Learning to Soar (White Dove Book 3)

by Maya William

  Anya stops murdering my notebook and considers Portia’s words.

  “All right.” She gives a curt nod and proceeds to empty my backpack onto the floor. “Consider this a warning. Make sure I’m back to dancing with Knightley in a week’s time.”

  The girls holding me let go and follow Anya out of the locker room.

  “Thanks, Portia.” I bend and return my things to my backpack.

  “Don’t mention it.” She brings my cell phone over.

  A whimper escapes my lips at the number of cracks decorating the whole screen.

  Abigail’s going to be mad.

  The ray of hope returns when I push the center button and the screen comes alive.

  At least it’s not completely gone.

  “Can I help you with anything else?” Portia’s lips press together in a tight line.

  I shake my head while picking up the pieces of my math notebook and stuffing them into my backpack.

  “Well, sorry about what happened.” She shrugs her shoulders and quickly drops them. “See you tomorrow.” She waves and promptly leaves.

  As I stare at the destroyed items, my hands shake, and my body slumps to a seated position on the floor.

  How can I explain this to Zach and Abigail?

  I gasp.

  Worse, how will they react?

  Abigail’s going to be furious. Zach will probably want to pull me out of school if he learns about the incident. I don’t want to leave my family. So far, I managed to make some friends at this school, more than I ever did at Saint Magdalene.

  My head snaps upward as I sense movement to my left. My ramping heart slows as I recognize the girl Anya ordered around last Tuesday. She bends down and helps me pick up a few of the remaining items.

  “I’m sorry for what Anya did to you.” She hands over my pencil case.

  “Thanks.” I take it and throw it into my backpack.

  “Can I give you a piece of advice?” she kindly offers, and I nod. “Be careful of wolves dressed as sheep.”

  So far, the girl’s never done anything to me, so I can’t find it in my heart to tell her Anya isn’t bothering to act like a sheep. Instead, like a big, mean alpha wolf, she marks her territory and proudly howls inside the locker room.

  Big Guy, should I be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

  Grounded

  Between trying to make sense of the small pieces of my math notes, picking up all my belongings, figuring out how bad the damage on my phone is, and calming down, I lose track of time.

  Once I walk out of the locker room, Samuel steps close to me. “Is everything all right?”

  My back straightens, and my fingers fidget with one of the straps on my backpack as my mind spins. Does he know what happened?

  Avoiding his gaze, I lie. “Yeah, s-s-sure.”

  The last thing I want is for him to know what Anya did. Then the information would go straight up through the chain of command, and I’d be pulled out of Calvary and shipped to who knows where.

  Samuel remains quiet, analyzing me.

  “Something’s bothering you,” he concludes. “It took you twice the time as it usually does to come out.”

  Darn it! Big Guy, cut me some slack, would you? Deflect! Deflect!

  “Uhm, I…” An excuse occurs to me, something to feed him which isn’t entirely a lie. “It felt different to dance with Knightley.”

  He sighs. “I’m not happy with the new arrangement, either. But at least Knightley tries to be amicable. Anya on the other hand…” He shivers.

  No need to explain. Anya kindly showed me a few minutes ago what she’s like, something close to a banshee. Samuel’s lucky. He got the sweet version of Anya to play with.

  “I hope Monsieur Pietro decides to put us together again.”

  How about it, Big Guy? Please say yes.

  “We’ll see.” He scrunches his lips and moves his head from one side to the other. “Then again, you need to learn how to dance with other partners.”

  No, I don’t. I’m perfectly fine the way things are.

  “I would rather dance with you,” I murmur, not certain if my words reach him.

  He lets out a long sigh. “Me, too”

  He steals my backpack from my hand, and with his free hand, he takes a hold of mine.

  Please, Big Guy, can you make Anya and Knightley dance together again? For Samuel, for me, and for the sake of my notes?

  When we arrive home, I rush toward the stairs to take a quick shower and get dressed and ready for the Solis family dinner.

