Hitting the Target

by Katrina Abbott

  She nodded, her expression not changing.

  I counted three breaths before she spoke again.

  “Any thoughts on what I should do with you?”

  Huh? “Ma’am?”

  She sighed. “This situation is unprecedented. Unfortunately, I have had some...issues...in the past with students and faculty, but never before have they been my own son.”

  I resisted the urge to pick nervously at my fingernails even though it was slightly comforting to know she’d never been down this road with Brady before. Not that I’d really thought too much about him dating other students, but God, just look at him...

  The dean’s curt voice interrupted my thoughts. “That said, I can’t just let it go and let you both off the hook. It’s still highly inappropriate for you two to be involved. But...” she gave me a weak smile. “He’s still my son.”

  “I understand,” I said, mostly because she was looking at me like she expected me to say something.

  “I don’t think you do,” she said, though not unkindly. “You’re not a mother, nor are you responsible for four hundred teenage girls, so you couldn’t possibly understand. Still, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

  I stared at her for a few tense moments and realized this time she really was waiting for me to say something. “I don’t really know what to say,” I admitted. “I’m sorry...we’ve really been trying not to do anything but...”

  She sighed and shook her head. “He explained as much to me. And to be honest, he’s never been like this: susceptible to young girls charming him. Not,” she held her hand up as I opened my mouth to protest. “That I’m saying you threw yourself at him. I may not see every single thing that goes on at this campus, but you don’t strike me as that type. But as I said, he’s never been the type to get mixed up with girls here, else I wouldn’t have hired him to coach. I’m not stupid—I see how many of the girls look at him. He may be my son and I might be biased, but I was a young girl once and can recognize that he’s good-looking.”

  Good-looking barely scratches the surface of his appeal, I thought but didn’t say. To his mother.

  “He said you’re special and I could see he meant it by the way he looked at you. He’s my child and of course I want to see him happy, but I’m also responsible for this school and my staff. I have a responsibility to you as a student, too. So I need to ask you, in my official capacity, did he coerce you in any way?” She pursed her lips and then added, “Please be honest.”

  “What?” I couldn’t believe what she was asking me and was instantly insulted on Brady’s behalf.

  She looked pained as she went on. “Did he use his position as your coach to influence you into getting involved with him?”

  “No! Not at all! It’s never been like that at all. He...I didn’t even know he was the coach when I first met him. I thought he was just the stable boy and then he...” I realized I was rambling unnecessarily and she didn’t need to know the details about how we met and how there’d been an instant attraction. “Anyway, no, he never intimidated me or threatened me or anything like that. Anything that happened between us was mutual, I promise.”

  She nodded decisively. “Thank you. I think my son is a respectful man and I certainly did my best to raise him to be one, but as dean, you understand why I had to ask.”

  I did understand, but it still rankled me a bit that she had asked. “Of course. I appreciate that you look out for us, Dean Haywood.” Which was the truth. If she was willing to not give her son a free pass if he was doing something wrong, I knew she would go to the ends of the earth to make sure we were all safe and treated fairly. “But Coach...Brady has been nothing but respectful.”

  The dean exhaled in relief. “Thank you. I raised him on my own, as I’m sure you know. He’s always been a good son, but a mother can’t always see everything that happens under her nose. It’s a big campus with a lot of girls.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I just smiled at her, waiting for what was coming next or (dare I hope?) to be dismissed.

  Nope. She wasn’t done with me yet. “So now we have the issue of him being your coach.”

  “I’m going to quit dressage,” I said, happy to have a solution to at least part of the problem. “I’m not actually good at all.”

  She cocked her head. “Wait a minute. You didn’t...”

  “What?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How did you get on the team in the first place?”

  I stared at her for a long stupid minute before I clued in. “Oh my God, no! I told him I was really good, that I’d won ribbons—which was true, but they were tiny competitions—and he thought I was good enough that I didn’t have to try out. I didn’t do anything in exchange for getting on the team, if that’s what you’re asking.” I hoped my embarrassment and hot face didn’t make me look guilty.

  “I thought you were improving.”

  “I was, thanks to him—he’s a great coach—but not enough. I would have been dead last at the derby—I’m sure of it. I’m thinking jumping is more my sport anyway. I was going to ask you if maybe Janette could coach me separately. If not, I understand and I will leave the team, but if Janette teaches me, it would mean Brady wouldn’t be my coach anymore.”

  She seemed to consider this for a long moment before she nodded. “I’ll talk to her. You did well on Saturday and if you want to continue, I think that’s a reasonable solution.”

  “He’s not...you haven’t fired him, have you?”

  “No. why would you ask?”

  “Well...he texted me and said he wasn’t to report to practice this morning.”

