The Nightingale Files : The Rook and Queen

by Megan Meredith

  The Nightingale Files

  The Rook and Queen

  MEGAN MEREDITH

  THE NIGHTINGALE FILES:

  THE ROOK AND QUEEN

  Megaphone Publishing

  Copyright © 2015 Megan Meredith

  Kindle Edition

  Cover Photography: Sydney Abbott

  Cover design by Tim Logan Art

  Editing by HG Editing

  Chapter illustrations Tim Logan Art

  Author photograph by Tawni Tuckfield

  All rights reserved.

  This manuscript, in part or in whole, may not be reproduced in any way without written permission from the publishers or its author.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Author’s Note

  Excerpt from The Bishop and Pawn

  A Message from Megan

  To my proofreaders; Robin, Kyle, Sarah, and Brit—thank you for being my other sets of eyes. Thank you for seeing things differently than me and believing enough in me to share your opinions.

  To my beautiful cover model, Maddie—thank you for letting me use your beauty to portray AB!

  Tim—your talents and artistry never cease to blow me away. Thanks for coming on this journey with me once again. I am so thankful to know you and have your covers on my books.

  Si—thank you for your expertise in all things football, coaching and juvenile.

  To my readers (however few you may be…)—thank you for reading, for always coming back for more, and for inviting me to book clubs, writing reviews, and sticking with me as I learn and grow.

  1.

  NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF A WELL-PLACED ROOK

  “Didn’t you iron your uniform?” Mother asked as she plated my sausage and eggs and set them in front of me.

  I nodded, still trying to pry my eyelids closer to my wide, blonde eyebrows.

  “It’s the first day of school, Avery Brave,” she added, scolding me sweetly as only a southern mamma can do.

  “Yes, Mother, I know.” Taking a sip from my coffee, I wondered why she was so snippy this morning.

  Her short, blonde, pixie hair was always styled perfectly, and her makeup was always on point, including bold lipstick that looked ravishing against her perfect complexion. This morning, however, I could see tired eyes and dark circles beneath her mascara.

  “Gracious, Avery. I don’t mean to be negative, but you worry me. You should try to care, at least a little.”

  “Mom, please. I’m not awake yet. And it’s just high school,” I said around the sausage in my mouth, knowing that would irritate her further. Anyway, I thought cynically, I think we’re well past caring what people think of me.

  “Avery, don’t talk with your mouth full. At least fix your hair. I’ll meet you in the car,” she dictated as she disappeared to her room.

  First day of school. I should have gone to bed earlier. I should have bought a new backpack. I should have gotten my hair cut, eyebrows shaped, or nails shellacked like the other girls do. But I didn’t. My hair was almost white in streaks from the sun, curly and generally untamed. My nails were cut short, and my fresh face was tan and filled with freckles from a summer by the pool. I figured that, if the kids at All Saints Academy didn’t like me the way I was, then I didn’t care if they liked me at all.

  But this year, that would be easier said than lived, because my best friend, Carol, had moved over the summer to Colorado. I had stayed up till 2 a.m. Facetiming with her when I should have been asleep, and now, my eyes were puffy, and my hair was a mess, and Mother disapproved of to slightly rumpled collar of my white button-up shirt neatly tucked inside my navy vest. Probably a half an inch of it showed, but Mother would say that half an inch was a disgrace.

  Oh well. Disgrace it is.

  The end of summer in the Ozarks was as duplicitous as any other season. There was a certain bipolar swinging that occurred from day to day. One could never be certain what was the appropriate clothing, and, oftentimes, one would need several options; it would be cold and rainy in the morning and sweltering by afternoon or pleasantly spring-like in the morning and snowy in the evening. It had rained a lot in June, which kept everything bright green all summer even though the heat was at record index highs, and all our pools would be open until well into September.

  Bentonville was busy in the mornings, but traffic on the first day of school was a special kind of ridiculous. I’d be sixteen in three weeks, but until then, Mother would to drive me to school in the mornings. I had told her I could ride my bike, but she’d insisted, and I’d eventually conceded.

  She’s always been too peppy in the mornings and slightly judgmental, but mostly that’s because I’m not awake yet. This morning, as we got into the car and headed out, she was on edge and less peppy, but I assumed it was the same reason that I felt apprehensive about starting back to school. I watched our sprawling two-story house—really more of an estate, if I’m honest—slowly shrink in the rearview mirror as we pulled out of the subdivision. The property was rather excessive for just the three of us, and I always thought it was secretly wasteful, but I did enjoy our pool.

  The columns on the front veranda reached high and arched toward each other. Mother’s love for gardening and plants showed in the meticulous landscaping and perfectly southern hanging florals.

  “I know you’ve been out for a long time,” Mother spoke up as she pulled to a stop in front of my school, “and this year will be hard without Carol, so I’m praying for you to make a new friend, even today.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I muttered, irritated that she’d brought up last year and Carol right before I got out of the car. But she means well, I scolded myself. I managed to give her a sincere smile and remind her that I’d be working on the paper after school and that Dad could pick me up.

