“Not as good as me,” Travis said. “I’ll get the best men I can.”
The blood drained from Sally’s face. “What about Tess?”
Travis nodded. “I thought of that. They could use her to get to you, so I’ll put a detail on her as well. Same deal; I’ll make sure they stay out of sight, but they’ll be close enough to make sure nothing happens to her. Okay?”
“You promise?”
“I can’t promise anything, Sally. But I’ll do my best. You’re my family, too, remember?”
“I know,” she said. “It’s just—”
“She’s your daughter. I get it. I don’t blame you for worrying, but I know what I’m doing.”
She and James didn’t look convinced.
“If this plan works,” Travis said, “you won’t have to worry ever again.”
Sally sighed. “I doubt that, but okay.”
James nodded. “Tell us what you need, Trav. I’ll find a way to expense it outside the company so no one knows what it’s for.”
“I’ll start a list.”
Movement across the room caught Travis’s eye. He glanced at the door and saw Tess enter hesitantly.
“Dad?” she said. “Mom? Everything okay?”
Sally met Tess halfway to the door and wrapped her arms around her. “Of course, sweetie. Everything’s fine.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Tess said.
“Nothing much, kitten,” James said, putting a smile on his face. “Your Uncle Travis has been regaling us with stories about his heroics in Afghanistan.”
Tess looked doubtful, and Travis worried that she may have heard more than she let on. The last thing he needed was a teenager blabbing to all her friends. As far as Tess was concerned, he needed to appear to be a visiting uncle on leave from the army—nothing more.
Travis laughed. “About the most heroic thing going on in our camp, Tess, was milking goats without getting kicked in the head.”
Sally turned and looked at him appraisingly, gratitude in her eyes. She put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders.
“Travis, you must be starved after that long trip,” she said. “Tess, why don’t you help me put together some snacks to hold us over until dinner?”
Tess rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Okay, if I have to.”
Travis grinned, but quickly turned away before Tess could see. James saw it and threw him a stern look. That only made Travis smile wider.
When Sally and Tess left the room, James rose from the couch and paced in front of the fire. He stopped and considered Travis.
“You really think this time is for real?” James said.
Travis nodded. “They want what’s in your head, Jimmy. If they can’t have that, they want you dead.”
“That seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
“Extremes are what we fight to keep in balance. I’ve seen kids younger than Tess strap on explosives, walk into a crowded bazaar, and blow themselves up. Doesn’t get more extreme than that.”
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you do, little brother,” James said. “I just wish we didn’t need people like you. No offense.”
Travis shrugged. “None taken. Somebody’s got to do it. Somebody has to clean up the world’s messes. It’s not something I like doing. Well, not the killing part of it, anyway. It’s just something I happen to be good at. You happen to be very good at what you do, too. Face it, the world needs both of us.”
James hunched over morosely, elbows on his knees. “I suppose.” His face brightened. “I’m glad you’re back, anyway. We worried about you.”
“Thanks.”
“What do you say we go find the ladies and get something to drink to go along with those snacks?”
“Sounds good.” Travis got to his feet. “Oh, there’s one other thing before we go. Watch what you say from now on. With all this glass, it would be awfully easy for someone on the lake with a listening device to eavesdrop on conversations inside the house.”
James looked startled, which didn’t surprise Travis. For the head of a hi-tech company and someone as smart as he was, James seemed incredibly naive. It had always been that way—James the carefree, trusting soul who wanted nothing more than a good ride on his skateboard or time on the computer, and Travis, the street-smart adrenaline junkie with a nose for adventure and trouble. Even when James had been a hacker and had broken into some of the most secure networks in the country, he’d done it on a lark, just to see if he could, not maliciously or for monetary gain. Most of the time it had seemed as if Travis was the older of the two brothers.
“I can have my tech crew install jamming equipment,” James said helpfully. “I never had it put in because this is our home, Trav. I never saw the need for it. I don’t conduct business here. You know that.”
