by CJ Daly
presumably, if Pete graduates this year, he will no longer be there. But yes . . .
it’s the same school.”
“Dude! I always knew your brother was, like, a baby genius or somethin’,
but I never thought it would lead to somethin’ so . . . so glamorous!” she said,
eyes shining.
“Right,” I replied dryly. “Our life is very glamorous—us, the cows, and
the trailer—we’re just a ball gown and a brass band away from an award show
over at the Connelly house.”
She bapped my arm. “Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Not really.”
“Think about it . . .”—she framed her hands to create a marquee—“The
World’s Most Elite Military Academy. That is so glamorous. I mean just look at
• 205 •
Pete—can’t you imagine him in a tux at some fancy party with, like, foreign diplomats or somethin’?”
“Uh, I actually think they wear blues and not tuxedos. It’s a military
academy . . . not Hollywood.” I rolled my eyes at her, but I knew what she
meant. There was something very sophisticated about him.
“Ooh! Even better! I just adore a man in uniform!” Ashley-Leigh declared,
every bit the D-list actress she was destined to be. “If the other . . . what do
they call ‘em at military schools?”
“Cadets,” I supplied.
“Cadets.” She snapped her fingers, and I noticed a crystal was glued onto
one of her nails today. Honestly, where did she find the time? “If the other cadets at his school are even half as cute as Pete, then sign me up! You can ship me
off tomorrow—UPS overnight, baby!”
I grimaced when she mentioned “other cadets,” conjuring up a haughty
face and hateful eyes.
“I know high-society and dressin’ up and all that isn’t really your thing,”
she said, misreading me, “but this is a chance for your brother to step it up in
the world. Plus, you won’t have to babysit all the time anymore.”
People kept saying that. Did no one remember I had two little brothers?
Maybe not living in big brother’s very big, very bright shadow for a while
might not be such a bad thing for Mikey. My stomach immediately lurched
at the errant thought.
Was I already allowing that this academy might not be such a bad idea
for Andrew? Were my defenses so easily chipped away that I was already
questioning my own judgment? It’d been like a domino effect ever since we
received Andrew’s first recruiting letter: first his principal and teachers, then
Daddy, Andrew himself was next, and now Ashley-Leigh was on board? Even
Reese had suggested this boarding school was the right choice for Andrew.
Am I the last man standing here? No. I definitely had my shadow brother on my side.
And what about the mentor cadet? Does he think his academy is a good place
for my little brother? Does it matter?
The tardy bell rang, rousing me out of my reverie. Ashley-Leigh wasn’t
worried because the cheerleading sponsor always cut them some slack. Coach
Sams wouldn’t be so accommodating, so I had to get a move on. Plus, I was
done with our chat. I was getting pretty steamed up at Ashley-Leigh’s know-
it-all attitude—you could write volumes about what she didn’t know about
me, and a haiku about what she actually did.
Coach Sams blew the whistle, and I made to line up when Ashley caught
• 206 •
my arm to whisper a spur-of-the-moment plan in my ear. “If Drewy gets accepted, you can visit him all the time and hook up with all those rich, classy
cadets. You gotta promise to take me along, okay? Remember—we’re besties
forevuh!” Cue face smasher. Then she ran off to her color-coordinated friends
though Ashley-Leigh was about as transparent as glass.
I made it through another riveting round of Phys Ed, where I spent the
entire time passing the ball between two chalk lines fading into the yellow
grass. I tried (without success) not to check the boys’ side for Pete. When
I didn’t find him out there setting the field on fire, I heaved a huge sigh. I
imagined my life the way it was before he showed up; it now seemed dull and
repetitive as a day in jail.
No matter what the future held, Pete had awakened something in me that
had lain dormant for years. (Not entirely sure that was a good thing.) It was
the need for more in life. I’d tried so hard to suppress it, trying to be okay with my lot in life, get behind that notion to “Bloom Where You’re Planted” like
that stupid poster with wildflowers pushing up desert clay in the front office
said. But it didn’t work. Now the idea of going back to the way things were:
chores-childcare-church repeat. Well, just the thought of living like that made
my eye tick now. I’d have to think of some way around it before hopelessness
became entrenched any further into my normal psyche.
