A Dangerous Year

by Kes Trester

  “But surely it’s occurred to you,” I said pleasantly. “If I’m not qualified to be a Harrington girl, then what am I doing here?”

  Her nostrils flared as she recognized the echo of her own words. Slowly she sat back down and picked up her pen, resuming the pose of a busy executive.

  “Thank you for stopping by, Riley. I am delighted to hear you will do your utmost to prevent any further intrusions into our students’ privacy.” She looked me over with grudging respect. “Perhaps you’re a Harrington girl after all.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  We had tapped out and retreated to our respective corners.

  A low-budget rental car squatted in front of the upper girls’ dorm when I returned from class the next afternoon to change for another pointless equestrian lesson. I would never learn to ride; what I did would more aptly be described as clinging.

  Dozens of students, mostly seniors, lined the walkway in front of Watson Hall stretching from door to road. Overhead, a few girls leaned expectantly out their windows. A low level of chatter hummed through the somber crowd as if gathered at the scene of an accident.

  I sidled up to Von and Stef. “What’s going on?”

  “Walk of shame,” Stef said in a hushed voice.

  At my confused expression, Von said, “Quinn’s leaving.”

  That came as no surprise. She hadn’t been seen since the incident, and the rumor mill claimed she’d been expelled the following day.

  Everyone fell silent as the front doors of Watson Hall were thrown open. Two of the school’s security guards emerged wheeling trunks and suitcases. A hugely overweight woman, an older and frumpier version of Quinn, followed. She stared straight ahead as she marched to the car and wedged herself in behind the wheel, leaving the bemused guards to play valet.

  The car’s trunk packed and closed, Quinn trudged down the front steps with Major Taylor leading the way. Quinn was like a deflated balloon. Her shoulders sagged, her hair hung limply around a face blotchy from crying, and it even appeared as if she’d lost weight. She huddled inside a heavy cardigan, though the mild afternoon breeze didn’t warrant such a defense.

  At the door to the car, Quinn stopped and scanned the crowd. Any remaining hope she harbored that Hayden might forgive her vanished with the realization her former friend couldn’t even be bothered to come witness her final humiliation. When her eyes fell on me, she noticeably stiffened and raised her chin. I imagined she’d rather die than allow me to see her defeated.

  The passenger window slid down with an electronic hum. “Quinn! Get in the G.D. car!”

  With her head held high, she climbed in and slammed the door behind her. Within moments the car sped away, flagrantly disregarding the ten miles an hour speed limit on campus. Most of the onlookers, including Von and Stef, faded back to their dorms or set course for the practice fields, but I remained to watch the little car zoom down to the school’s front gates.

  “Congratulations.” I didn’t have to turn around to know Major Taylor had quietly moved in behind me.

  “I’ve done nothing to celebrate,” I said, still facing the road so it appeared as if we just happened to be standing near one another.

  “No? The impediment to the Frasier girl is gone, and the kill shot has Karl’s fingerprints all over it. ‘Identify your friends… eliminate your enemies’,” she said, quoting one of Benson’s rules.

  I bristled at the notion I should be dancing on Quinn’s grave. “It’s done. I’d rather put it behind me.”

  “You feel sorry for the Sheffield girl?” Her voice held a note of surprise.

  “Not exactly. She did the wrong thing for the wrong reason, but is it that much better if you do the wrong thing for the right reason?” My dad called it moral flexibility, but I’d never quite understood the term until now.

  When no response came, I glanced behind me to see if she’d slipped away as stealthily as she’d arrived, but Major Taylor remained, her eyes downcast.

  At last she said, “You’d be surprised what you will do with the right motivation. Keep me in the loop next time. We’re in this together, remember?”

  And then she was gone.

  Hayden put on a good front. She tossed her hair with indifference as she walked by clusters of people chewing over her every move. Was Hayden secretly glad, as the rumors claimed, to be rid of Quinn? Now that her buffer was gone, would she go back to being the same outgoing girl she’d been before Rose’s death? And who would claim the coveted position of her BFF? Everyone knew the job came with an automatic invitation to spend the winter holidays on the Frasier’s private island in the Caribbean, so there were plenty of girls eager to apply.

