her head, grateful for the new arrivals.
“You have customers,” she said. “And I should finish this.”
As Maggie exited the booth, Carter picked up her pencil and fell back into the world of calculus. Among the difficulty of numbers, she could suppress her memories. A few minutes later her phone rang, yanking her out of her work. A smile spread across her face as she saw the name on the screen.
“Hello,” she answered.
There was no response on the other end, only the faint sound of someone breathing. Carter turned to stone as fear coiled in her chest, panic crashing over her. She gripped the phone.
“Listen,” she said, her voice hard as steel. “Whoever you are, if your name isn’t Steve and you don’t have a daughter named Carter, then the only thing you should say next is you just happened to find this phone. Because I swear if you say my father-“
“Carter, how were you planning to end that sentence?” her father asked.
Relief washed over her like a bucket of cold water. She went limp, the tension and panic escaping her body in one quick moment. Shaking, she buried her face in her hand.
“Captain,” she breathed out.
“Sarge, are you alright?”
Taking in a deep breath, Carter raised her head. “Of course, I’m fine. Why didn’t you say anything when I answered?” she asked, struggling to keep fear out of her voice.
“I didn’t hear you. I was still waiting for you to pick up.”
“Right. Okay.”
“You sure you’re alright?”
Carter laughed, though she knew it came across as forced. “I’m fine.”
“So you threaten everyone who doesn’t answer right away?”
Her smile returned. “Only the ones I like.”
“Okay, How was school?”
“Fine. I managed not to punch five people.”
A laughing sigh whistled across the line. “Carter, I would hope that you would manage to not even come close to punching five people.”
Even though she knew he couldn’t see her, she made an apologetic face. “Would it help if I said they started it?”
“No.”
“Well, then I will strive to do better next time. How’s the trip going so far?”
“As well as expected. We are dealing with…”
Sinking back into the booth, Carter let out a quiet breath, resting in the comforting rhythm of her father’s voice.
Chapter 8
Outside of the National Museum of American History, Carter laid stretched out over three steps, sunglasses on and hands stuffed into her coat pockets. The conversations of her classmates clashed with the rushing of cars nearby. Carter knew they stared at her in bemusement but she didn't care. In her coat, her phone buzzed and she answered it.
“Hello,” she said, blandly.
“Sarge, did I wake you?” her father asked.
“Yes.”
“Carter, you’re supposed to be at school.”
Carter fought against a smile. “Dang, I knew there was some reason I set an alarm. It’s too late to do anything about it now. I’ll just skip today I guess. It’s not like I actually learn anything there.”
“Sarge, get out of bed. Now,” her father said, his voice firm.
A bubble of laughter bounced around Carter’s stomach.
“Calm down, Captain. I’m not actually in bed. I’m at the National Museum of American History.”
“Why are you there?”
“I’m protesting the government letting idiots voice their opinion on the internet.”
“Carter.”
Despite the reprimand, Carter heard the hint of amusement.
“I’m on a field trip with my history class,” she said.
“Did I sign off on this?”
“Yup, right after you signed over all the bank accounts to me.”
“Carter-“
“You should really read the fine print. And if you’re calling to let me know you’re not coming home today, then you should expect to have to pick the front door lock when you get back, because I will have changed it.”
Her father chuckled softly making Carter lose her battle against her smile.
“I’ll be home tonight. You don’t need to change the locks just yet.”
Carter felt the constant knot in her chest relax. “Should I expect you coming home in a car or dropped out of a helicopter?”
“Car. If I’m pressed for time: helicopter.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tonight. Unless I get bludgeoned with my own sign by the idiots of America.”
“If you can’t defend yourself against a couple of idiots, then maybe you deserve to die,” her father said.
“Very true. See you later, Captain.”
“Love you, Sarge.”
Carter savored the words, storing them away. “Love you too.”
After pocketing her phone, she returned to ignoring the world and the odd looks from her peers. A chill breeze brushed her face, carrying with it the hint of a familiar cologne. Footsteps approached her and she smirked.
“You do realize that if you keep hanging out with me people will assume we’re friends,” she said, without opening her eyes.
“The thought did cross my mind,” Link said, sitting down beside her. “How did you know it was-“
“You always smell like soap and Donovan wears a subtle but distinctive cologne,” Carter said.
