“I’m bored,” Brynn groaned into her water bottle, before taking a long swig.
“Umm … Sorry?” I said.
“I know. Let’s go swimming.” She waved toward the pool and added in a conspirator’s whisper, “Bet Mark would join if we asked.”
As soon as she said it, my lungs burned and my nose stung. I shook my head, trying to breathe normally when my body wanted to gasp for air.
“Borrrrred,” Brynn argued, like it was my fault.
“I don’t like the water,” I managed.
She snorted her disinterest. “Whatevs. Come with me.” She spun her racket in her hand, walking off. She’s so much like Lia, I thought. Which meant Brynn would probably always be doing something exciting. I could tell by the sassy flip of her tennis racket she knew we’d be good friends. I mean, leaders need followers just as much as the other way around. But after what had happened back home, there was this splinter of anger in me. People like Lia and Brynn had a streak of selfishness in them, I understood now.
I almost didn’t go. But when I glanced around, the courts were deserted. Mark Elliott pummeled a tennis ball across the way. Off in the distance, the pool glimmered like a gem. And I have to admit, I was curious to see what Brynn was up to. I followed her.
Walking in the almost-sunset light, I was struck by how beautiful campus was. Jasmine hedges grew around the buildings, so everything smelled like flowers and fresh-cut grass. Upperclassmen turned their stereo speakers out the windows on the second floor and blared music. Except it wasn’t pop music like from back home. As we walked, we heard Bob Marley and Led Zeppelin. Some kid in Pilgrim Dorm played thirties-style jazz.
We walked clear across campus, past the theater and the science building. Up twenty steps and across the main lawn toward one of the boys’ dorms, called Hadley House. That place was noisy, roiling with guys back from sports. Their voices echoed out the open windows. The smell of steam and sweat and shampoo floated by on the breeze. Jimi Hendrix asked if we were experienced.
I followed Brynn to the Hadley House entrance — an open-air alcove with a stairway up to the second floor. When she slowly made her way up the steps, I hesitated. Only boys were allowed up there. I craned my neck and saw guys running around, oblivious to Brynn coming up. After a moment, I took a deep breath and went up, too.
We passed a little balcony halfway up the steps. I poked my head out of it and took a deep whiff of clean air. Boys were stinky. When I looked back in, Brynn was limping.
“You OK?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah.” She smiled at me, but she also wore a pained expression.
Next to the entrance of the boys’ dorms was a small wooden door similar to Miss Andersen’s. This one said HENRY GRAHAM on a brass plate. Brynn knocked, turned the knob, and went in.
Inside smelled like pasta cooking, and I could hear a drift of classical music. Brynn got one foot into the entrance before Mr. Graham came to the door. He looked bewildered at our intrusion. I could not believe Brynn had just walked into our teacher’s private home, attached to a dorm or not.
“Sorry, Mr. Graham! I didn’t think you’d hear us knock. The noise outside,” Brynn said. I glanced over. She was crying a little. I don’t know who was more shocked, me or Mr. Graham.
“What is it?” Mr. Graham threw a dish towel over his shoulder and reached out to help her. Brynn hobbled a tiny bit farther into the apartment. I stood at the threshold, watching. “I fell on my knee in practice. I thought it was OK, but then I twisted it funny walking up here. Do you have ice or something?”
Already Mr. Graham was doing these pantomime hand gymnastics to get us to come in and sit on his couch while he went to the kitchen and filled his dish towel with ice. Brynn leaned on me. She didn’t weigh anything. I helped the big faker to the couch.
“I hear you’re a big tennis star. Can’t have you getting injured.” Mr. Graham reemerged and handed the ice to Brynn, fretting over her like a mother hen. I tried to hide my smile.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “Did we mess up your dinner?”
“No, no. Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Do you think you can walk?”
A timer beeped. Mr. Graham went into the kitchen and poured a pot of water into a colander in the sink. Noodles. “Or do you want me to call down and have the nurse come pick you up?” he called over his shoulder.
