White Knights

by Julie Moffett

  We needed to get a couple of outs, and fast. I was hopeful. Frankie was up and didn’t seem concerned in the least that Mary was pitching. She chatted and smiled the entire way to the plate, oblivious to the fact she was holding the bat wrong, and stood on the plate instead of beside it. Mrs. Roy had to show her how to properly position herself. She got two strikes right away but then miraculously managed to connect with the ball. She got out at first base, but she drove a run home. Respectable performance.

  “Angel Sinclair?” Mrs. Roy called out from behind home plate.

  Crap.

  I cringed in the corner of the dugout and stood perfectly still.

  Colt McCarrell poked his head into the dugout. “Hey, Angel, you’re up.”

  I didn’t move. It wasn’t fair. There were at least two other people who hadn’t batted yet.

  Colt must have figured out why I wasn’t moving. “Ah, come on. You’ll do fine.”

  Easy for him to say. He’d already had his turn, and he’d hit a triple. He was sort of new at our school, having come to Excalibur last October. But he’d quickly become the most popular guy at the school and the best quarterback Excalibur had ever had. I knew that for a fact, since I ran statistics for the football team as extra credit for Mr. Maxwell’s AP Statistics class. Colt’s good looks and smarts hadn’t hurt his climb to the top of the social ladder, either. It was kind of surprising that he even knew my name.

  Regardless, I still didn’t move. His smile broadened, and a lock of brown hair fell over his forehead. “What’s the worst that can happen?” he said. “You strike out. So what? It’s a dumb gym class.”

  Colt’s comment made me feel marginally better. On the other hand, he didn’t know about Mary and her death wish for me.

  Frankie poked her head around Colt’s shoulder. “Angel, he’s right. You can’t stay in there forever. Just go for it.”

  Great. Now they were ganging up on me. Fine. I wouldn’t be a baby about this. I guess I could do it. I summoned my courage and exited the dugout.

  Colt gave me a fist bump and a grin. “That’s the way. Knock ’em dead. You’ve got this.”

  Students started yelling at me to hurry up. I walked toward the plate as slowly as possible, glancing at Mary, who smirked. It seemed crystal clear to me that she’d pitched badly on purpose—letting everyone get hits so it would lead to this exact moment.

  Mrs. Roy handed me the batting helmet and the bat before showing me where to stand. The helmet was too big, wobbled on my head, and smelled like sweat. There was no way to fasten it, so it kind of slid around on my head, half covering my eyes. Mrs. Roy gave me a brief rundown of how to swing, which was more even embarrassing and excruciating than striking out. Just because I was terrified of batting didn’t mean I didn’t know where to stand or understand the mechanics of the swing. I was fine on the physics and timing part. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was the execution.

  Mrs. Roy patted me on the back and stepped away. My hands were slick on the heavy aluminum bat. Mary prepared for the pitch with a long stare. If she was trying to freak me out, it was working. She wasn’t looking at the catcher’s mitt or the position of home plate as she contemplated her pitch, but directly at my head.

  My entire body tensed as she pitched the ball. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. As the ball approached me, I jumped backward and wielded the bat like a sword, slashing at the ball with all my might. My goal wasn’t to hit a home run, but simply to deflect it from my head.

  Somehow, I missed the ball, and the ball missed my head. But the momentum caused me to spin around. I’m not sure how it was physically possible to trip over my own feet, but I did, spinning like a drunken ballerina. The batting helmet flew off my head and hit Mrs. Roy in the face.

  The last thing I remember was falling over the catcher and onto my back. Right before I hit the ground, I completed the final coup de grâce, braining myself with my own bat before I was out cold.

  Chapter Seven

  ANGEL SINCLAIR

  When I woke, Mrs. Roy asked me anxiously, “Angel. Are you all right?”

  Something tapped my cheek. Everything was blurry before Mrs. Roy’s face came into view. She had a strange red mark on her cheek—a bruise or something. The sky was a vivid blue behind her. For a moment, I had no idea where I was or why Mrs. Roy’s head was floating in the sky. Then I saw Frankie peering down at me, and it all came back to me in a horrid rush.