  Halfway up, my plans take a different turn when Abigail calls out to me from the living room. “Samantha, where are you going?”

  My feet come to a complete stop, and I turn to face her. “Upstairs, to get ready for the family dinner. Miranda invited me last Saturday.”

  “You’re grounded, Samantha.” She crosses her arm on top of her chest. “You can only attend school and dance practice.”

  Slowly, I make my way down the stairs and join her in the living room. “Why am I grounded?”

  “You got detention.” Her eyes narrow. “I can’t let this go under the radar.”

  Shoot! For a moment, I forgot about the library incident. Rather hypocritical of her to ground me, after all the trouble she created when she attended high school. This incident pales against the long list Grams had on her.

  “But the reason I got detention was because—”

  “She needs to go to the family dinner. Mom will kill me if she doesn’t.” Samuel steps out from the kitchen and bravely faces my sister.

  Oh? I do get a lawyer this time, Big Guy… And a hot one. Nice! I like how you think.

  Abigail sighs and turns to face our friend. “Samuel, your mother would agree she needs to learn a lesson about misbehaving in school,” she calmly explains. “I don’t want her to turn into a troublemaker like…well…you know.” She points a finger at herself, then at him.

  Samuel rolls his eyes and glares at her. “She’s still a long way from there, and considering she got detention because she praised Our Lord, Mom would make an exception.” One corner of his lips quirks up. “In fact, she would probably encourage it.”

  Well, technically, I didn’t intentionally mean to praise the BG. However, saving Potter from a beating kind of justifies the means. Knowing Miranda and the rest of the team, they would also encourage that.

  Abigail huffs. “The problem isn’t with her thanking God or whatever. But she should use her inner voice, especially if she plans on singing inside the library.”

  Walking down the steps, I turn toward my sister. Time to clear up this mess.

  My determination falters at her glare. She’s my sister, not my enemy; I need to get over this fear of her.

  My voice is barely a whisper. “The reason for my detention—”

  “Zach! Can you please talk some sense into Abigail?” Samuel turns toward the kitchen without noticing or even hearing me.

  My brother steps into the living room. He eyes Samuel, then Abigail, and his eyes slam shut. He’s clearly not happy to be put on the spot, forced to choose to back up our sister or one of his friends.

  How about backing me up instead?

  After a loud sigh, he opens his eyes. “She did get detention. Plus, Oliver asked Lyra to teach her the basics of shooting for Saturday’s exercise. She could take advantage of being grounded to learn.”

  His answer reminds me of Switzerland: neutral to keep himself out of trouble with either one of them.

  “But Mom will go berserk when I don’t come home with her. Not to mention David. He really looks forward to spending time with her,” Samuel adds.

  Awww, David.

  “We need to set some ground rules for her. We’re responsible to bring her up, and I don’t wish to corrupt Grams’s little dove,” Zach justifies himself.

  Didn’t you also get a lot of detentions in school, oh dear brother of mine?

  “Sorry, Samuel, but she’s our charge.” Abigail shrugs. �
�David and your mom will see her on Sunday during church.”

  But, but, but… Oh, darn it.

  “Still, guys, you might want to know about some interesting information regarding…” My voice fails when Samuel shakes his head at Zach’s words.

  Samuel turns on his heel and stomps out of the dining room.

  We flinch as the basement door bangs shut.

  “Samantha, please go to your room.” Abigail points toward the second floor. “Take this time to do your homework. When Lyra returns, she’ll come and get you.”

  “But…” I turn to Zach, then to Abigail.

  I know interesting information about their assignment, yet they don’t give me a chance to tell them because they’re preoccupied with grounding me instead of listening to me. They treat me like a child.

  “Never mind.” I throw my hands up in the air and go upstairs, annoyed at the way they ignored me, including Samuel.

  Would it kill them to at least give me two minutes of their time? This has not been my day.