“No, don’t bother. That might alert them that we suspect something. I’ll take care of it. Just be careful.” Travis paused. “We’re on our own, Jimmy. I’m officially out of the army. I can’t use the army’s resources, and they won’t back us up if something goes wrong.”
“You’ll make it work, Trav. I trust you.”
That’s what Travis was afraid of.
CHAPTER 12
Somehow, we made it through the first couple of classes. I felt like a fish out of water. I’d been a student most of my life, but I didn’t remember high school being that hard—academically or socially—maybe because I’d been so much younger. I think I’d managed to keep my head down and stay below everyone’s radar in high school. I hadn’t pissed anyone off, but I hadn’t made many friends, either. It had made me difficult to pigeonhole. I hadn’t fit into any clique. Or else I’d simply forgotten any traumatic events I may have experienced. But it wasn’t like I had to do the actual work now, or suffer the slings and arrows of teen bullying or sarcasm. All I had to do was make sure Tess was in the right class, on time, and take notes for her. The rest wasn’t my problem—or so I thought.
Even Tess seemed to be warming up to me somewhat. At least she wasn’t giving me the cold shoulder and a lot of attitude. She coped pretty well, considering. She wasn’t shy about asking questions if she didn’t understand something, and she seemed to have no qualms about participating in class discussions. Kids stared at first and whispered, making both Tess and me a little self-conscious. But Tess held her own so well that they soon forgot she had a disability.
It was too good to last.
Fourth period, I walked her down to the farthest wing of the school and looked for the classroom number listed on her schedule. Art class with a J. Robertson, according to the sheet of paper in my hand. I had a funny feeling as soon as we walked in, though, that someone had made a big mistake. I suppose all the cameras resting on the tables, one in front of each student, might have tipped me off.
A woman I took to be J. Robertson looked up from a desk at the front of the room as we came in.
“Tess!”
At the sound of the woman’s voice Tess faltered in midstep and stopped. A cloud of apprehension darkened her face.
J. Robertson stood up, rounded the corner of the desk, and came to a stop in front of us. She eyed me up and down, craning her neck to see the top of my head since she was about the size of a garden gnome.
“I think there’s been some mix-up,” she said. “Are you sure you’re supposed to be here?”
Tess looked confused, and it was obvious she hadn’t figured out who was speaking to her even though the voice sounded familiar. I might have been able to save the situation from deteriorating further if I’d acknowledged the error and backed Tess out of the room. But before I could jump in, Tess piped up.
“Why shouldn’t I be here?”
J. Robertson apparently hadn’t been schooled in social diplomacy; she had all the tact of a Palestinian peace envoy armed with a rocket-propelled grenade launcher.
“Well, because you can’t see, dear,” she said in a loud voice. “This is photography class, after all.”
The cla
ssroom erupted in laughter. Tess turned one way then the other, the terror on her face reminiscent of a fawn cornered by wolves. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
“Oliver?” Her voice quavered.
I took her arm firmly, and put my other arm around her shoulder.
“We’ll go to the office and find out what happened,” I told J. Robertson over my shoulder as I turned Tess around.
Tess buried her face in her hands and sobbed as I walked her out. An electronic chime signaled the beginning of the class period. The empty hallway suddenly grew as quiet as a church. Tess’s shoulders heaved. Since I didn’t know what else to do, I tried to put my other arm around her. She shoved me away.
“Are you a complete moron?” she said. Tears streamed down her face.
So much for warming up to me.
“What did I do?”
“Why did you take me in there?” she cried. “That was so humiliating.”
“How was I supposed to know? The schedule Alice gave me says it was an art class.”
“I thought you were this smart college guy. Couldn’t you figure it out?”
“Hey, look, as soon as I saw everybody with cameras I knew we weren’t supposed to be there, but the teacher opened her big mouth before I could get you out.”
“What’s next? PE class? Make me play dodgeball?”
“I’m sorry. What do you want from me?”