A couple of Hadley House guys peered into Mr. Graham’s apartment. “Hey, Brynn, is that you?” one of them called. They wandered into the apartment, breezing past me like I wasn’t even there. “What’s up, girl? You dining with the Graham-meister tonight? Is he a righteous cook, or what?”
“How’s your knee?” I asked Brynn.
“You know, I think the ice is really helping.” She smiled and stretched her pretty, muscular leg out in front of her. One of the boys pulled the coffee table closer so she could rest her foot on it.
Another boy handed her a throw pillow. “Here you go. Leg OK? I hear you’re a pretty good tennis player. I’m Jake, by the way.” Brynn was a one-woman show, with three guys and a teacher fawning over her. Suddenly, it made me uneasy to watch Brynn bask in the attention. When I’d stumbled into Lia’s spotlight, I’d paid a price. I hesitated for a moment. Then, without a word, I slipped out the door.
“Any of you want noodles?” Mr. Graham called. By that time I was at the bottom of the stairs. Brynn’s tinkling laughter floated out of his apartment. I was embarrassed to bolt without saying good-bye, but I had to get out of there.
I felt better once I got outside. It had become one of those completely great evenings, when everything was purplish dark with long shadows and pink clouds out to the west. The faint smell of the sea let you know that the sky went on forever that way.
Mark Elliott was walking across the lawn toward Hadley House, his sports gear slung over his shoulder. He saw me and smiled. He was like the Cheshire Cat in the twilight with that mouth full of white, even teeth.
I tripped. I guess the good news is, I didn’t eat it right there in front of the cutest guy in school. I just took a huge, swooping, pinwheeling-arm stumble before I caught myself. The not-so-great news was that I heard him laugh.
“You a tennis fan?” he asked, as he got closer. I didn’t know what to say to that. Did I like tennis? Yeah, right. I liked tennis shorts. I liked Mark Elliott in tennis shorts.
“I’m friends with Brynn.” I kind of said it to see what he thought about Brynn, like if he got all goofy in his face when I mentioned her. He kept walking toward me. It was hard to think with the guy getting so close. Less than three feet now. He slowed down. A foot and a half. Then he was right there.
He smelled good. Salty. I know that probably sounds gross, but the way the guy smelled was like heaven. And he was so close. I didn’t feel like my right self. I had an insane urge to lean over and … I dunno. Lick the sweat off Mark Elliott’s neck, right by his collarbone. It was shocking to think that. Shocking and super-uber fantastically unbelievably gross. It wasn’t even a kiss, was the thing. It was madness to think of something like that. Insane licking madness. I bit down on my tongue.
I’d heard that the juniors who took biology had to dissect things. If you chose a frog, you had to pith the frog first. That meant you jammed a stick in its head and swirled its brain until it stopped twitching. I felt like I was getting pithed by Mark Elliott.
He was still right there. Just smiling and smelling good and waiting for me to say something. Hysteria bubbled. I had a crazy idea that I might run away screaming. That’s the cool way to impress guys, I hear.
Instead, I thought about what my friends would do. Nora would be totally calm and self-assured. Brynn would say something flirty, maybe reach over and touch him. And Jessie … Well, I’d do the opposite of what I thought Jessie would do.
I took a deep breath. I moved closer. I flashed a smile. Mark Elliott smiled a little wider and said, “Hey, you want to …”
Then I said the first coherent thought that came int
o my brain. “I’ve got to go.”
Mark Elliott’s grin evaporated. He stepped back, adjusting the weight of all the equipment on his shoulder. He had been about to say something. To me. What? I didn’t know. My face was on fire. I was pithed, all right.
So I did the only thing I could think of. I waved at him and walked off. And that’s not even the whole embarrassing truth. The worst was I actually kind of ran away. Like this shoulders-clenched-trying-to-walk-in-overdrive-jog run. I couldn’t bear having all these crazy thoughts with my heart beating way too fast. When I glanced back, he was gone.
The rest of the walk was the best sort of torture. I played everything back in my head. After about twenty repetitions, it morphed into something like an off-Broadway song, with all the lyrics dedicated to what a loser I was. It had a ripping chorus about how “omigod-omigod, Mark Elliott actually spoke to me!” I hummed it under my breath the whole way back.
