The Academy (The Academy Saga Book 1)

by CJ Daly

  tests that would be administered.

  2.) The “coincidence” of them seeing me walking on the drag.

  3.) Ranger’s unexplained hostility towards me.

  4.) Why did they come into the diner that afternoon?

  5.) “The Mission?”

  I was pencil-tapping my notebook, thinking about how I could bring up

  “the mission” without revealing that I’d overheard his conversation, when

  the girl sitting across from me gave me an annoyed look. “Sorry,” I mouthed,

  moving the tapping to the side of my leg. There was something that was slowly

  gnawing at me, and it was getting more pronounced whenever I replayed the

  incident in my head. It was right after Pete asked what I like to do for fun,

  and I’d been so angry and embarrassed that I could hardly think straight.

  The tempo of my tapping increased when I hit upon the thing that set off

  a warning bell. Before I could continue with my a-ha! moment, Pete leaned

  forward and removed the pencil from my hand.

  “Kate?”

  My industrious mind suddenly blanked out when I saw him looking at

  me that way. The possibility I was about to drool all over my desk prompted me to promptly swallow. “Yeah?”

  • 165 •

  “I gotta know what that pencil did to piss you off,” he whispered out one side of his mouth. “That way . . . I can avoid doing the same thing.”

  Oh man! He was so sexy when he did that. I couldn’t even think so I

  just blurted out the thing that had been niggling me: “How didja know my

  middle name is Lee?”

  Even though Pete was as polished as a pristine diamond, I saw a flash

  of anger dart in and out of his eyes. Any normal person would’ve missed it,

  but I was really good at reading people and was especially tuned in to him.

  I blinked, and his face was already rearranged back into its mask of serenity.

  A glance at Mr. Sanchez and Pete whispered, “That’s at the top of your

  list? A better question is: How am I going to convince your father to let me

  take you out?” He ended with the type of smile that normally would’ve

  knocked me out.

  But something had me on my guard again. And that, combined with years

  of obedience training, had me turning back around. A few moments later,

  I heard the familiar click of a ballpoint pen, and after a few quick strokes, I

  felt a little tap on my shoulder. Pete was handing me a note . How very high

  school of him I instantly thought, but accepted the note with no small amount of curiosity.

  Andrew. I told you I was pumping him for the 411 on you . . .I’m surprised

  you had to ask. Hey, wanna hang out after school? J

  My stomach twisted. A lie. I felt it in my gut, and then it spread all over my body, making me feel ill as if I’d been poisoned. And not just a lie—the

  tone of the note was all wrong. It was dismissive and slightly insulting to my

  intelligence. And on top of that, he tried to cajole me out of my fact-finding

  mission by wooing me again—using himself as bait, a maneuver I was sure

  worked well for him in the past.

  Beauty is its own kind of power. I saw that plainly with Mama. His beauty

  combined with his charisma created a lethal dose of man-nip for females. Plus,

  there was something more between us—some kind of magnetic chemistry

  (at least on my part). I’d never felt so drawn to someone before, and it was as

  scary as it was thrilling.

  So I’d been falling for it all day. But I was onto him now. Mama was right

  about my instinct—it always seemed to kick in when something was off. And

  now it was telling me that Pete was scamming me, so I’d get on board the IEA

  train. . . . Like taking candy from a baby. I literally felt sick to my stomach that the dynamic person I’d gotten to know was actually an ‘effing fraud. Maybe

  he real y is an actor? What kind of school bred such monsters? I thought of his cohort Ranger—his name practically spelled out danger!

  • 166 •

  A firm hand grasped my shoulder. I jumped.

  Pete leaned forward. “Hey,” he whispered. “Everything okay?”

  His warm breath sent shivers down my spine again . . . shivers of fear. I

  hadn’t gotten around to answering him when the bell rang, and didn’t get a

  chance to utter a word because, quick-as-one-of-her-winks, Ashley-Leigh came

  bounding over. She took one look at my face and turned to Pete, batting his

  arm playfully. I marveled that it took her this long to find an excuse to do that.

  “Pete! What did you do to upset poor Katie?” she scolded.

  “I have no idea.” His eyes searched mine for answers.

  “Well, you have to be careful with her little feelers—she’s like a baby.”

  “She’s a babe all right.”

  Pete’s remark visibly rankled Ashley-Leigh, but she quickly recovered,

  rambling on as Pete collected his things. He zipped up and shrugged his

  backpack on then turned his back on her, waiting for me to do the same. A

  look of desperation clung to her face.

  “I don’t know if Katie has mentioned it,” Ashley-Leigh gave me a pitiful

  look, taking hold of my arm with her cold hand, “but her mama passed away

  a couple of years ago, and she’s been all torn up ever since . . . so you gotta be

  real careful what you say.”

  That got his attention. We simultaneously stiffened at her callous remark.

