by Kes Trester
“What are these?” I asked.
“A problem. Those were all taken at school functions with no sanctioned photographers. Someone is selling unauthorized photos of her to the tabloids.”
I didn’t see what the big deal was. Seeing her like that made me like her better.
Noticing my bemusement, she explained, “Whoever is following Hayden Frasier around with a camera could also be selling pictures of the campus grounds, the security systems, the schedule of the guards’ shift changes… are you getting it now? We need to find out who’s playing paparazzi.” She left no doubt when she said we, she meant me. Handing over a school schedule with Hayden’s name at the top, she said, “This should help you keep track of her.”
The car picked up speed on the Parkway, leaving Manhattan behind. I glanced out the window as the city faded from view, wishing there’d been time to visit the Empire State Building or take in a Broadway show. There was zero nightlife in Karachi. The city’s only entertainment at night was eating, giving it the totally disgusting nickname of the “city that eats itself to sleep”.
Karen pulled out another glossy photo from her stack of papers, and I reminded myself to pay attention. “You won’t be alone at Harrington. This is Major Grace Taylor. She’s the school’s new head of security. She alone knows you’re coming, so you should meet up with her ASAP.”
The picture showed a dark-haired woman in an army uniform posed stiffly in front of the American flag. Her steely-eyed gaze made her look as if she could reach through the lens of the camera and beat you to a pulp. The career military women I’d met attained their rank by being twice as sharp as the men around them. I had no doubt Major Taylor fell into that category.
All signs of city life disappeared, and we traveled down two-lane country roads. I had never seen so many trees. Before long the car made a sharp right turn and braked. In front of us was an imposing entrance of ivy-covered walls, faded brick, and boatloads of wrought iron. Karen expelled a shaky breath as if she was the one facing down her worst fears. “This is it.”
We’d reached Harrington Academy way too fast. My fingernails left divots in the soft leather seat as a uniformed guard scanned an electronic tablet for my name while a German Shepherd sniffed around the outside of the car. It was like entering a foreign embassy.
Massive gates swung open, and another guard waved us through. I twisted in my seat to watch the portal slam shut on everything I’d ever known. Reluctantly facing forward, I was immediately struck by the impression we were driving into a postcard, the kind you’d send to the friend who was always trying to outdo you.
The sprawling campus ahead appeared warm and inviting. Lining the road were leafy trees decked out in the earthy colors of Benetton’s fall catalogue. On one side, a gently flowing river peeked through the foliage, and as if on cue a uniformed rowing team streaked past. On the other, an endless white picket fence fronted a distant barn as sleek horses lazily nibbled at the emerald grass.
So why was my heart racing? Why could I not accept my fate and try to make the best of it? Maybe because it was all so radically different from everything I’d ever known. And maybe it was because just like Pakistan and Yemen and Cairo, I would once again be an outsider, never allowed to reveal my true self to anyone. The trendy outfit I wore here was as foreign to me as the hijab back home.
My growing panic verged on full-scale hyperventilation. Karen must have noticed the sheen of cold sweat on my face because she none-too-gently grabbed the back of my head and shoved my face between my knees.
“Breathe,” she ordered.
“I don’t think I can do this.” My words fell flat on the plush carpeting between my feet.
“You can, and you will. You’re going to put one foot in front of the other, and you’re going to get through this. You are now a sworn agent of the United States of America. Don’t you forget that.” She pinched the back of my neck for emphasis. No sympathy there.
When at last I hauled myself upright, we were nearing the main campus where stately buildings all shared a common bond of red brick, white trim, and weathered roofs of slate gray. Built more or less in a massive oval, the structures all fronted a welcoming, park-like space with graceful trees, a duck pond, and graveled walking paths.
The fall term started the following day. According to Harrington’s website, almost a thousand students attended the coed high school and of those, only a small number went home after class. The rest lived on campus during the school year.
Clusters of people darted about. Many carried boxes and backpacks with parents trailing behind. Others had already settled in and played a game of pickup soccer or lounged about the grounds.
We came to a stop in front of Harrington Hall, a particularly imposing building featuring quite a number of chimneys jutting into the midday sky, dating its origins to a time before central heating. Built in a T shape, white Georgian columns supported a graceful portico and sheltered the massive entryway. Casement windows shot up three stories and rambled endlessly in either direction, while French doors on the ground floor had been thrown open to admit the light breeze. It had probably been the showplace home of some Connecticut statesman when both it and the country were young.
Karen looked faintly ill herself as she stared at the great hall. Turning away, she reached into her bag and pulled out a sleek smartphone, an advanced model not on the market. I forgot for a moment to be freaked out. Mine was two years old with a cracked screen, and I coveted the device in her hands like Benson craved the next James Bond movie. I had to stop myself from reaching over to touch it.
Then a miracle happened. “This is for you.”
“Shut the front door! Are you serious?” All thoughts of death by social anxiety disappeared as I powered it up. I couldn’t wait to see what games had been preloaded, and check out the latest sites, and…
“Riley.” She laid a hand across the phone. “This is important. My number is in there under Aunt Karen.”
