A Dangerous Year

by Kes Trester

  They exchanged a look that spoke volumes.

  “Uh, is it Grace Taylor, by any chance?” The deceptively casual tone in Benson’s voice could only mean one thing.

  I rolled my eyes, thrilled to focus on something other than my misery. “Exactly how many ex-girlfriends do you have out there?”

  Benson loved women, and they loved him right back. Romance in the workplace was frowned upon, but the only eligible women he met were fellow military personnel. There was little danger of forming permanent attachments because no one ever got stationed anywhere for long. It guaranteed an easy out when the relationship had run its course–at least from his point of view. He’d left a trail of broken hearts from Washington to Dubai.

  “It’s not like that,” he protested. “Okay, maybe it is, but Grace is different.” I watched in amazement as the fearless warrior fell silent and stared at his shoes. My dad, on the other hand, practically chortled.

  I threw up my hands. “So, who is this Grace Taylor?”

  “The only woman who ever dumped our oversized Romeo here,” Dad laughed.

  “Ancient history,” Benson muttered, brushing it off.

  I grinned. “You know what they say about history. History is her story, too.”

  We all spent a few more minutes chatting about anything other than Major Taylor before we agreed it was getting late. I wasn’t tired, but if we kept talking, eventually it would slip out how cold and lonely it was here. From my dad’s expression, he’d already figured it out. It’s not like I expected Hayden to welcome me like a long-lost sister, but her bone-chilling reception and McKenna’s outright hostility left me fighting back despair.

  With curfew fast approaching, I decided to go to bed rather than face Hayden again tonight. As it turned out, I had no idea what time she returned because, surprisingly, I instantly fell asleep.

  olted awake by my alarm, it took a moment to get my bearings. My stomach curled into knots when I recognized the dorm room at Harrington. Maybe I could fake sick long enough they’d have to box me up and send me home. Or maybe I should just sit up and attempt to survive the day without hurling myself out a window.

  Hayden’s rumpled bed was empty, but the bathroom door was closed and probably dead bolted for good measure. I used the mirrors in the armoire to put on a bit of makeup and untangle my hair. One of my trunks had been filled with a boarding school starter kit–uniforms, the pricy laptop, a leather Mismo backpack–and I’d just buttoned up my knee-length skirt when Hayden emerged.

  “Oh, no. Like, hell no,” she snapped when she saw me.

  I looked up, wondering what the hell I could have done wrong in the ten minutes I’d been awake to offend her ladyship. “Is there a problem?”

  She stood with hands on hips. “Look at me, and then look at you. Do you see a difference here?”

  One of us wore the school uniform. The other looked like she was heading out to work a stripper’s pole. If her skirt were any shorter, it would qualify as a belt. Her partially opened white shirt revealed a glimpse of a shell-pink pushup bra. Her navy vest was at least two sizes too small, resembling a buttoned-up corset. White, mid-thigh stockings emerged from her black booties and showcased a racy bit of leg.

  She stomped over. “If everyone knows I have a total loser for a roommate, I’ll never be able to show my face again.” She roughly grabbed my skirt waist and rolled it up several times. Next, she yanked open the buttons on my vest and tied the gathered ends tightly across my ribcage. Finally, she opened the top buttons on my shirt.

  Despite thinking my new bras were almost too pretty to hide, I still did up the lowest button again anyway. I filled out a bra more than Hayden and didn’t want to look like the stripper’s trusty sidekick.

  She stepped back and pointed. “Bathroom. Now.”

  I’d barely cleared the door before she rounded on me with a black eyeliner pen. Then she ruthlessly ran her hands through my hair, tossing my curls so I looked like I’d just rolled out of bed. When that was done, she thrust a tube of hooker red lipstick at me. “Take this. It’s way too dark for me, but it should actually be kinda hot on you.”

  When I came out of the bathroom, she grabbed her backpack but paused to look me over with begrudging acceptance. “Just because I helped you stay off the loser list doesn’t mean we’re friends. Got it?”