Donovan took a seat next to Link, saying nothing. Which was no surprise to Carter. In the week she’d interacted with the pair she wasn’t sure he’d said more than a hundred words. Squinting against the glare of the white steps, Link eyed Carter’s strange position.
“Why are you laying like that? It looks uncomfortable,” he said.
“This is nothing. Trying sleeping on a rock ledge.”
“Favorite pastime?”
“My father’s idea of a fun outing. Before the rock ledge, there was a twelve-mile hike with a pack that weighed as much as me. Let’s just say I’ve learned to adjust to uncomfortable situations.”
Link opened his mouth to respond, but Mr. Philips cleared his throat, clipboard in hand.
“Everyone should be here now,” their History teacher said. “I’m going to take roll and then we will move inside.”
As he listed off names, shouts of ‘here’ were echoed back.
“Lucas Benton?”
“Here,” a mocking tone said.
Carter grimaced. “I hate when our classes are combined.”
Link nodded vaguely.
“Link Evans?”
He raised his hand. “Here.”
Talking over whispered conversations, Mr. Philips continued down the roll.
“Amy Howe?”
“Here,” a sweet feminine voice said.
Link swiveled his head around, searching for the source.
“Donovan Keller?”
“Here,” Donovan said, his deep voice carrying over the hum of chatter.
“Do you feel that?” Carter asked.
Both Donovan and Link focused on her, Link furrowing his brow.
“Feel what?” he asked.
“Fifty sets of female eyes shifting to Donovan,” Carter said.
Link started to laugh but choked off abruptly. “How could you possibly know that?” he asked, astonished. “You weren’t even looking.”
“Because in a school where they’ve grown up with most of the guys in our class, Donovan is new and intriguing,” she said. “And we’re in open territory. I predict after the roll is finished some girl will come say hi. They will also leave crushed when Donovan gives them his signature blank stare.”
Link grinned but tried to hide it when Donovan stared at him.
“Carter Owens?”
“Present in body but not in mind or spirit,” she said.
“Understood,” Mr. Philips said, before going onto the next name.
As the final ‘here’ was given, their teacher called for everyone’s attention. “Alright,” he said. “We are going to take a guided tour of the museum. Stay with the group. If you are found wandering off, you immediately get an F on your essay. Is that understood?” As he scanned the collection, students bobbed their heads and muttered assent. “Okay, let’s go. Stay together.”
Waving everyone forward, he led the way up the steps to the museum. The mass of students surged forward, clusters branching off and finding safety in their packs. Carter stood and carelessly brushed herself off. The trio barely made it a foot before three girls circled Donovan, herding him up the stairs.
“We’ve heard about a million rumors about you,” one of them said. “We want to know which ones are true.”
Carter laughed at the strain around Donovan’s mouth. “Should we save him before he’s mauled?”
“Nah, he’s tougher than he looks,” Link said.
Leaving Donovan to find a way to fend for himself, Carter and Link fell in behind the group. Carter paused at the appearance of a black SUV stopping at the curb. As doors opened, five men in black suits with earpieces filed out.
“Who-“ Link started to say.
“Apparently Mason is coming on this little field trip,” Carter answered.
In confirmation, Mason hopped down from the first car and the men created a barrier around him. As the group ascended, Carter brightened seeing an agent on the side with a shaved head and skin a few shades darker than Carter’s. Carter fell into step beside the agent, Link trailing next to her.
“Hey, Curtis,” she said. “Who did you piss off to get stuck on babysitting duty?”
The tall, muscular man grinned at Carter. “Pleasure seeing you as always, Carter.”
Curtis’s attention snagged on Link, surprise flickered across his face. Noticing, Carter jabbed a thumb towards Link.
“This is Link,” she said. “No threat there.”
As if to further this statement, Link waved cheerily. Curtis nodded to him, a hint of puzzlement lingering in his gaze.
“Are you doing the training course this Saturday?” Carter said.
“Anderson still mad you got the drop on him?” Curtis asked, amusement wiping away his previous thoughts.
Carter shook her head, exasperated. “You would think he would understand I have almost as much training as he does.”
“I’ll be there.”
Carter eyed the circle of agents, then Mason. “There’s not that many of you here. Is this trip really secure for Wonder Boy? He might open his mouth and someone will want to shoot him.”
Curtis chuckled. “Don’t worry, the museum is closed to the public. And if anything happens, we know where there’s a secure location to take him.”