  As I walked toward the entrance of All Saints Academy, I repeated to myself, This is only high school. I naively hoped that maybe this year would be better than last year. Probably anything would be better than last year.

  Mother always told me that the relationships she made in high school were lifelong. That usually makes me groan, because I never signed up to know these people my whole life. That was done by my parents.

  Though there were a few people that I didn’t despise—like the librarian who had written several books and taught underprivileged children how to read on the weekends at the county library. There was Ms. Milder, too, the guidance counselor who seemed keenly aware of good music trends and had tattoos, though I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to know that. And lastly, there was my newspaper teacher, Mr. Knight, who was brooding and sarcastic but always encouraged me to seek out the real story and find a new angle. Most girls talked about him as the most attractive teacher at our private Christian school, but I found it disturbing that they didn’t see the irony in that line of thinking.

  Inside the grand front doors, my radar, which Mother always says will be the death of me, was firing on all cylinders. The prettiest girls were to my left with the heavy-lifters sidled up next to them; the technos were across the lobby, busy talking about the latest brilliant gadget, while the overachievers were super-serious, ambitious, and full of self-discipline, waiting quietly for the doors to open. These weren’t technical terms, or even terms others would know, of course; they were just l
abels that Carol and I had given a few of the cliques at All Saints.

  There were plenty more, but, before I started cataloguing all their first-day nuances, I spotted a boy I’d never seen before. If he had any insecurities, they were nicely masked by the “I hate this place already” look on his chiseled face. His dark, expertly cut hair and large brown eyes topped off his tall, lanky build.

  Mysterious ambiguity, I assessed to myself. He put in his earbuds and effectively shut everyone out. Who is he, and how did he have the misfortune to come to be here? I jokingly wondered to myself. Transferring into Saints is hard business.

  He was already doing a fine job just being aloof. I wished I could be more like him, and the thought of it made me smile.

  And a smile was pretty good progress for my first day of high school.

  I tried for the third time to get my locker to lock. It was like cracking a safe getting it open in the first place, and now it wouldn’t close. I yanked all my books out and huffed up to the front office and instantly retracted my thoughts about progress. This was shaping up to be the worst first day of school ever. I missed Carol, my prime-real-estate locker was broken, and on top of that, Mr. Knight had already stopped me in the hall to tell me I was covering the first pep rally and game, which was Friday night. Pep is not really my thing.

  “I need a new locker; #733 is broken,” I announced a little too loudly when I reached the desk in the main office.

  “I’m sorry, Ms.…”

  “Nightingale.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Nightingale. Let’s see if we can get you a new one,” the mousy brunette with glasses said behind her computer. “Oh my,” she added as she squinted at her screen.

  “Oh my what?” I asked, both annoyed and concerned.

  “Well, it appears we only have one locker left. It’s #1.”

  “#1 is the very last locker! I’ll be late.”

  “Technically, it’s the very first locker. And, well, Ms. Nightingale, you’re already late.”

  “I know, but I’ll be late to every class! Every day! Can’t you get my locker fixed?”

  “I’m afraid it will take a while to get it looked at. In the meantime, you can have #1. Here’s a note to get you to class.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, trudging out of the office and down the halls until I reached what seemed like the very last corner of the very last hall in the school.

  The new kid with the dark hair and the earbuds squatted down at the bottom locker underneath mine. So, I guess it’s not the very worst. At least I got the top.

  I slowed up, hoping the kid would finish so I wouldn’t have to reach over him. He looked up and saw me coming.

  “Hey,” he said, giving me a nod of acknowledgement.

  “Hey,” I said back. “Guess I’m not the only one sentenced to the back corner.” I squelched butterflies in my stomach at talking to someone I didn’t know.

  “What’d you do to deserve this?” His mouth slid into a smirk, revealing a dimple on his left cheek and impossibly straight teeth. “I’m new. I assumed the worst locker was part of initiation.”

  “My luck is just that good. I had a great spot, but it was broken. So, I traded up for this.” I posed like Vanna White turning over a letter, realizing I was acting either completely neurotic or inappropriately comfortable with this new kid. Either way, he laughed.

  “Nice.” He stood and moved out of the way so I could get to #1 but didn’t leave. “My name is Felix.” He smiled and, to my surprise, actually extended his hand to shake mine. “Felix Rook.”

  “Nice to meet you, Felix. I’m Avery Brave Nightingale.”

  “All one word?”

  “No, not really. It’s two words, but it’s my whole name nonetheless.”

  “Why use both?”

  “Parents decided it.”

  He nodded as though he understood what I was implying. “I like it. Avery Brave,” he repeated. “It’s cool.”

  “Thanks.”

  I closed my locker, and we started walking together down the hall.

  “Can I walk with you?” he asked. “Or is that creepy?”