  She sighed and even rolled her eyes. “I told him not to go to practice for his own good. After Saturday, his ankle was terribly swollen, even though he would never admit it. He was pretending he was fine when obviously he was in pain—like he could hide that from me. He likes to push—it’s what makes him a good competitor—but he needs to be careful with his recovery. He needs a few extra days to take care of it. I’ll ask you to keep that to yourself,” she said, the last part accompanied with a very pointed look

  “I will,” I said, kind of loving that she’d made him take care of himself even if she hadn’t told him the actual reason why he wasn’t supposed to go to practice. Sneaky, but the ends justified the means, especially when she was right that he would keep pushing himself too hard.

  She nodded again, but then seemed to be chewing on her words and I knew she still wasn’t done with me.

  What now? I took a deep breath and waited, refolding my hands in my lap. The worst is over. It has to be, I told myself.

  Finally, when I was ready to scream, she fixed her piercing eyes on me (if I ever wondered where Brady got that move, there was no doubt anymore) and said, “Who are you really?”

  That was not at all what I was expecting.

  “Pardon?”

  She raised her eyebrows like I should have expected her question. “Last summer, I got a call from a board member on my private line, telling me I was getting a new student and her name was Brooklyn Prescott: good student, daughter of ex-pat teachers working in London. I was told her admission to Rosewood was non-negotiable and that security was of the utmost importance, which is never a surprise for me, considering who many of my students are.”

  I tried to calm my racing heart and breathing as I waited for her to continue.

  “Still, I did my due diligence and checked into your transcripts and everything checked out.”

  Of course it did; my father’s agency was very thorough.

  “So you arrive and all is well. Your tuition is paid by an LLC, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary around here, so I don’t question it. You’re obviously a good student and you’re fitting in, joining the equestrian team, participating in school events. And then after the term has started, I get another phone call telling me I’ll be hiring your brother for an unpaid internship to be a maintenance worker, when—let’s face it—we both know he’s s
ome sort of intelligence man.”

  Uh oh. The plot thickens.

  “But I did as I was told and brought him on and all seems to be fine until you leave here at Thanksgiving with no notice. But again, I understand the nature of many of my families are such that students often come and go this way.”

  I nodded. What else could I do?

  “So I don’t think too much of it. Until you are now involved in my son’s life.”

  Gulp.

  “And then yesterday my son tells me he went to London at Christmas to find you,” she paused letting that sink in, which told me she hadn’t realized he’d even been in London. “...and the address that I had on file for your family turned out to be a storefront post office. He never found you. He said he was chasing a ghost in London. He could find no record of a Brooklyn Prescott.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  Because Brooklyn Prescott doesn’t exist? My brain raced, trying to think of what I was supposed to say to her. My father was back in the States now at his much lower risk job, but what could I tell her? His identity was still technically classified. His job was still top tier security, but he was just at lower risk of being a public target now. I still might be at risk and I knew Dad still wouldn’t want my real identity out there.

  A little part of me had thought maybe she had known the truth, but no. Obviously not.

  Before I could even formulate an answer, she went on. “And then I did some Googling yesterday and you know what I found out about Brooklyn Sylvie Prescott?”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Nothing,” she said. “Absolutely nothing. In this day and age, that’s near impossible unless you were born in the woods living off the grid or you have people wiping your trail clean for you.”

  I just stared at her.

  “I’ll ask you again; who are you?”

  I opened my mouth. Closed it. Breathed in. breathed out.

  “I’m not asking you as the dean, either,” she said, leaning on her elbows over her desk, her intense gaze holding mine. “I think you’re a good kid with a family that wishes to remain anonymous. Either you’re the daughter of a criminal with a lot of enemies, a celebrity’s secret illegitimate daughter, or maybe the child of a dignitary with complicated political views. Understand I’m not asking because I am curious. I’m asking because if you’re going to be dating my son, I have a right to know who you are, as does he. Or does he already?”

  I took a breath and shook my head. “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s complicated,” I said, realizing how cliché that sounded just as the words were out of my mouth. “I’m sorry. We’re not criminals, I promise. It is a security thing, but I don’t know how much I can say.”

  “What does Brady know?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Nothing,” she repeated.

  I shook my head. “As far as he knows, I am Brooklyn Prescott and the bio you have on me is true.

  Her eyes flashed angrily. “Don’t you think you need to be honest with him?”

  “Yes I do,” I said immediately and then looked down at my hands when I couldn’t bear her staring at me. “This all happened really fast on Saturday. We kept saying nothing was going to happen. We both knew we shouldn’t allow anything to happen, so I didn’t think it mattered. It’s not that I want to keep things from him. I have to. Like I said, it’s a security issue and that’s why Robert was here before the holidays. I don’t want to put Brady or my friends or anyone here at Rosewood at risk and my real identity would do that.”

  She sighed. “You’re not in a position to date anyone if you can’t be honest about who you are.”

  My heart lurched at that and sudden anger boiled up in me because she was basically saying I couldn’t be with Brady. At least not yet. But I knew being mature was going to go a lot further when it came to the dean. “You’re probably right. But things have changed since I came back after Christmas. Let me contact my family and see what I can say. I want to be honest with you and especially Brady, but I just don’t know what I am able to divulge.”