  “Yeah, no problem.” I trailed her out the door, but stayed far enough behind so no one would think we were walking together. Every girl who passed Hayden in the hall checked her out, and most called out a friendly greeting. Amazingly, a few even looked me over with interest. Not a single girl wore the uniform as intended. She’d just saved me from social suicide. In Benson’s rules, I now blended like a local.

  Coffee, tea, fruit, and bagels were set out in the common room. I grabbed a cup of coffee and loaded it with cream and sugar. My dad never allowed me to drink it, but my eyes had been opened in more ways than one by that first wonderful pot sent up by room service in New York.

  Quinn attached herself to Hayden as soon as we walked in the room. Her eyes searched me out, widening as she took in my new and improved style. She smiled and shrugged, as if to apologize for Hayden’s rudeness. I didn’t have the first idea how to thaw my roommate, but guessed the olive branch would have to come from me. Maybe Quinn would be an ally.

  Grabbing my coffee to go, the crisp air outside immediately boosted my spirits, probably because there were only two temperatures in Karachi: hot or freaking hot. I dug out the school map and schedule and tried to pinpoint my first class. A quick rundown showed that all of the senior classes, along with the dining hall, were located in the majestic building across the commons.

  “Riley!”

  Von came running up, his eyes widening as he took in the new me. “Wow,” he breathed. “I mean, uh, you really catch on quick. You look great.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled.

  The boys too had personalized their looks. Von wore his gray pants cuffed high with black boots and a herringbone newsboy cap, like he’d just stepped out of the last century. He peered at the schedule in my hands. “What’s your first class?”

  “World Geography with Bracken,” I said, feeling on pretty solid ground with this one. I’d committed Hayden’s schedule to memory and knew her first period was English.

  He grimaced. “You won’t be so thrilled if he calls on you,” he warned. “The guy’s a total jerk.”

  “How bad can he be on the first day?” Even my strictest tutors hadn’t expected me to know everything on day one.

  “Let’s just say he’s earned his nickname, Bracken the Kraken.”

  Great. My life just kept getting better and better.

  We crossed the commons, and Von politely held the door as we entered the great hall. Benson would approve. He saw no problem with sending women into battle, but always insisted good manners opened doors guns would not.

  “Can I ask you a question, Von?” No one ever said no to that question, so I delicately tacked on, “About Hayden’s last roommate?”

  His face fell. “Rose?” She must have been a close friend. “What do you want to know?”

  “What happened to her?” I asked.

  “Single car accident. Two weeks ago,” he said, his voice clipped.

  No wonder Hayden hated me on sight. Probably the whole campus would look at me like an interloper.

  “I’m really sorry. If I’d known…” If I’d known I might have refused to come. Karen must have realized it, too, so she had purposely left that little detail out of my briefing. If she had failed in carrying out such a straight-forward assignment as delivering me to school, she could’ve kissed her career with the State Department goodbye.

  My class was on the third floor so we climbed the stairs, stopping to toss my cardboard coffee cup into a hallway recycling bin

  “Everyone liked Rose,” Von said, but paused to reconsider. “Maybe everyone except Quinn Sheffield. Have you met her yet?”

  I nodded. “She’
s Hayden’s best friend?”

  “She will be now that Rose…”

  We’d reached my classroom, bringing an end to that depressing line of questioning. The hallways were quickly emptying, so he took a few steps back toward the stairs.

  “I’ll look out for you at lunch,” he said before an impish grin settled on his face. “If you survive the Kraken, that is.”

  “Very funny,” I called to his retreating back.

  Rows of small tables filled the classroom, each seating two students. I found an empty spot next to one of the prettiest guys I’d ever seen. He’d blow-dried his blonde hair to perfection and had the sculpted cheekbones of an underfed model. A beautiful, salmon-colored cashmere scarf draped dramatically across his shoulders, and he wore a discreet, diamond-studded hoop in his right ear.

  I must have stared at him overlong because he turned and gave me a big wink. “Admire much?”

  “Oh, ah, I’m sorry…” I stumbled to apologize, but he cut me off with a huge grin.