  I was too fascinated by the way color began creeping along the ridge of Pete’s

  cheekbones to bother replying. I sorta felt a little afraid for my oblivious

  frenemy still uselessly gabbing away. I needn’t have worried though, because

  he quickly composed himself. Turning a stony face to her he said, “Excuse

  us, Ashley, we’re going to be late for class.” Then, removing my arm from her

  hand, he slung my backpack over his shoulder and steered me out of class.

  “Uh!—it’s Ashley- Leigh!” she called, but we’d walled up on her, neither

  one turning around.

  A bright, cloudless sky greeted us outside the door, and as we tromped

  across campus, I saw Miguel and some football buddies shoot us dark looks. I

  heaved a sigh. It appeared I could make no one happy today—not even myself.

  Pete finally broke the silence: “With friends like those . . .”

  “. . . who needs enemies?” I finished for him, but couldn’t think of

  anything else that needed to be said. We continued through the doors of the

  main building, up the steps to the second floor, and down the long, lockered

  hallway with a stretched-out silence trailing us. It seemed he already knew the

  route to my Chemistry class without being told. Just filed that under more

  proof Cadet Davenport had been spying on me.

  Black-topped lab tables set with white microscopes came into view, which

  • 167 •

  meant we’d reached our final destination with only a sentence split between the two of us. Pete handed over my backpack but didn’t immediately take

  off. He leaned a hand on the wall behind my ear, an enigmatic look upon his

  face. It seemed as though he were going to say or do something, but nothing happened except for some jaw-rubbing.

  He sighed deeply. “Wait for me after school?”

  I also leaked a sigh. “I don’t think so.”

  The look on his face was the kind that matched my tone. “I hope you’ll

  change yo
ur mind,” he said then strode back down the hallway with the me,

  the QB-1, and everyone else, staring at his tight end.

  I mulled over his immediate reaction to Ashley-Leigh’s digs. Even an

  Oscar-winning actor couldn’t be expected to instantly put that angry burn

  on his face. A warm feeling engulfed me when I thought of the ways he had

  come to my aid since we’d met. Ugh! I was so completely confused. Ignoring a Safety Precaution sign posted on the door, I headed to class feeling a glimmer

  of hope that for once my intuition would be wrong.

  Chemistry was a blur of meaningless letters and numbers. I was on

  automation, still trying to sort everything out. Miguel was loudly ignoring me

  today. I thought it best to just let it go for now. Eventually, he’d come around.

  Truthfully, he was doing me a favor, because I was too preoccupied to deal

  with him on top of everything else right now. The bell rang and I headed to

  gym, alone, still undecided about waiting for Pete after school.

  Several girls attacked me the moment I stepped foot in the dressing

  room, wondering how I knew the “hot, new guy.” I was less than vague in my

  response, and was immensely grateful when Coach Sams blew the whistle for

  us to line up. We filed through the gym, past the volleyball players, and hit the

  exit doors and sunshine. The boys were already suited up and outside kicking

  the ball around. But they weren’t the only ones suited up and ready to go . . .

  The cheerleaders decided to leave the comforts of their air-conditioned

  gym for the great outdoors today. They had spread out close to the boys’ P.E.

  soccer team and not the varsity football team like they usually did when they came outside for practice. Looked like interest in our pathetic gym class was

  picking up.

  That wouldn’t sit too well with the jocks. Sure enough, some of the

  football players nudged each other and nodded at Pete. All eyes focused on

  the athletic god dribbling the ball across the soccer field with practiced ease

  and hammering the poor goalie, who gave a half-hearted attempt to stop the

  bomb that blasted his way. It looked like he was out there playing with peewee

  leaguers. An immediate great cheer sprang from the ogling cheerleaders. I

  • 168 •

  shook my head then gave the soccer ball a good, swift kick. It flew right past the stringy junior playing goalie to be the first goal of the day.

  Coach Sams blew the whistle. “Great job, Connelly!” She came trotting

  over with her practical, close-cropped hair and interest in me. I braced myself

  for what was coming. “Hey, Katie. How ya doin’ these days?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  She cleared her throat. “I was wondering . . . are you still babysittin’ those

  brothers of yours after school?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  She deflated a little. “That’s too bad. I would’ve liked to have seen you

  play ball this year—you got a lot of potential for sports.”

  My face warmed. “Thank you.”

  She regarded me for a thoughtful moment. “Okay . . . get back out there.”

  Trotting back out to the scraggly field, I saw a bunch of purple helmets—

  that included Miguel—huddle up and talk amongst one another. They weren’t

  really doing anything out of the ordinary, but I still got the feeling they were

  up to no good.

  A spasm of fear for Pete’s safety clenched my stomach. I didn’t think they

  would jump him or anything. Deep down Miguel was a good guy; I didn’t

  think he’d be involved in anything so ugly. Still. I had a sick feeling about it.

  Pete had done me the courtesy of saving me from a couple of close encounters,

  so the least I could do was warn him that some football players might be

  scheming against him.

  The signal for the end of school sounded, and I filed back in with the

  athletically-challenged class, glad to be in the cool air-conditioning for a few

  moments before heading back outside. I quickly got dressed and headed to

  the parking lot to wait for Pete by his very flashy vehicle.