  “Fine,” she said, though she didn’t look happy. I couldn’t exactly blame her. I could be anyone and it was one thing to have me hiding out on campus, but dating her son? She had every right to be wary.

  “Thank you.”

  “Fine,” she said again. “You’d better get to class.”

  I stood up and forced myself to not sprint for the door.

  “Ms. Prescott—or whoever you are,” she said wryly, stopping me before I got there.

  “Ma’am?”

  “My son or not, I expect you to behave according to the school’s code of conduct, young lady. You understand my meaning?”

  No sex on campus with your son. Crystal clear; I get it, I didn’t say.

  “Of course, ma’am,” I said, running out of her office before my embarrassed face burst into flames.

  ~ ♥ ~

  It wasn’t until lunchtime that I got a chance to text Brady and tell him everything was okay, which was just as well because I was feeling a bit awkward about where we stood. Also, the dean’s code of conduct warning. Ugh. How was it fair that all my friends were hooking up with Westwood boys whose parents were basically non-existent but I had to fall for the dean’s son? I wondered what she would say if she knew about the times in the bunker. Though I figured our secret was safe; Brady didn’t want her knowing he’d been down there at all, let alone with me.

  I met with her, I texted him from the bathroom just outside the cafeteria. All is okay. She said she’d talk to Janette about training me.

  He texted back pretty much immediately. That’s good. She does like you, so that helps. She wasn’t too dragonish was she?

  I laughed remembering how I’d talked about her being a dragon before I’d known he was her son.

  Positive, I sent back.

  You sure you’re okay?

  His concern was like a hug. Well, not as good as the real thing, but nice.

  Yes. I’m fine.

  For now.

  Decisions, Decisions

  I was alone in my dorm room on Wednesday after dinner (Emmie was down in the lounge, giving me the room to catch up on some homework) when I picked up the landline phone and put it down again just as I had approximately sixty-million times since my meeting with the dean. I knew I had to talk to my dad, just as I’d told the dean I would. But my hesitation over talking to him was due to many things. I was very aware of all the reasons because I’d had three days to think about them and mull them over, then somehow convince myself not to call him. Even though I knew there was no denying it: I absolutely was going to have to talk to him. But those reasons for not calling him were really compelling:

  Reason one: I was going to have to come clean to my dad about dating someone. At my all-girls school. Which would lead to...

  Reason two: the guy I was dating was my coach. Oh and the dean’s son. No matter how much I tried to convince my dad that Brady is nice and respectful and that we’d both tried to deny getting involved, he was not going to be happy about the situation. That meant he might pull me out of school. Or take strips off the dean. Or maybe he’d go straight to the board. There was a good chance he and my mom would do all of the above.

  Reason three: even if things went perfect and he gave me clearance to admit who I am, some tiny part at the back of my brain worried that Brady was going to be mad. He’d professed his love, and I’d seen enough movies to know that love can overcome lies and half-truths. But I’d also been on the planet long enough to know that movies aren’t real life and coming clean to him was a very big risk.

  Still, telling him the truth was inevitable. My identity wasn’t something that could stay a secret forever. It’s not like he could marry me not knowing.

  As I sat there thinking this, I smiled a little at the thought of us getting married. Which was completely ruined before I even got to the part wit
h me in the elegant dress and him looking way hot in a tux as I then pictured us applying for a marriage license and me blurting out the truth and him freaking out and leaving me standing there. Slightly better than being left at the altar, but not much.

  “Don’t be stupid, you have to tell him. The dean will not let you get away with it for much longer,” I muttered to myself as I stared at my phone, trying to drum up some courage. I’d already had to respond to an impatient e-mail from the dean, telling her my father was inquiring with his superiors about security clearance. A total lie (hey, what’s one more?), but it bought me a bit of time. In the interim, Brady knew nothing—that was the part that was really eating at me. The longer I let the charade go on, the worse it was going to be at the end. I knew that, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do anything about it.

  “You’re making it worse,” I told myself.

  Finally, I picked up the phone and dialed, leaving a vague message for my father to call me, telling him it wasn’t urgent. I felt relieved and somewhat proud of myself for finally getting the ball rolling. But at the same time, all my fears, the ones that were my reasons for not wanting to call him, amped up significantly and I suddenly hoped he never got my message.

  ~ ♥ ~

  An hour later, my cell rang and I picked it up immediately when a quick glance at the screen told me it was Brady calling. Neither of us had been busy this week; I didn’t have practice until Janette could sort out her schedule and Brady didn’t have coaching and was still on half days at school. But I was creating a bit of distance between us until I got this thing with the dean cleared up. At least that was the plan.

  “Hi,” I said, cursing myself for answering so quickly, like I was just sitting there daydreaming about him and wishing he’d call. Which, okay yes, I was doing, but I didn’t need him to know that. Unless he was doing the same thing. Though I couldn’t imagine him ever admitting that, even if it was true.