  “Are you kidding? It takes me hours to look like this. It’s nice to know somebody appreciates it.” He extended a hand palm down, as if he expected to have his ring kissed. “I’m Stef Corbett, at your service.”

  Completely charmed, I gave his hand an awkward shake. “Riley Collins. Is this seat taken?”

  He leapt up and pulled out the chair with a flourish. “By all means, madam,” he said, giving me an admiring once-over. “Those of us with fashion sense must stick together.”

  I settled in just as a prim little man wearing a tweed suit and bow tie sailed into the room. His receding hairline exposed the shiny dome of an egg-shaped head, and a bulbous nose balanced out his unusually large ears. His lip curled in a permanent state of disapproval, he looked out over the fifteen or so in attendance.

  “I am Mr. Bracken,” he announced imperiously. “And I don’t care if your father is on the Fortune 500 list, or if your mother can trace her lineage back to the Mayflower. In this class, you will learn, or you will fail. Are we clear?”

  I began to understand how this guy got his nickname.

  “I don’t believe in wasting time,” he continued, strutting in front of the class like Napoleon addressing his troops. “At this point in your academic careers, I expect your feeble minds to have absorbed basic geographic knowledge. I will be calling on you to see if there’s any hope for your futures beyond a life of shopping and alcoholism. Are you ready?”

  The class hardly dared to breathe. Even my new friend slunk down low in his chair.

  “Let us begin.” He ran a finger down the page of an open notebook. “Is Mr. Halsey-Witter here?” A guy two rows over slowly raised his hand as if he expected it to be shot off. “Stand, please,” the teacher said, and the student hesitantly obeyed.

  “Now,” Bracken said, leaning nonchalantly against the podium, “how many countries are there in Africa, and can you name three of them?”

  The poor guy’s eyes widened in fear. “Um, thirty?”

  Bracken scowled in disgust. “Sit down,” he ordered, consulting the roster again. “Miss Brightman-Davis?”

  His next victim, a girl with caramel-colored skin and perfectly straightened hair, scrambled to her feet.

  “Ms. Brightman-Davis, of the fifty-three nations currently recognized in Africa, please name three of them.”

  “Chad, Zambia, and um, um… Kenya.” She sank gratefully back into her chair.

  “Well, it appears we have at least one student who might become a functioning member of society.” He ran his finger down the page. “Ah, here’s someone with just one name. How refreshing. Mr. Corbett?”

  My tablemate stood up with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner being led to the guillotine.

  “Name the three major rivers of the Middle East.”

  “The Nile…the Euphrates…” He closed his eyes a moment as if he were racking his brains. “Um…”

  “Tigris,” I mumbled under my breath. We’d crossed it once while visiting Turkey.

  “Tigris,” he repeated brightly before diving back into his chair.

  The teacher stared at me suspiciously. Maybe he’d heard me, maybe he hadn’t. “What is your name?” he finally said.

  I got to my feet. “Riley Collins.”

  “Well, Miss Collins, you seem to know so much about the Tigris,” he said in a mocking tone. “Tell me what countries it flows through.”

  “Turkey, Syria, and Iraq,” I said.

  His lips thinned, even though my answer was correct.

  “Define the borders of Mesopotamia.”

  It was a trick question. “The answer’s still the same, although you could throw in Iran and Kuwait if you want to be a stickler about it.”

  He looked me over with renewed interest before ordering me to sit down. Perhaps I could have been a tad less cheerful about knowing the answers, but I’d never been the type to back away from a challenge. He continued to humiliate or give grudging praise as the situation warranted until the bell finally chimed. The class bolted as if escaping the spawn of Satan.

  Out in the hall, my tablemate hovered. “You saved my life in there,” he said. “I am forever in your debt.”

  “No problem. I’ve known Arab dictators who were warm and fuzzy compared to that guy,” I joked.

  “You must let me buy you lunch.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Aren’t meals included?” A laminated meal card had come with my schedule.