  My butterflies had dissolved, and I realized that I wasn’t nervous. I nodded once. “I used to go here, but I’ve been out for a while. So, we’ll be new kids together.”

  He did a small fist pump in the air and nodded. “Things are looking up.”

  “What do you have first track?” I asked.

  “Spanish, then English.”

  “Ironic.”

  “My luck is just that good,” he joked, mimicking my earlier phrasing.

  “You’re super late. Did you get a note from office?”

  “Nope. New kid, remember? I think that’s part of initiation too.” He smirked and turned to walk down the east hall. “You’re the first person that has talked to me today, Avery Brave. So, thanks for that. I’ll see ya around.”

  “Good luck,” I said casually and gave him a half wave as we parted ways in the hall.

  I fought against the smile that crept along my lips and cheeks all the way to class. If I embraced the smile, I may have had to admit to Mother later that her prayers may have been answered. I may have made a new friend.

  2.

  Perfect, I thought as I slid in behind a computer in the back row. The entire football team is in my keyboarding class.

  “Avery?” the teacher said, drawing all the attention to me as I tried to slip in incognito.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you have a reason for being so late to class?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Castlebeck. I have a note here from the office.”

  “First day of school and already in the office, eh, Avery?” said a taunting voice from the opposite side of the room. A voice that sent smoke out of my nostrils and a shiver up my spine. Ace Wentworth. I shot a glare at him as I walked my note to the front of the room. He’d ruined last year for me, but this year, I would go down swinging.

  “Ace. Did I ask you to assist in this?” the teacher retorted, which gave me great pleasure, and I let my face express it without even trying to mask it.

  Ace grumbled a no and glared back at me as I returned to my seat. I caught the amused eyes of several other players on my way back to my seat. Bo Dirk, Sam Hassel, and Nate Reinhart all smirked at me while their cheerleader counterparts giggled and whispered to them.

  I had finished the last six months of school at home last year because of all the drama that had ensued following my breakup with Ace, and all his teammate friends knew it. In fact, the whole school knew it.

  I finished my typing assignment quickly and proceeded to write Carol a long diatribe about the morning so far. I included a eulogy for the death of locker #733, which I found highly amusing. Towards the end of the email, I found myself no longer writing but instead bargaining with God, even though I knew better, to give me good things this year to make up for last year and help me make it through. In exchange, I would try to be nice to everyone—despite how they had treated me last year.

  “I know this is the first day of school, but we are diving in head first. This Friday night is our first pep rally, and we’re going to do something that we haven’t done before. We’re going to write a piece on the pep rally and the game from two different perspectives. One team member, one student body member.”

  I perked up. I’d already been thinking about my angle for the pep rally piece, so I had zoned out while Mr. Knight was going through the syllabus. A team member is joining me on this piece? Great.

  “Nate Reinhart, the running back, has agreed to help Avery Brave write the article.”

  Nate Reinhart? I thought grimly. Why would he agree to do this? More like forced, probably by the coach. I imagined threats of getting benched if he didn’t help the newspaper—or the other alternative; he could be getting extra credit for doing it. Either way, I resented it. I had to do a group project with one of Ace’s best friends. This is not really what I had in mind, God.

  “Avery Brave, you’ll n
eed to get with Nate to secure his notes and help work the two sections together into one piece. We want something that contrasts the perspectives but flows cohesively. Are you good with that?”

  “Yes, Mr. Knight,” I said dutifully. “May I ask a question, though?”

  “Sure.”

  “What are we trying to accomplish with having the two viewpoints. Isn’t it enough to have a non-biased reporter cover the event?”

  “Well, I have a hard time believing that you, Avery Brave, are non-biased.” He laughed, and I shrugged. “But aside from that, there are two sides to every story, and we are going to be focusing this year on how to tell both sides. Sometimes, it’s in an interview; sometimes, it’s in working with another reporter or writer; and sometimes, it’s about simply trying to see things from someone else’s point of view. Fair enough?”

  I begrudgingly nodded. “Fair enough.”

  This was not one of the things that was going to help me be nicer to certain people. I knew bargaining with God wouldn’t work so well, I chided myself, knowing that I was being childish.

  As I hitched my backpack on my shoulder, I was surprised to find Felix still at school; I was there after hours. “Did you survive your first day?” I asked chummily. “What are you still doing here? Get detention on the first day?”

  He looked up from his phone as he slouched on a bench outside the front of the school. “Oh, hey. Yeah, I guess I survived. I’m alive.” He stood up from the bench, and I was reminded how tall and looming he was. His large brown eyes smiled. “And no to the detention comment.”

  “And yet you seem to have lost some pep,” I observed as I sat down next to him. “First days are the worst. At least for people like me.”

  “I don’t disagree. But how do you mean?”

  “All the rest of these people have been hanging out all summer. They all travel in packs. I don’t really. I don’t fit the All Saints mold. My folks just want me to go here.”