  Whether it was due to Quinn’s absence or time lessening the pain of her grief over Rose, Hayden showed signs of lightening up. She had a quick wit and sly sense of humor, especially when it came to her own surreal life.

  At dinner that night, Von teased her about how she’d used the vocabulary words forfeiture and domestic in English class. “My parents’ divorce resulted in the forfeiture of one of my dad’s jets, but since its range was limited to domestic travel, he got over it quickly,” he quoted with glee.

  Hayden laughed good-naturedly.

  Later in the common room, Jane Song flipped on one of Tory Palmer’s romantic comedies. “Is this cool?” Jane asked. “I love this movie.”

  “No worries,” Hayden assured her. “I get along with my mom just fine when she’s on Netflix.”

  I also joined her for the first time in the guys’ common room for study period, though on the walk back to our dorm I was disconcerted by the mist settling on the ground, making it feel like we were trudging through a spooky, B-movie graveyard. Add that to the almost nonexistent lighting, and I suddenly longed for my footlocker full of weapons and gadgets. I would retrieve it at the first opportunity and vowed that from then on, I’d always carry my Taser and baton when we walked at night, ready to ward off intruders or the possible vampire attack.

  “Have you done your chem labs yet?” I asked the following night as we walked out of Hale Hall after study period. We both had a ridiculous amount of homework for Chemistry, and part of me hoped we could collaborate.

  “No. I’m behind on everything,” she admitted. Left unspoken was the sympathy pass she’d undoubtedly get from our teachers for at least a week. “God, I’m sick of this place.”

  I surreptitiously monitored our surroundings as we started to cross the grounds. “Where are you applying to college?”

  She snorted with disdain. “I don’t get to apply for college. I have early acceptance at Stanford.”

  “That’s fantastic,” I exclaimed, curious as to how that could be a bad thing.

  “Not if you’d rather go someplace else. It’s my dad’s alma mater and he gives them buckets of money, so once again I’ll be Miss Stephen Frasier’s Daughter.”

  It was obvious the last thing she wanted to hear was how lucky she was, or how much I envied her easy entrance to a university at the top of my list. “Have you told him how you feel?”

  “No,” she sighed. “He’s so excited that I’ll follow in his footsteps. I know I should be grateful, but sometimes I wish I could move to the middle of nowhere and, I don’t know, hang out at a mall or something.”

  “Is that what typical American teenagers do?” I’d seen a few horror movies depicting that particular pastime, though it never seemed to end well for them.

  “I don’t know. If we ever meet one, we’ll ask,” she joked.

  “I think you should apply to the colleges you want to go to,” I said.

  “Just like that?” She gazed at me as if I’d proposed a radical idea, like wearing designer knockoffs. “Blow off Stanford, and my dad’s expectations, and jump ship?”

  “Why not?” Her family had more money than the gross national product of several small countries I could name. Hayden could surely get her hands on cash for tuition if her dad balked at a change in plan.

  We
made it to Watson Hall without any ghouls rising up from the fog and raced up the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator. Somewhere a pair of fleecy sweats called my name.

  Hayden had changed into her PJs and had a toothbrush in her mouth when she popped out of the bathroom. “What are you doing this weekend?”

  I squinted at her, wondering if this was a trick question. “Anything that doesn’t involve vodka.”

  “I’m going to New York. You should come with me.” Her eyes danced as if this was the most brilliant idea in the history of brilliant ideas. She dashed back into the bathroom to rinse.

  “Can you do that?” What would Major Taylor say? What would her dad say?

  She stepped back out and shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Weekend pass, Dad’s penthouse at the Four Seasons, a little shopping, and I’ll take the Mercedes.”