  “Oh…God. I must…”

  “You must what?” Mrs. Roy asked, her brow knitting together.

  “Move to Siberia,” I finished.

  She let out a breath. “Help her sit up,” she said to someone.

  I tried to sit up on my own but felt dizzy. My forehead hurt, probably from connecting with the bat. Worse, my pride had been irreparably damaged. Someone helped me sit up. Turning slightly to my left, I saw it was Colt. Frankie was holding my hand, patting it soothingly. I snatched it away. I didn’t want anyone to baby me.

  Smothered laughter came from a few meters in front of me. It wasn’t going to take long until the entire school knew of my disastrous performance.

  “Let’s get you to the nurse,” Mrs. Roy said. “We need get you up.”

  Without asking permission, Colt slid his hands under my armpits and lifted me to my feet with almost no effort. I staggered away from him, my face hot from sheer mortification.

  “Easy there, slugger,” Colt said, putting a hand under my elbow to steady me.

  “Come on, class,” Mrs. Roy announced. “It’s time to go in. The side door is locked, so we’ll be going in through the front. No one is to enter the gym area without my permission for the time being.”

  Since the show was over, everyone started walking toward the school. Mary and a few girls were walking together in front of us, looking back over their shoulders and laughing loudly. I almost wished I’d been squished by the bleachers. Anything would be better than having to live with the shame of what I’d done to myself.

  Mrs. Roy, Frankie, and Colt stayed back to walk with me. “I’m sorry about your cheek,” I said to my teacher.

  “It’s just a bruise.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m fine.”

  Sure. No worries. I’d only brained myself and injured the PE teacher with one swing. That had to be a school record or something.

  As we walked, Frankie kept staring at my shoes. I finally asked her what was up.

  She looked at me apologetically. “Okay, I know this isn’t a good time to bring this up, but the company that makes that brand of tennis shoes is not environmentally friendly.”

  I stopped abruptly, bringing everyone who was walking with me up short. I lifted my foot and stared at my unremarkable white shoe. “It’s not?”

  “No. They use a plant in Ecuador that pollutes the surrounding countryside. You should rethink your choice.”

  Since I wasn’t going to do that at this very moment, I put my foot back down and started walking again. Frankie started chatting about today’s lunch with Colt, who seemed amused by her nonstop analysis of what might be the mystery meat in the lasagna.

  When we got back inside the school, Mrs. Roy separated me from the other students and personally walked me to the nurse’s office. Frankie had a moment to whisper in my ear, “Way to get Colt’s attention. He touched your armpits. Lucky you.”

  I had a coughing fit as Mrs. Roy steered me down the hall. Mrs. Guiley, the nurse, listened as Mrs. Roy told her what happened before checking my eyes and forehead. After learning I’d been knocked out for a short period of time, she insisted on calling my mom at work. While Mrs. Roy got off easy with an ice pack for her cheek, I had to suffer the insult of listening to Mrs. Guiley explain to my mom how I’d injured myself. Even though I insisted I was fine and could take the bus home, the nurse insisted my mom had to leave work early and pick me up. Mrs. Guiley was concerned I had a mild concussion—not to mention an ugly bruise—and needed to be observed for the next few hours. I thought i
t was overkill. Other than a slight headache, I felt fine. Unfortunately, I still hadn’t solved the more pressing problem of how to relocate to Russia.

  I refused to lie down on the uncomfortable bed in the nurse’s office and instead sat in a chair holding an ice pack to my forehead. While I was waiting for my mom, the release bell rang and the sounds of scuffling feet, slamming lockers, and shouting voices filled the school. A few minutes later, a thin, dark-haired kid with a long, hooked nose, wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, strolled into the nurse’s office, backpack slung over his shoulder and holding his right hand protectively against his stomach.

  Nic Nerezza.