  He waved a dismissive hand. “Details! Now let’s get you to your next class, and then we’ll meet for lunch.” He whipped my class schedule out of my hand. “English Lit? Dear lady, follow me unto the breach!”

  he day continued to be one of firsts. As promised, Von flagged me down at lunchtime as I wandered the ground floor searching for the dining hall. It sounded silly, but I kind of hoped it would look like Hogwarts. Instead, it was a ballroom-sized space of hardwood floors, wood paneling, and French doors leading to a giant patio. Round oak tables seating ten or twelve were positioned throughout, most already filling up with students. From the doors at the far end came the welcome smell of a decidedly American lunch being served, not a whiff of curry or cumin to be had. I’d been too nervous to eat breakfast.

  He handed me a blue plastic tray as we walked into the kitchen area. “You can get in line for the grill or the deli, and the sushi bar is over there.” No prison slop for these people. I helped myself to an organic turkey sandwich and marveled over a bottle of spring water imported from Fiji. People in Karachi counted themselves lucky if they got water by turning on the tap.

  “Our table is in front by the windows,” he said, as he loaded up on a burger and fries. “The window side is senior territory.” It was easy to see why. The last of September’s waning sunshine filtered in through the open doors. It was the most inviting spot in the room.

  “Riley!” Stef waved enthusiastically from a prime table.

  “I see you’ve already met my roommate, the mayor of Harrington,” Von said, catching up with me.

  “Come on, people, make room for two more!” Stef directed traffic and pulled over chairs. “Right here next to me, Lady Tigris.” He patted the seat. It wasn’t until I sat down that I looked across the table and right into Hayden’s stony face. Quinn had claimed the seat next to her.

  “Everyone,” Stef announced, “this is Riley, my goddess and savior. Without her, the Kraken would have claimed another victim. Riley, this is everyone.”

  Before I could speak, Quinn jumped down Stef’s throat. “Why do you always have to exaggerate everything?”

  “Because if I didn’t, my life would be as dry and dull as yours,” he shot back.

  “Better than being daddy’s little accident,” she said with a mocking smile.

  Stef guffawed as if it was the wittiest remark he’d ever heard. “Coming from the school’s biggest social climber, that’s a great compliment.”

  “Knock it off, both of you,” Hayden scolded.

  “But she start
ed it, Mom,” Stef whined good-naturedly.

  Quinn flushed at being chastised, but shrugged it off. The other seven or eight students at the table acted as if their bickering were a common occurrence.

  A rail-thin guy with tight black curls and acne turned to me. “So you’ve never been to a regular school before?” Word traveled fast.

  It was tempting to tell him there was nothing regular about Harrington. “My dad’s a diplomat. This will be the first time I’ll be in the States for longer than two weeks.”

  This started a round of stories about the longest time anyone’s parents had hauled him or her off to the ends of the earth. With the focus shifted elsewhere, I started mentally mapping out our surroundings, seeking potential entry and exit points, possible threats, and promising allies. Landing at Hayden’s table was what Benson called smart luck. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to stay close to her after all.

  With every table filled, the din in the place was incredible. Maybe people were just catching up after summer vacation, but it was a relief to see so much laughter and happiness filling the room. No one had brought up Rose Winters to my face, though I had overheard her name mentioned several times while passing in the halls. Maybe this would be okay after all.

  I was about to rejoin the conversation when a guy strolling through a patio door caught my attention. With thick chestnut hair pushed carelessly off an expressive face, he had a Cupid’s bow mouth twisted into an amicable smile. His deep blue eyes, the same shade as the Arabian Sea at sunset, flashed with humor. He’d shucked the blazer the boys were required to wear in favor of a white oxford hugging his broad shoulders and tapered waist. And he was tall, definitely over six feet.

  He was perfection.

  “He is dreamy, isn’t he?” Stef stared, just as transfixed.

  I grinned at the not-altogether unexpected comment. “What’s his story?”

  “His name is Sam Hudson and yes, he’s currently on the market.” He made a face. “And straight. And, oh my god, British. He’s got that posh London accent.” He let out a smitten sigh.

  “I’m sure Riley could care less,” Von, seated on my other side, chimed in. “I bet she’s into guys with substance, not just style.”