  “Shouldn’t you have, I don’t know, a bodyguard or something? You’re not exactly inconspicuous.” I had to discourage her from taking such a risk without professional security, though the invitation was tempting.

  “Every time my dad makes me have a bodyguard, they always report back on every single detail of my life,” she complained. “If I ask them to cut me some slack, they always say my dad’s paying them, so they need to follow orders. I’m over it.”

  I flopped across my bed, waiting my turn in the bathroom. “Are you planning to do something your dad wouldn’t approve of?”

  She grinned. “Most definitely.”

  My mind raced at the security implications, but maybe there weren’t all that many. After all, nothing had come from the wayward drone, and who was to say Quinn hadn’t planted the bugs to monitor any conversation between Hayden and me? You could buy anything online, and it would have been like her to do something like that. The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed.

  The money Karen had forked over remained hidden under my bed, begging to be spent at some overpriced boutique, and there was a pile of clothes in my closet waiting to be shown off. Hayden would go whether I went or not, and I had a duty to protect her.

  “Let’s do it,” I said.

  “Yes! We’ll go Saturday morning. Have your people email school with permission for a weekend pass.”

  “My people?” I laughed. “You know most of us don’t have people, right?”

  Her smile dimmed just a bit. “Not all of us can be so lucky, you know.”

  As I took my turn in the bathroom, I wondered which one of us she was talking about.

  he hallways of Watson Hall thinned as girls headed out to the weekly underground party, but I couldn’t be bothered to get off the couch. Our classmates would surround Hayden, so her safety for the next few hours wasn’t a big concern. She’d dropped by the common room on the way out the door to find me sprawled lazily across one of the sofas watching an old movie.

  “You’re not going to the party?” she asked.

  She wore a long-sleeved minidress in a geometric pattern paired with over-the-knee boots and tights. Glancing down at my grubby sweats and cozy Henley, I decided she might look awesome, but I was more comfortable, which was all that mattered at the moment.

  I shook my head. “Nah, I need to chill tonight.”

  A few minutes later I’d raided the vending machines and had an assortment of junk food covering all the four basic food groups: sugary, fried, chocolate, and unidentifiable. Just when I thought the night couldn’t get any better, Sam texted. Going to the party?

  I texted back, Nope. Watching TV & eating crappy food. Bliss.

  My phone quickly chimed again, but this time it was Von. Where r u?

  Before I could respond, Sam texted again: Want company?

  I texted Watson common to Von, and to Sam I texted Sure. I debated slapping on a fresh coat of makeup and running a brush through my hair, but that required effort. I could already tell if I ever had a boyfriend, he’d better like his girls low maintenance.

  A muttered argument announced their arrival. From the sound of things, neither guy much appreciated running into the other on the way up. I stifled a grin as they shuffled into the room, plopping down on the sofa on either side of me.

  “Oreo?” I offered up the snack pack, knowing you can’t stay grumpy when you’re eating one. A surprising amount of American junk food found its way into military shipments overseas, and Benson’s guys always got the best stuff first, including anything chocolate. By the time I got to it, the Oreos were always gone.

  Begrudgingly they helped themselves and before long, we were all scarfing down enough processed foods to petrify our innards.

  “So, Sam, you look like you’re dressed for the party,” Von pointed out, as he went for the bag of chocolate-covered pretzels. “Don’t let us keep you.”

  Truthfully, they’d both cleaned up and looked great in their respective ways. Sam’s clothes were classics: black jeans that hugged his long legs, and a gorgeous blue cashmere pullover. Von tended to go more funky and creative, and tonight he wore skinny jeans in a bright shade of sapphire with a retro print button down.

  “No problem, dude,” Sam shot back, resting his arm on the sofa behind me. “The party’s right here with me and Riley. And you know what they say about three’s a crowd.”

  Before they decided to arm wrestle for me, I jumped in with a challenge of my own. “Do either of you play chess?”

  Sam let his hand fall on my shoulder. “I used to play with my dad.”