She returned my faint smirk with one of her own. I’d always wished for more family, but a less warm and fuzzy aunt I couldn’t imagine.
“It’s also loaded with photos, texts, and all the other stuff you’d be expected to have. You need to look like you had a life before you got here.”
“I did have a life before I got here,” I said.
She let out a humorless chuckle. “Not like these kids have.”
Unable to resist, I checked out the photo roll and found pictures of me Photoshopped with beautiful people I’d never seen in photogenic places I’d never been. A quick check of my texting history showed fabricated conversations with girls named Naomi and Becca. I was now Riley Collins, Rich American Teenager.
“Well,” Karen said, nodding once in farewell, “good luck.”
“Wait, what? You’re just leaving me here?” I didn’t expect her to hold my hand, but surely she wouldn’t just dump me on the curb.
“Your mission begins now. Go to McKenna’s office and pick up your schedule. Sutton will deliver your luggage to the dorm. Just remember who you are and what your objective is, and you’ll be fine.” She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as well as me.
It was like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Or was it something else? After a few moments when neither of us had budged, I asked, “Why were you the one who got stuck with me?” I knew how things worked. Chauffeuring some kid to school wasn’t exactly a career-maker for anyone.
She stared out the window for so long, I thought she didn’t intend to answer. Abruptly she reached into her purse, coming up with a gold ring emblazoned with the Harrington Academy crest. She handed it to me.
“I don’t understand,” I said, turning it over to catch the light.
“It’s mine. I earned it,” she said, as if challenging me to disagree. “It was four of the most hellish years of my life, but it’s part of me now, and no one can take that away.”
I stared at her for a moment. “You graduated from Harring
ton?” Why was she just now telling me? There were a hundred questions I would have asked her.
“That’s why I drew this assignment. They wanted me to tell you this place is all kittens and rainbows,” she huffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “But I saw your file, and I know where you’re coming from. They may not kill you here, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try to eat you.”
She must have seen my stricken face because she dialed it back a notch. “I don’t mean to scare you, but don’t trust anyone, especially McKenna. She was head of school when I was here, and she thinks she owns the place. Look, just watch over the Frasier girl, study until your eyeballs fall out, and you’ll get by. Understand?”
I thrust the ring at her, almost glad we were parting company. If she was supposed to be my handler, I sure didn’t feel handled. “That’s it? You went here for four years, and all you can tell me is if I’m lucky I won’t get my soul sucked out?”
She looked as if she already regretted being so forthright, but figured why stop now because she said, “Nothing I’ve ever done, before or since, has been as hard as getting through Harrington, but that’s not the point. What matters is who you are at the end of the day, and if you’re proud of the choices you’ve made. Just don’t drink the Kool-Aid, know what I’m sayin’?”
I took a deep breath. With a defiant glare at Karen, I opened the car door and stepped out into the light.
entered the great hall’s soaring foyer and looked about in hopes there’d be some sign pointing the way to admissions. Standing like a rock in the middle of a stream, students flowed past me, their excited chatter only slightly muffled by the banners hanging overhead. Made up in the school colors of navy and white, each banner proclaimed one of Harrington’s lofty ideals: Honor, Achievement, Character, and so on. I noticed none of them said anything that might be remotely helpful, like Run For Your Life.
I stood there open-mouthed long enough for someone to notice. The guy who stopped had a boy-next-door quality. Not the kind to make you forget how to string a sentence together, but cute enough. His wiry frame and mop of floppy brown hair reinforced the impression of friendliness.
“You must be new here,” he said. “Need some help?”
I couldn’t help returning his smile. “It’s that obvious, huh? Can you tell me which way to Mrs. McKenna’s office?”
“It’s on the second floor.” He gestured toward the wide, hardwood stairs anchoring the center of the great hall. “C’mon, I’ll show you. It’s easy to get turned around if you don’t know where you’re going. I’m Von, by the way. Fredric Von Alder the Fifth, but everyone calls me Von.”
“I can see why you need a nickname.” I grinned. “I’m Riley Collins.”
He glanced around, curious. “You’re all by yourself?”
“Yep,” I said, hoping that wasn’t too weird. “My dad lives overseas and couldn’t get away.” It was a small fib, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d lied. I didn’t always tell Dad or Benson everything, but rarely did I ever make stuff up.
He didn’t find my solo status unusual. “Are you a junior?”
He matched my slower pace as I concentrated on climbing the stairs in heels without falling on my face.
“No, a senior.”
“Really?” That got a reaction. “Harrington doesn’t admit seniors.”
“Oh, um, I guess they made an exception,” I said, mentally cursing Karen. What else had she neglected to tell me?
At the top of the stairs he turned down a wide hallway. Numerous opaque glass doors with names and department titles stenciled across them in gold lined the path leading to Gretchen McKenna’s office, centered at the end.
“You can go on in,” he volunteered. “Her assistant is usually there.”
“Thanks a million,” I said, taking a moment to pull it together. I was no stranger to hostility. Whenever I left the embassy with a bunch of uniformed Marines, we were often on the receiving end of suspicious glares, but I never took it personally. They weren’t judging me, but rather a symbol.