  Halfway up the stairwell, the nagging little voice in my brain reminds me about the pitiful state of my math notes, and I make a small detour to Joy’s bedroom.

  She answers after a few knocks. “Hi, Samantha!” Her right eyebrow shoots up. “How may I help you?”

  “I-I-I-I spilled some water on my math notes, and I wanted to…hmm…borrow yours?” The lie, though lame, sounds plausible.

  “I don’t know if they’ll help you.” She opens her door wider and motions for me to step inside.

  My eyes travel from one side of the room to the other, not recognizing my former room. Keeping my arms closer to my body, I enter and wait for Joy to retrieve a notebook from her backpack.

  “Here.” She hands it over.

  My stomach hits the floor when I open it and review the notes.

  She didn’t lie when she said they wouldn’t be of much use, since she wrote them in a different alphabet, probably even in a different language

  “Oh!” I close her notebook and hand it back. “Maybe I can ask Kellan for his.”

  She bites her lip as she puts the notebook back in her backpack. “He also likes to write his notes in his mother tongue.”

  Oh, shoot!

  “Thanks anyway. I’ll let my notes dry, then copy them.” I sound cheerful, yet my stomach twists.

  This is just plain bad luck. At least it’s only three weeks of notes and not two full months.

  Once in my room, I toss the contents of my backpack on the floor, push aside the books, and separate the pieces of paper I picked up in the locker room. As if working with a puzzle, I split the pieces into two piles, one belonging to my notebook and the second to my homework. Thankfully, the color of the paper is slightly different, which helps.

  Somehow, the homework puzzle comes together, allowing me to copy it onto a new sheet of paper.

  Unfortunately, my notes don’t share the same fate. All the pieces are too similar to put back together. Accepting my fate with a loud sigh, I throw the scraps away and bring my math book out, using it as a reference to create new notes.

  At least it’s in English…well, sort of. We’re talking about math here.

  Halfway through my work, Lyra comes and bails me out of my room, and I follow her to the garden. Any other time, I’d welcome the opportunity to learn a new skill. However, this does not apply to shooting.

  Big Guy, I’m a girl who likes peace and love. Do I really need to learn this?

  The lack of a hurricane or a lightning bolt striking me down indicates the Big Guy’s answer.

  Yes, yes, I do. Oh, gosh!

  After a very theoretical half-hour lesson about different kinds of guns, safety precautions, ammunition, and how to aim, Lyra finally puts a gun in my hand for me to test the weight and, according to her, to get familiar with it.

  Ha! Not going to happen.

  “Now for the practice part of the lesson. You’ll be using a pellet gun and shooting some bottles I placed at the back of the garden against the wall,” Lyra explains while retrieving the weapon from my hand and picking up a rifle. “When we train at a professional shooting range, you’ll get to fire this puppy.” She passes her hand over the rifle as if stroking a dog.

  Hmmm, no, I won’t.

  “Now, take the pellet gun and show me how you would shoot it.” She stands behind me.

  After taking the rifle, I mimic how actors in the movies handle them.

  Lyra laugh. “This is a rifle, Samantha. Let me show you how to hold it.”

  I hand over the weapon, and she handles it expertly, showing me the proper way to hold my rifle and the proper posture.

  She continues lecturing about determining my firing hand, the correct position of the weapon, and how my body needs to absorb the recoil.

  In the end, the verdict is in: Shooting is hard.

  “Now, if you’re in a standing position, spread your legs the width of your shoulders.”

  I follow her example and receive an approving nod.

  “Today, we’ll practice the standing and kneeling positions. Tomorrow, we’ll work from a seated and prone position,” Lyra explains.

  Oh My Big Guy, there’s more?

  “Now, let’s get started on shooting accuracy.” She turns toward me and verifies that my position and the way I hold the rifle are correct.

  Oh, shoot! No! Sorry! I didn’t mean that, Big Guy.

  We spend another hour shooting empty cans in the small firing range Lyra created for me. Once she decides my aim has improved and my fear of guns has reduced, she asks me to step backward.