  Von didn’t miss the subtle move, and he wasn’t pleased. “I was the president of the chess club in high school… I mean, the one I went to before I came here.”

  “Ohhh, I’m so intimidated,” Sam goaded.

  “You will be when I’m finished with you,” Von snapped.

  Sitting there on my hands while the two of them battled it out wasn’t what I had in mind. “How about I play you both?”

  “I’m going first,” Von announced, getting up to drag over one of the nearby game tables.

  “No, I mean, why don’t I play you both,” I offered with an innocent smile, “at the same time?” There was a program on my computer that allowed me to play up to four games simultaneously. Competing against two players wouldn’t be a struggle.

  “Aren’t you full of surprises?” Von grinned. “What say we make it even more interesting?”

  Sam dragged a second game table over. “You mean like if I win, you’ll call it a night?”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, pretty boy.” Von turned to me. “I’m thinking more along the lines of if I win, you’ll let me take you on a ride. There are some really great trails not too far from campus, and there’s a full moon tonight.”

  “You mean like on a horse?” No words could have upped my game more. “What are your stakes, Sam?”

  He’d pulled a chair over to sit opposite and set up the board. His face lit up as an idea popped into his head. “A rematch. You come back to the gym, and I promise: no cameras.”

  “Alright, guys,” I said, settling in. “You’re on.”

  “Wait,” Von protested, “What about you? What if you win?”

  I waved him off. “Don’t worry about me. If I win, I’ll have the satisfaction of having beaten both of you.”

  Sam shot Von a troubled glance. “Dude, do you get the feeling we’ve just been played?”

  Von leaned over the board with a supreme air of confidence. “It’s not too late to bail. I’ll let you know how it ends.”

  Sam pushed up his sleeves and hunched over his game. “Not a chance.”

  Von made an opening move, which I immediately countered. Sam’s mouth dropped at the speed of my play. He put a few more minutes into devising his opening gambit, but I countered his move just as quickly. Neither of them laughed now.

  Three moves later I captured one of Von’s pawns, and Sam snickered. A minute later one of Sam’s rooks fell to me, and Von sneered. They were so busy watching what the other did they weren’t noticing how they were each being lured to their doom.


  A visiting British diplomat by the name of James Digby once pompously bragged of his chess skills while we were seated at a boring state dinner. Twelve at the time, I volunteered that I often played with my dad. Mr. Digby thought it adorable. After dessert was served, my father arranged a match for us in the sitting room. After a few minutes, Digby lost the opinion I was adorable.

  He was a good player, but I was better. As the snare around his king tightened, his comments about my strategy became mocking. He acted as if I were a fool falling into a trap of his design. Of course, that only spurred me on to make my win more decisive. As I delivered the final death blow to his king, the man flipped the board before I could call checkmate. Pieces scattered everywhere as he stomped from the room.

  Later, when Dad came to my room to say goodnight, I apologized.

  “What are you sorry for?” he asked. “Being a better player? Not throwing a game to an arrogant opponent?”

  “But that man was really upset.” I climbed into bed and adjusted the pillows. “Shouldn’t I have been more polite?” Protocol dictated every move in the diplomatic corps, and my main directive was to be polite.

  “Manners have nothing to do with it.” He sat down on the side of my bed. “Never be less than you are because it’s what people want or expect of you. Rise to every challenge, and be gracious when you win. The true test of character, which Mr. Digby utterly failed this evening, is to also be gracious when you lose.”

  Since that night, I’d played every game as if my life depended on it and discovered the truth in my father’s words. Chess was a game where the screws slowly tightened, and a person’s nature would often be revealed by how they dealt with the pressure. Drawing Sam and Von into games was the perfect opportunity to peel back a layer of social veneer to what lay beneath.

  As I collected an increasing number of chess pieces from each of their boards, it was telling. Von became completely absorbed, analyzing my offensive and spending long minutes calculating his defense. Sam wasn’t as serious about it. He was giving it his best shot, but a smile played across his lips as he watched me, as if the journey was more important than the destination.