  The bane of my existence. We were rivals in just about everything at Excalibur, especially academics. Not that I cared about his grades, but he cared about mine. To say he was completely obsessed with outdoing me would be an understatement. From the moment we’d met and were placed in most of the same classes, he’d made it his life mission to outdo, outscore, and outperform me every chance he could. He wanted to be valedictorian of Excalibur’s senior class. He’d made no secret he’d steamroll over me, or anyone else, who got in his way. I disliked him intensely so I sat perfectly still, trying not to draw his attention.

  “Nic, what happened?” The nurse walked over to him.

  He held out his hand. “I jammed my fingers in my locker. I thought it was a pinch, but they’ve been swelling.”

  As she examined his fingers, Nic glanced over and saw me. So much for my plan to hide in plain sight. Dislike flashed in his eyes—one blue and one brown. I didn’t like the fact that we were similar in being statistical freaks—he with his heterochromia and me with my rare red hair and blue eyes combo. I didn’t want to be linked in any way to him, even if it were just by statistics.

  Nic’s lips curled into a grin. “Hey, Angel, what happened to you?”

  The way he said my name was the same way you might say a food that tasted gross. He was probably annoyed because I’d gotten to the nurse’s office before him, as if I’d planned on knocking myself out with a bat so I could be first to have her attention. Nic viewed everything, and I mean everything, through the prism of a competition.

  Mrs. Guiley glanced at me as she wrapped Nic’s fingers, probably wondering why I remained silent. Since Nic and I were good at pretending our relationship was a friendly rivalry, I had to think on my feet.

  “Nothing. Just a headache.”

  He didn’t believe me. I figured the first thing he’d do upon leaving the nurse’s office was ask around until he found out what had happened. Then he’d discover some way to use it against me in his evil plot to dominate me, as well as the entire senior class.

  Wow, this day really sucked.

  At that exact moment, my mom rushed in. She still wore her white pharmacist’s coat, which was unbuttoned, and her name tag that read Aileen Sinclair. She knelt beside me, brushing my hair over my shoulder, examining the bump and fussing over me like I was dying or something.

  “Are you okay, Angel?” Concern was etched on her face as she cupped my cheeks and looked deeply into my eyes. She had red hair like me, but her eyes were hazel instead of blue. Faint lines that she called laugh squints marked the corners of her eyes. She’d never lost her positive outlook, even after her husband disappeared and left her with two little girls to raise. It mystified me.

  “How in the world did you hit yourself in the head with a bat?” She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe I’d hurt myself…again.

  Nic snorted from across the room. I forced myself not to look at him so I couldn’t see the expression on his face.

  “It was an accident during PE, Mom. No big deal. I’m fine. Can we go home?” I set aside the ice pack I’d been holding to my forehead and stood.

  My mom, however, insisted on talking more with Mrs. Guiley about whether I should go to the hospital. While they were discussing this, Nic held up two bandaged fingers in a mock salute and then pretended to swing a bat.

  I rolled my eyes, but it hurt. He left the nurse’s office, his laughter echoing off the walls of the hallway.

  “Mom? Now?” I tapped my foot impatiently. I wanted to be anywhere but here.

  At last she stopped talked to Mrs. Guiley, apparently reassured I wouldn’t expire immediately. “Of course.” She scooped up her purse after thanking the nurse. “Mrs. Guiley believes you’ll be fine with observation for the time being. Gwen is already on her way home, because I have to go back to work.”

  I blew out a breath. Great. Now I’d have to endure my big sister’s lectures on sports safety. Would this day never end?

  Mom signed me out in the office. As we headed toward the front entrance, we ran into Mr. Matthews. He saw my mom and his face lit up. “Aileen, how are you?”

  Mom pushed her hair from her shoulder, color infusing her cheeks. The amount of blushing surprised me, as did her sudden need to fuss with her hair. “I’m fine, Ryan, thank you. Just a little worried about Angel.”

  The smile faded from Mr. Matthews’s face. His brows knit together. “I’m sorry. I haven’t had a chance to call you yet about the incident.”

  “That’s okay. Mrs. Guiley filled me in.”