I headed around the outside of Kelser, toward Nora and Jessie’s patio door. It was in my mind to tell them both what an idiot I’d just made of myself in front of Mark Elliott. I figured Jessie might like hearing a story where I was embarrassed over a guy.
The twilight had deepened by then, and as I walked through the near dark, I spotted Jessie and Nora sitting on their porch, bathed in the light from their room. They were deep in conversation.
As I got closer, Jessie said in a gravelly voice, “… bigger than life. He was always t-t-tormenting me, you know? The way big brothers do. I stuttered bad around him. He made me nervous.” She paused. “We were going to a movie. I said, ‘Put on your seat belt.’ Except, I got stuck. I said, ‘S-s-s-s-s-s,’ and I couldn’t get the word out. And he laughed like I’m the funniest stutterer ever and started driving. ‘Put on my what?’ He kept laughing, every time I tried to say it. Finally I shouted, ‘I hate you!’ — that came out fine. He kept mocking me, saying stuff like, ‘If only I knew what you were trying to say, s-s-s-s-sis,’ while I put on my own seat belt.” She shuddered. “He switched lanes on a curve, and the car slid off the road.”
Jessie made a terrible sound. Like she was throwing up and screaming, but with her volume turned almost all the way down so you could barely hear it. Like she was swallowing it back up before it could get out. If you’ve ever been around someone who’s puking, you know how it can make you gag, too. That’s how it felt to hear Jessie — my heart lurched like it was going to dry heave its guts out.
“The seat belt saved my life,” she said. “Maybe if we hadn’t been fighting, he would’ve put his on, too. The last thing I s-s-said to him was, ‘I hate you.’”
Nora leaned forward and rubbed Jessie’s arm. Then I saw Nora do a double take when she spotted me standing there in the shadows. I felt like a grave robber.
Jessie was oblivious to my presence. She went on. “I dream about it. First the car goes over. The windows shatter glass everywhere, and everything goes black. Then I’m hanging upside down from my seat belt. You know, trapped. But my brother, he’s broken. He’s smashed on the steering wheel. Sometimes I hear him choking, and I see bubbles in the blood that’s coming out. Then my seat belt breaks and I d-d-die, too.”
Nora grabbed a box of tissues for Jessie. I could feel her making sure not to look over and give me away.
Jessie laughed and blew her nose. “In the d-d-dream, the dying part is a relief. The bad p-part is being alive.”
“You’re OK.” Nora hugged her. Jessie bawled for real when Nora did that. I got the feeling Nora kind of said it to me, too. Maybe she knew I didn’t mean to be there.
I backed away, as silent as the shadows I stood in, and when I was far enough away, I ran.
Back in the bright light of my room, I took out my homework and halfheartedly dug in, still thinking about Jessie. Poor kid, her brother dying like that. I wanted to do something nice for her. Maybe Nora and I could find out who her unknown crush, Mr. Skinny Butt, was and see if he liked Jessie back. Feeling all righteous with that decided, I focused on my assigments.
But soon I nibbled at the end of my highlighter, my Spanish reading assignment forgotten. Something didn’t quite sit right as I thought about how Jessie’d wiggled her eyebrows at orientation. At the time, I’d thought she’d gone twitchy from a crush overdose. But looking back now, Jessie had seemed frantic, like it was crucial I saw who she meant. What if she wasn’t mesmerized by the mysterious Mr. Skinny Butt? What if she’d been frightened?
I sat up straight, stunned. What if she’d meant Barnaby Charon?
Pure paranoia, I decided after a moment. I even laughed at myself for good measure. Except Barnaby Charon had been on campus. At least he’d been there for the formal dinner. But otherwise it was ridiculous. How would she know him, and why would she be afraid of him, even if she did know who he was? Still, it was so easy to imagine him there at the back of the chapel, in the sea of people, scaring Jessie somehow.
I did the rest of my homework with every light in the room on.
That night, when check-in was done and Tamara was sitting at her desk, reading over her homework, I said, “No more guys in our room in the middle of the night, OK?”