McKenna’s outright disapproval toward me was different. She had presumably seen my transcripts but still found fault. It was harder to shrug off the rejection this time, but hopefully I could just grab my schedule and run. If I was really lucky, maybe I could avoid her until she handed me my diploma next spring.
Von still hovered behind me. “Are you okay? Do you want me to show you around? I can come find you later.”
I’d learned early on in my dad’s postings each embassy had more than its fair share of backstabbers, connivers, and users. Before you got friendly, it was best to figure out who was trustworthy versus who would sell you to a camel trader if it would advance his career. I had a feeling high school was no different. It would be safer to check the place out on my own.
“I’ve already taken enough of your time,” I said, with some regret. “Thanks, though.”
Entering the office was like walking into a command center. Phones rang, a couple of printers hummed industriously as they spewed out pages, and calmly chatting into a phone while furiously typing away was a woman who was an explosion of color. Between her unnaturally red hair, a blazing orange blouse, and turquoise glasses hanging from a string of purple beads, I barely knew where to look first. A brass nameplate on her desk identified her as Ms. Portman.
“May I help you?” she asked sweetly, the phone still cradled against her cheek.
“Um, hi, I’m Riley Collins. I’m here to pick up my schedule?” I hated sounding so unsure.
She intercepted another phone call and clacked out a dozen more rapid-fire words before saying, “Mrs. McKenna is expecting you. You can go on in.” She nodded toward the closed door at the other end of the office.
My feet froze to the floor. I glanced around for a camera, wondering how the head of school knew I’d arrived. This wasn’t part of the plan. What if there’d been a mistake, and they weren’t admitting me after all? Fear, along with a kind of desperate hope, flashed through me.
“Dear, are you going in?” Ms. Portman regarded me curiously.
I gave her a smile that came out as more of a grimace and trudged forward. Should I knock or just walk in? Start as you mean to finish, Benson often said. I grasped the doorknob, took a deep breath, and pretended a confidence I didn’t feel.
The spindly woman who rose from her desk was a career politician; I’d met her kind before. Armed with a professional smile that welcomed me without a hint of warmth, she wore a well-chosen, sky blue skirt suit that said, “I may be female, but I can still kick your ass.”
“Riley, what a pleasure to meet you,” Mrs. McKenna said insincerely, extending a boney hand. “I’m sure we’re going to get along well.”
I immediately went on high alert. When my dad negotiated a deal where he had the upper hand, he always opened with the conclusion. He said it made it easier for his opponents to come to the same realization. This woman wanted something from me, and she expected to get it. She gestured for me to take the small chair facing her desk as she reclaimed her own.
Her office was a fortress of antique cherry wood furnishings, the sort that were super expensive because they’d once belonged to someone like Ben Franklin. On the wall behind her, an old man in scholar’s robes scowled down from an oil painting. Beneath it was a credenza displaying several photographs of the administrator posing with the rich and famous-discreetly displayed, of course. It subtly informed visitors she moved in high circles, and you’d best not forget it.
“I was rather surprised to get a call from the chairman of our school board insisting a student, especially a senior, be admitted,” she said, her tone deceptively casual as she took in every detail of my appearance. “It was even more surprising to then be informed she must be roommates with Hayden Frasier.”
At least that explained how I was supposed to keep an eye on Hayden without being served with a restraining order. She hadn’t asked a question, but I still felt compelled to answer. “Yes, ma
’am.”
“You and Miss Frasier are close friends, I presume?” Her smug smile told me she already knew the answer.
“No, ma’am,” I said.
“Really? How curious.” Flipping open a file on her desk, she skimmed through it. “Your father is a well-regarded ambassador, though without any remarkable connections or fortune to speak of. Your transcripts are acceptable, but by no means exceptional. You’ve never experienced a traditional school environment, and your file doesn’t contain a single letter of recommendation.” She dismissively flicked the cover shut. “There is nothing in here that qualifies you to be a Harrington girl. Surely there is something I’ve missed?”
She definitely had a talent for stripping it down to the nubs. Sitting back in her chair, she stared me down as she fingered the heavy set of pearls at her throat. “Who are you, Riley Collins?”
I dropped my gaze. Who was I? At home I was a girl who walked the streets of Karachi without fear, who didn’t back down when one of Benson’s team challenged me to spar, who dined with sheiks, played soccer with street kids, and drank endless cups of tea in the local cafes. Who was I, she wanted to know? I raised my eyes to meet her cold, knowing gaze. If I was going down in flames, it wouldn’t be without a fight.
“I’m the girl who learned how to shoot in case we had to fight our way out of Cairo again, the one who smuggled school books to a teacher in Yemen who was forbidden to have them, the one who stood at her father’s side while he draped American flags over the coffins of Marines who were my friends, and the one who deserves to be here just as much as anyone else. That’s who I am.”
I didn’t know how I expected her to react to my speech, but it wasn’t with dead silence. As the seconds ticked by, I began to wonder if anyone had ever died while sitting in this particular chair. I wouldn’t put it past the old witch to have placed it over a trapdoor with a caldron of boiling oil underneath. Even now she was probably reaching for the release button under her desk.