  After a few minutes of standing around in my blue bell skirt, feeling

  alternately stupid and worried, I finally saw him emerge from the gym

  doors. A couple of guys immediately accosted him, and I braced myself for a

  showdown. But they seemed to have nothing more on their minds than sports

  talk. I watched them pantomiming athletic moves while admiring the long,

  lean lines of Pete’s body from a distance.

  He began striding toward his truck, still carrying on with the two guys

  when he looked up. Surprise shifted his face when he saw me standing there.

  He briefly mouthed an excuse to his new fans before trotting off, a grin

  already forming. As I watched him head my way, it felt like I’d just swallowed

  a glassful of butterflies. His hair was still wet, and he paused to shake back

  some glistening strands that had flopped forward during the trek over. (That

  • 169 •

  little move might’ve been the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.) He sidled up next to me and removed his ever-present aviators to peer down at me with sparkling

  eyes.I swear my mouth started watering like I was hungry for an after-school

  snack or something. Realizing I probably looked simple-minded, I raised my

  hand in a goofy wave. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself!” He raked his hair back again, waiting with a smile playing

  on his lips. I was rendered mute by his mere presence for a few more seconds—

  he was quite a bit more dazzling than the sun in all his freshly-showered male

  glory. “This is a surprise,” he tried again, leaning one arm on the Hummer,

  thereby blocking the sun from my eyes.

  I took a moment to modulate my voice. “Yeah. I, uh, just wanted to

  warn—”

  “Listen, Kate,” he cut in, “you’ve got to start trusting me.” While he was

  talking, a gang of football players over his shoulder caught my attention. “I

  would never do anything . . .”

  And then I saw it happen, as if in slow motion: Ron Tillman—hand

  loaded, with malice shooting from his squinty eyes—danced back three steps

  and hurled a pig-skin bomb directly at Pete’s exposed back.

  “Pete! Behind—” I yelled, not getting the words out before he whipped

  around and caught it—a split second before it flattened his face.

  “Whoa!” dropped loudly from someone’s mouth.

  “That was a lucky catch . . .” a jersey began then trailed off.

  Because Pete licked the tips of his fingers, gripped the football, and let it

  fire off like a professional in the NFL. Everyone stood gaping as it spiraled

  straight for Ron, who was too busy accepting a palm-slap from a running

  buddy to see the bullet bound for him. It hit the bulls-eye—the fleshy part

  of his gut—with a force that brought him to his knees. This all happened in

  about two-point-two seconds flat, from the time Ron hurled the ball at Pete

  and Pete caught and hurled it right back.

  “. . . golden boy,” the one who began his taunt finished. Then: “Dude!

  Did you see that?” The jeering jersey had changed his tune in the same two-

  point-two seconds.

  “Oh man! You got played, son!” got thrown down at Ron, whose face

  resembled a puffer fish. Several of the jo
cks who mocked just a second ago

  were now marveling at Pete’s athletic prowess. People were so easily won over

  by him . . . I had to continue trying hard not to be one of them.

  When Pete turned back to me, his eyes were all lit up with humor. “You

  were saying something about warning me?”

  • 170 •

  A baller in wife-beater and baggy shorts aimed a low whistle at Pete. “Nice arm, Davenport!”

  “Thanks, man.” Pete nodded his acknowledgment, eyes never leaving

  mine.

  “That’s why I came—to tell you I saw some football players schemin’

  together, and I was sure it was about you.”

  “Well thanks for the heads-up.” He grinned down at me as if a handful

  of beefed-up jocks weren’t out to get him. “I’m touched you cared enough to

  come warn me.”

  “Yeah, well, I can see it was unnecessary . . . you can clearly take care of

  yourself.” I moved to move past him, when he grabbed my arm.

  “Does this mean I’m no longer public enemy number one?”

  “No.” I dislodged my arm from his grip. “You still are.” Dejection weighed

  my footsteps as I walked away. I’d just cracked open my car door when he

  called out to me. I yelled over my shoulder, “Enjoy your fifteen minutes of

  fame!” Then got in my car and drove off, leaving him alone to fend off the

  many admirers coming his way.

  Clovis’ pathetic excuse for a museum, The Learning Center, was near empty

  at 4:30, so I parked next to the handicapped space in front of the revolving

  doors. The reflection staring back from the plate glass window haunted me.

  Dispirited would be the word to describe me. He was winning. I was losing . . .

  and falling further behind every day. I had a ton of work waiting for me when

  I got home. And here I was, baking on asphalt, while my brother moseyed

  around in the air conditioning, looking at plastic replicas of ten-ton creatures

  that had been dead for millions of years. I growled, piqued for yet another

  reason at this stupid elite academy for intervening in our life.

  “Let’s go in and wook at the animals.” For the fifth time from the backseat.

  “I’m sorry, hon,” I said, erasing the last answer on my Calc homework,

  sure I’d computed wrong. “We gotta get goin’ as soon as Drewy comes out.”