She sniffled and swiped at the corners of her eyes with her fingers. I lifted the book bag off her shoulder, set it on the floor, and pawed through it, knowing there must be a tissue in it somewhere. I pressed one into her hand, and she used it to dab at the tear tracks striping her cheeks.
“I suppose you think I’m a total bitch,” she said.
“It’s a lot to handle in one day.” I paused. “They shouldn’t have laughed at you.”
She heaved a shuddery sigh. “It wasn’t just that. Mrs. Robertson can be a real pain sometimes, and totally clueless, but she’s a good teacher.”
“So what was that all about?”
“Are there photographs hanging in the downstairs hall at my house?”
“Sure. I noticed them right off when I came for my interview. Nice stuff.”
The collection of large, framed, black-and-white photos featured artful shots of both people and landscapes. I’d assumed the people—a man and a woman photographed together and individually—were her parents.
“Those are mine,” she said quietly. “I asked Alice to take them down, but she doesn’t listen to me.”
“Why would you want her to do that? They’re terrific.”
The lighting, shading, and composition had made me think they’d been taken by a pro.
Her lip quivered. “Because I can’t take pictures anymore! Photography was one thing that I was really good at. I even thought about making a career of it.”
“What, like fashion photography?”
“No, photojournalism. Now that’s all gone! I can’t believe Alice didn’t switch me out of photography class. I don’t know what I’m going to do now.”
“Why don’t we walk up to your counselor’s office and see what classes are available?”
“Right,” she said, “like there might be an opening in a drawing and painting class.”
“Hey, if you need an art credit, maybe you can take ceramics or art history.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“So, are you okay?’
She sighed. “Yeah, let’s go.”
After we explained the problem, Tess’s counselor thumbed back and forth through the pages of fine arts courses in the curriculum catalog, poring over the descriptions for five fruitless minutes, muttering “tsk-tsk” and “oh, dear.” I flipped through a copy lying on her desk and pointed to a music appreciation class.
“Will that meet the art credit requirement?” I said.
The counselor blinked and leaned forward to read the course description. “Certainly. It’s a lead-in to music theory.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?” Tess said.
“Sure, why not?” I said. “Tess, are you okay with listening to classical music for the rest of the semester?”
“Anything,” she said, “would be better than photography.”
“We might have to juggle your schedule,” the counselor said, turning to the computer. “No, you’re in luck. One of Mr. Johnson’s classes meets this period. You can go down there now and introduce yourselves while I take care of the paperwork.”
So we walked all the way back to down to the far wing we’d come from and slipped into the back of Mr. Johnson’s classroom. A tall man with ample girth leaned against the edge of a desk at the front of the room. He put a finger to his lips as we entered. He had a broad face and round ears that stuck out, giving him the overall appearance of a giant panda. He rocked gently in time to what sounded like strains of Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique. Large-framed black glasses magnified pale blue eyes. They kept slipping down his nose. Each time, he put his finger on the bridge and pushed them up.
I walked Tess to an open seat directly in front of Johnson—the other students had crowded to the back of the room. I wondered which was more unpopular, Johnson or the style of music the kids were forced to listen to. The full sound of the orchestra and complexity of the music were a welcome respite from the monotonous beat of hip-hop that seemed ubiquitous most places I went. I didn’t know about Tess, but I was going to enjoy this class.
After a few minutes, Mr. Johnson stopped the music and proceeded to explain the importance of the work in context, telling the class that it represented the beginning of the romantic period in classical music. I took notes. At the end of the class, I introduced Tess and myself and told Mr. Johnson about the mix-up in Tess’s schedule. He said he was glad to have us—her—in class and looked forward to getting to know Tess. He said he would put together an outline of what he’d covered so far before the next class, and a list of works that Tess would be expected to know by the end of the year. Her face fell. Before she could start whining, I thanked him and steered her out of the room.
“Okay, Einstein,” she said out in the hallway, “where to next?”