Carter thought it over for half a second. “The basement level air-controlled rooms where they store the vulnerable artifacts, am I right?”
Curtis shook his head, impressed. “Sometimes it’s alarming how much you know.”
“Steve’s daughter, remember?”
“Of course. Is Steve home yet?”
“No, but he should be tonight. If he’s not, I’ll kill him.”
“I have no doubt.”
The noise of the busy street vanished as they passed through the museum’s entrance. The main atrium expanded on all sides, showcasing three floors of balconies. The murmur of students’ voices and the scuffing of shoes on tile resounded through the space. As they followed the rest of the class, Mason turned to Carter, his smile dripping smugness.
“Owens, it’s cute how you’re trying to get to me through my agent but it won’t work,” he said.
She trailed her eyes up and down, her expression bored. “Careful Mason, your ego is showing,” she said. “Remember, you’re in public. If your future constituents hear you, they might realize that you are a narcissist.”
“I thought that was a prerequisite for being a politician?” Mason said, winking.
“Only if you hide it, which you're not.”
Curtis nudged Carter. “Maybe for safety’s sake you should walk further up?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m saying this for his sake. You should walk further up.”
With a resigned eye roll, Carter sent Curtis a final grin. “See you Saturday,” she said, walking backward. “Try not to strangle him when he gets annoying. I hear you don’t get a good reference letter when that happens.”
Curtis saluted her. When Carter spun back around, Link edged closer.
“Do you know everyone?” he asked, glancing back at the barrier of Secret Service agents.
Carter shrugged and took in the pieces of history frozen in time. “Kind of. I do training courses with my dad and his buddies.”
“Another fun outing your dad chose?”
“No, this is a favorite pastime of mine.”
Donovan appeared, a slight frown marring his features. At the crack in his mask, Carter regarded the crowd of students.
“Did you kill the three girls and stash their bodies in that closet?” she asked. “Because they do eventually find those things.” Donovan schooled his expression back into impassivity. She held up her hands like he was arguing. “Just asking.”
◆◆◆
The tour guide’s flow of facts filled the room, only half of it being absorbed. Carter made a slow circle, from one display case to the next. Halfway around the room, she looked away from the first Apple computer to the entrance and paused. A beefy man in a janitor's jumpsuit approached Mr. Philips and shook his hand. Oblivious, Link bumped into Carter.
“What is it?” he asked, following Carter’s line of sight.
Still staring at Mr. Philips, Carter waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Mr. Philips is just talking to a former military soldier.”
Confused, Link scowled at her. “How-“
“See those scars at the base of his neck?” Small inch scars ran along the man’s skin down to his shirt collar. Link nodded slowly. “It’s from shrapnel.”
After a second, she continued her study of the artifacts.
“Alright,” the tour guide said, “let’s move on.”
As the group entered the next section of the museum, Carter branched off, leaning over the glass cases. Link and Donovan joined her, their level of interest in what the tour guide said about the same as hers. Link jumped between reading the plaques to tracking Amy through the crowd. After he searched for her for the eighth time, Carter rounded on him.
“Just go talk to her,” she said.
Startled, Link blinked at her. “What are you talking about?”
Carter glared at him. “You would think a week would be long enough for you to stop asking dumb questions.”
Letting out a shaky, embarrassed laugh, Link ducked his head and adjusted his glasses. “Right.” He found Amy again but made no sign of going to her.
“It went well helping her with a couple of calculus questions, didn’t it?” Carter asked. Link agreed. “Then go talk to her.”
Link fidgeted but didn’t move.
“Link, if you don’t go talk to her right now I will punch you. And I should remind you, I punch like a girl. A girl trained by a Navy SEAL.”
When he lifted his head, she held up a fist. Hastily brushing off his jacket, he stumbled over to Amy. Donovan stood beside Carter, his hands stuffed into his pockets, watching Link go. The tour guide droned on, the prattle of information ringing off the stone walls and only heard by a few eager students.
“I still don’t understand why you two are hanging out with me,” Carter said, giving him a sideways glance. “You understand I’m a social pariah, right?”
She spoke but didn’t really expect an answer, this was Donovan after all. Mr. Walking Statue.
“Of your own making,” he replied.
“What makes you say that? I could simply be misunderstood.”
“You talk too much to be misunderstood.”
Carter spread her arms out. “Then I’m an open book and people reject me for who I am.”