  “Mrs. Guiley?” He looked closely at me. It suddenly occurred to him that what he was talking about and what my mom was talking about were two different things. That happened a lot when I was involved.

  “Angel? What happened?” He took a closer look at me, then frowned when he saw the knot on my forehead.

  Suppressing a sigh, I filled him in on the events at the softball field. In turn, Mr. Matthews told my mom what happened in the gym with the bleachers. Of course, he left out any mention of how he’d stopped the heavy bleachers by using his foot and didn’t seem to have any injury to show for it. I still hadn’t figured that one out.

  My mom sighed. “Oh, Angel. All of this on the first day of school?”

  “Yeah, my senior year is starting out peachy.” I raised an eyebrow when neither adult responded. “That was sarcasm, in case you missed it. Just so we’re clear, I did tell both of you that high school was not a good fit for me.”

  They both ignored me. After more pointless chatter and a reassurance of the new safety precautions that would go into effect for the bleachers in the gym, Mr. Matthews promised my mom he’d keep a closer eye on me. Finally, we parted and headed for the parking lot.

  I won’t lie. I was glad to leave the school after the day from hell.

  We climbed into the car, and my mom put the key in the ignition. She didn’t turn it and instead sat there quietly.

  I held up a hand. “No. I don’t want to talk about it. I mean it, Mom. I’m doing the best I can. I’m sticking with it, okay? Let’s move on to other more important issues of the world.”

  She shifted in her seat so she could look at me. “There is nothing more important in the world to me than you and your sister. I’m trying to make the right decisions, but it isn’t always easy.”

  The guilt card. I should have known. “Don’t blame yourself, Mom. You’re doing your best and so am I. I got a full scholarship to Excalibur, and I’m academically solid. I don’t do drugs and I’m a good kid, if not mind-numbingly boring. It’s not your fault I’m clumsy. Nine more months until graduation. I’ll survive, okay? Please, let’s just go home.”

  Without another word, she turned the key and backed out of our spot. I knew she was wondering whether her decision to keep me in high school had been the right one. It hadn’t, but making her feel bad about it at this point wouldn’t make a difference. I’d finish out my high school education, one way or the other.

  As we drove through the parking lot, I glanced at Mr. Matthews’s gleaming red Corvette parked in the faculty section. It looked like a ruby gem among a sea of ordinary vehicles.

  I had no idea it would be last time I ever saw it.

  Chapter Eight

  JIM AVERS

  NSA Headquarters, Fort Meade, Maryland

  Jim walked into the N
SA, flashing his badge and submitting his palm print before depositing all his personal electronic devices in a secure storage bin where he could retrieve them later, then walked through the metal detector. He strode to the elevator, taking it to the second floor, where the director of the National Security Operations Center waited for him. He endured another security check after he got off the elevator and was escorted into the director’s office.

  Candace Kim rose to meet him, coming around her desk to shake his hand. She was taller than he and athletically built. He had no doubt she could take him down without trying, even if he were at his physical best, which he wasn’t. She wore her long black hair in a tight bun at the back of her neck.

  “Jim,” she said, shaking his hand. “Nice to see you.” Her keen eyes assessed him. She’d been just as intrigued by the surprise contact of the Hidden Avenger as he had.

  She had a firm handshake and one of the finest minds he’d ever known. She’d risen in an agency at a time when men hadn’t believed women could handle the complexity of intelligence missions. She’d proven them wrong again and again until she finally reached the directorship of NSOC.

  He hadn’t told her much in his request to speak with her, only that contact had been made, and it had been initiated by the Avenger himself. That was enough to get him in to see her first thing this morning.

  Jim sat in a visitor chair while Candace leaned back against her desk, crossing her arms against her beige-and-white jacket. She waited for him to talk, regarding him thoughtfully, even though he knew she was dying to ask him what he knew. Fourteen years ago, both he and Candace had been midlevel agents on the fast track to the top. They’d been caught up in the frenzy the Avenger caused. Now they were at the top and this situation was theirs to handle.