“Lunch,” I said. “I’m starved.”
I took her arm and followed the scent of cafeteria food. Classrooms of students spilled into the halls, creating pandemonium that made me dizzy. For a moment I thought Tess was lucky she couldn’t see, but I quickly realized I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. She was silent on the way to the commons. I didn’t know if she had a lot on her mind or if she was still ticked off. If I’d been a gambling man, I’d have bet on the latter.
The clamor doubled in the commons, with more students using their mouths to yammer at each other than eat. A football sailed by, narrowly missing my head. An Asian kid at a nearby table dealt cards to the rest of the table and called for bets in Cantonese. Snippets of conversation from a table full of girls suggested they were comparing notes on the boys playing the impromptu game of football. A couple of geeky-looking guys with long hair sat side-by-side peering at their laptop screens. Everywhere I looked, forty-pound backpacks thunked onto tabletops or the floor, chairs scraped, and bodies moved: sitting, standing, walking, dancing.
I spotted some empty chairs on the far side and led Tess in that direction. She still wasn’t talking. As I started to seat her, open-mouthed stares ringing the table made me pause.
“What?” I said.
A skinny kid gave me a one-eyed glance from under a fringe of bangs.
“Uh, I don’t think you’re supposed to be here,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Like, we’re freshmen.” He sounded embarrassed.
Tess blanched, mortified once again.
“Yeah, thanks,” I said. “I’m new here.”
I steered Tess away from that section of the cafeteria.
“What other rules don’t I know?” I grumbled in her ear.
“There are territories, boundaries you don’t cro
ss,” she hissed. “Not that anyone couldn’t sit with freshmen, but who would want to? Know what I mean?”
“Okay, so where do seniors sit?”
“Middle to far end of the upper level.”
“Got it. Anybody in particular you’d rather steer clear of?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “I suppose not.”
Her mouth twisted in a grimace. There was something else she wasn’t telling me, but I clamped my jaw shut. Spotting a couple of empty chairs a few tables away, I changed direction, pulling on her elbow. A table full of beefy guys gawked and snickered as we approached, nudging each other in the ribs and pointing our way. Subtle. A few of them shifted in their seats, faced the center of the table, and tipped their heads down as we got closer. Others continued to leer, leaning toward each other to mutter conspiratorially, no doubt sharing bad jokes.
A round-faced kid with a mop of brown hair in need of a cut and acne that marred what might have been decent looks openly stared with a smirk on his face. He leaned back in his chair, arm draped over the back.
I tipped my head. “Hey, how’s it going?”
He grinned. “Good, man.”
He looked relaxed, at ease, king of his little fiefdom, so I took my eye off him for a second, looking ahead to maneuver Tess through the tight space between tables and milling students. My mistake. I didn’t see him move, so I couldn’t swear to it, but it couldn’t have happened any other way. I tripped over his foot and went down, sprawling on the floor, almost taking Tess with me.
CHAPTER 13
Tess tensed, the feeling of Oliver’s hand gripping her arm now an irritation instead of a comfort. He seemed so clueless, as if he’d never set foot in a high school before. She’d found it difficult enough to navigate its perils when she’d been able to see. The thought of relying on him didn’t comfort her. She cringed, wondering how many of the freshmen were laughing at her. Oliver’s grip was unyielding; she had no choice but to follow his lead. Energy radiated off him in waves, shimmering in the space between them. Not anger, she sensed, but annoyance. She tried to pull away from it, but he held firm.
A smattering of sing-song syllables reached her ears over the general din. The Asian table, which shunned her because she was half white-bread American—even though a lot of white kids looked down on her because she was half Chinese. The “randoms” were next, followed by the cheerleaders and the jocks. Sure enough, a few steps later she heard the soft click of keyboard keys and the odd conversation of kids who didn’t seem to fit into any of the other cliques. Almost drowning them out were the high-pitched squeals and excited chatter of the girls at the next table. Definitely cheerleaders.
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