Tamara’s mouth dropped open and the bridge of her nose squinched up. For once she didn’t seem half-asleep. She looked like she was somewhere between sneezing and laughing. “What are you even talking about?” she asked.
“Come on, Tamara. I saw them. We could get in serious trouble for that kind of thing.”
“I don’t even know what you’re saying.” Tamara flew out of her chair, throwing her hands in the air as she huffed into bed. Like she thought I was crazy. Her bald-faced lying pushed me over the edge.
“One of them sat on my bed!” I yelled at her.
“No one was in our room!” Tamara shouted, jumping up.
“Shut up!” someone yelled from far away.
I stood, too. We were like two gunslingers ready to draw. After a moment, Tamara lost the standoff. Her face crumpled, and she gave me a scared glance, not at all like herself.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but not like she meant it. Instead, it was like she was pleading with me not to make her admit those boys had been there.
I didn’t understand. I wasn’t even sure Tamara understood. But it was clear I’d won. “Fine,” I muttered. Uneasy relief flooded through me. She slumped onto her bed. I grabbed my toothbrush and stomped off to the bathroom. When I came back, Tamara was burrowed under her covers. Our fight hung heavy in the air, like high humidity. Nobody said anything. I crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
I might have won the big showdown about the presence of boys in our room, but after that, Tamara began conducting a series of guerilla attacks to even the score between us. I came back to our room once to find my dirty underwear not in my hamper, but hanging out on our patio, sunny-side up.
Yanking them down made my face burn — an admission in front of everybody that they were mine. A pack of passing sophomore boys howled with laughter. Stuff like that made it a lot easier to just spend more time in Nora and Jessie’s room.
Nora had this wild confidence I totally coveted. Once, I heard these two mean girls say, “Nice hair,” as they passed her. Of course, these two girls had perfect hair. Of course, Nora looked like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket.
“Nice face.” Nora laughed, not a stumble in her step as she walked by. She was smart, too. If you asked her a question about a homework assignment, she would say, “Check out page ninety-five.” Sure enough, you’d find a bold heading and a paragraph with the answer. The best part about her was she wasn’t the type to brag about all the stuff her brain knew.
One morning, when I showed up at her room, she said, “Wanna see something cool?” It was Sunday, which meant campus was pretty much deserted. It was amazing how a boarding school could become a ghost town on the weekend. People got up early and hitched rides down to town, or they slept late.
“Sure,” I sai
d. Nora loped off without another word. I had to jog a little to keep up with those supermodel-long legs of hers. She’d already been scouted for the spring track team.
She took me to the theater. The place was a giant cavity of dark emptiness. The drama class had been rehearsing for the winter play, and a bunch of sets were scattered on the stage. I’d been helping paint them after school, so I was pretty familiar with the place. Nora got up on the stage, turned, and pointed at the lights hanging off the ceiling, about two and a half stories up from where we stood. A control room was also hidden up there.
“That’s where we’re going,” she said.
The curtains hid a narrow doorway, and behind it, a spindly flight of stairs. We went up maybe fifty steps to a loft that overlooked the theater. A metal spotlight stood in the corner, with its head tipped down as if it were sleeping. Everything else was painted flat black. The walls sloped at strange angles, making the path cramped. I headed for the control room. Nora pulled me back. She pointed at our feet, to a square opening tucked under a domed bulge in the wall. It looked like an air duct.
“Follow me.” Nora got down on her knees and crawled into the hole. The space didn’t look big enough to fit her, but she disappeared. I hunched down to take a look.
The painters hadn’t bothered with black paint very far into the tunnel, which went back about three feet and then made a ninety-degree turn to the left. I didn’t like it, but I crawled in. My shoulders brushed each side. My body cut off the light from outside.
I was going to get stuck. The thought made my palms go clammy. No one would hear me yelling until Monday morning, most likely. I didn’t know off the top of my head what the penalty was for getting caught while sneaking into a secret corridor. But I assumed it wasn’t going to be a pat on the back and a big thumbs-up. When I inhaled, I swear my ribs touched the sides of the walls.
The Last Academy Page 4