  As with dancing, practice makes perfect. But can you explain to Lyra, BG, that I don’t want to become an expert gunman?

  Zach comes to the garden, stopping the shooting lesson. “Dinner time.”

  Woohoo! Thank you, Lord!

  He doesn’t need to repeat the announcement. After setting the safety lock on the rifle, I hand it over with a big grin, making Lyra chuckle.

  Zach cocks his head to one side and offers me a smile. “How did class go?”

  The shake of my head and my widening my eyes give him the answer.

  “She learns fast and improved her aim significantly. By tomorrow, she’ll outshoot Archie,” she adds happily.

  Moi? Outshoot one of them? I don’t think so.

  Zach chuckles. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to tutor him.”

  Lyra shakes her head, and her gaze diverts from my brother. “Last time Abigail and I tried, things didn’t end up well.” She twists her mouth and shrugs. “He’s a genius in logistics and transportation, but shooting’s not one of his strong suits.”

  Dodging Zach and running away from the guns and the pool, I call from the door, “Thanks, Lyra,” before finding comfort inside the house.

  Quickly, I head to the sink to wash my shaky hands, hoping the water will clear away the dirt and my pent-up nerves.

  I probably need to get used to it. After all, these are small pellets; they couldn’t do much harm. But I would still rather be in the Solis household than here right now.

  Big Guy, Can You Take the Wheel?

  The food Barb prepared was…um…different. The overcooked chicken and crunchy rice put my mouth through a whole workout session.

  No wonder they used to eat from frozen dinner boxes before I came here.

  Joy pushes her food around her plate, distributing it to make it appear like she ate most of it, which seems ironic knowing how much she enjoys food and usually fights Archie for second helpings.

  Archie makes a couple of comments about the rice taking him back to his childhood with how it snaps, crackles, and pops like Rice Krispies. When Kellan gives him a threatening glare, though, he stops joking.

  Oliver, Abigail, Lyra, and Zach keep quiet the whole time, bravely eyeing their plates and eating the food, quickly swallowing it with big gulps of water.

  For the first time, Rasputin disappears from the table without begging for any food.

  Kel
lan bears it like a champ and encourages Barb, who can’t hide her disappointment.

  “I’m sorry, guys. I tried my best.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and she slumps in her chair.

  “We know, sweetie, and thank you for helping us with the cooking today.” Abigail stretches her arm across the table and touches her hand.

  “It needed a few more condiments,” Zach adds. “But, hey, you’re improving. Before you know it, you’ll be cooking like a pro.”

  Archie immediately chokes on his water.

  “You need to practice a little more.” Oliver gives Archie the stink eye. “Nobody was born knowing how to do things.”

  “I’ll bet Samantha was,” Barb sourly says.

  “Nu-uh.” I laugh. “As Oliver said, it takes practice and patience. I helped Sister Josie for years, but if you meet her, she can tell you a whole bunch of stories about me ruining dinner for an entire boarding school. I burned, undercooked, over-spiced, under-spiced, over-salted, under-salted, and even managed to make one dish a lovely shade of Smurf blue, which funnily enough didn’t taste as bad as it sounds.”

  As I speak, every eye lands on Barb, waiting to see her reaction.

  Her lips quirk up, and she laughs at the last part, lightening the mood at the table.

  “We all have our strengths and weaknesses. I’m sure I’ll never have your sense of fashion, your creativity, or your elegance,” I encourage.

  “I can always teach you,” she offers, sounding a little happier.

  “And I can do the same to improve your cooking,” I reply. “How about you help me cook tomorrow? I’ll kick Samuel out of the kitchen.”

  Joy snickers and whispers to Kellan that only God’s will would get him out of cooking with me.

  “I’d love that.” Barb’s back straightens, her face lighting up. “But doing that next week would be better. I need to get something ready for Joy’s party.”

  “Deal!” I stretch my arm out and shake Barb’s hand.