The whistle blew, and I jogged off the field more sprightly than usual
without my glasses bumping up and down on my nose. A hand gripped my
elbow, and I gasped, my heart swelling like someone just pumped air into my
chest. I whipped around to see Miguel, bulky in pads, standing there sweating
with a scratched helmet tucked under his arm. Disappointment hit me like a
two-hundred-pound linebacker. I tried to mask it with a friendly smile.
“Oh, hey Miguel . . . you startled me.”
Must not have been my best performance because he said, “Expecting
someone else?”
“No, not really.” My pitch went off-key.
“Where’s Davenport?”
“How would I know?”
“You two looked pretty cozy walking off to lunch together. But I noticed
he didn’t make the trip back.”—A tad bit jealous for someone who had a
girlfriend.
“Oh. Well, uh . . .” I stumbled, “I think he had an appointment or
somethin’.”
“An appointment?” he sneered. “For what? More teeth whitening?”
“What’s your problem, Miguel?”
• 207 •
“I don’t got no problem, Katie.” I shook my head and turned to go when I heard, “You’re the one with the problem.”
I whirled back around. “Whatd’ya mean by that exactly?”
“Nothin’.” He stuffed his helmet back on. “Forget about it . . . none of
my business anyway.”
I stepped in front of him. “No, don’t just walk away. You said it . . . now
tell me what you meant by it.”
Miguel faced me like we were opponents on the line of scrimmage. “That
dude Davenport,” he spat.
“What about him?” I already knew where this was going; I just didn’t
know where it was coming from.
“I—” he faltered, peering down at the scraggly grass and kicking up a tuff
of the stuff with his cleat. It looked like he was red, but it was hard to tell in
this heat. “I just don’t like the guy.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“I don’t have to know him to know his type.”
“His type?” I said, now using a note out of my range. “I didn’t take you
for a guy with a whole lotta prejudices, Miguel.”
There was a trio of bored seniors standing around watching our little
exchange, so in silent communication we toned it down. He placed a hand
“Well thanks so much for your concern.” I jerked my arm away. “It’s real
heart-warmin’.” If there were daisies on the field, I would’ve trampled over
them on my way back in.
Gah! What’s with everyone today?
My hands were posed to hit gym doors when my head turned. It was
that shimmery feeling up my spine that gave him away. Pete was leaning—
casual and cool in loose navy shorts and fitted white tee—against the fence
surrounded by a small crowd of admirers. But his face was anything but
casual. His jaw was set, his arms folded in front of him. He seemed to hardly
be paying attention to the lively banter going on around him. Instead, he was
staring directly at me.
I froze, hands midair. He gave a little wave, and my heart gave a little
leap. Then I colored, realizing that he’d probably been watching Miguel and
I’s little scene. I wondered what he made of it. In any case, he didn’t look
too happy at the moment. I hoped he wasn’t still mad at me . . . shoot! I just remembered I hadn’t gotten around to eating that nutrition bar he’d pushed
on me. So I returned a little wave and ran into the building to follow up on
that.
• 208 •
I’d taken a little longer than usual inside, so was unprepared to find him waiting for me when I pushed out the door into carefree sunshine and
a duty-filled afternoon. He approached me, shades on, so I couldn’t read his
expression.
I tested the waters with “Hey.”
Pete looked at me for a drawn-out moment. In a very contained voice he
said, “What was that earlier on the field?”
“It was nothin’—just a misunderstandin’.” I decided to switch rivers
mid-stream. “What are you still doin’ here? I thought you’d be with Drews
by now.”
“Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Yes. No . . . it’s not that. Of course, I am. I just thought you had to be
there at a set time every day.”
“I dropped off some aptitude tests for Mrs. Woodward to administer after
school.” He relieved me of my gym bag as we fell into step together to the
parking lot. “I see you decided not to change today like you usually do,” he
said, apropos a nothing. “And I was wondering . . . why is that?”
I glanced down at my bare legs and bright sneakers, feeling inexplicably
guilty. “I dunno . . . laziness I guess.” I shrugged and tried not to notice
Miguel, Ron, and another baller eyeing us as we walked.
“Kate, you are many things”—slipping his arm around my shoulder,
Pete squeezed me to him—“however, lazy is not one of them.” He let it and
me go to switch topics again. “I had a reason for going in a little later this
afternoon—I wanted to talk to you in private.”
“Oh.” My voice and temperature rose at the same time. “I—” Cleared my
throat. “Don’t really wanna talk about it.” The wound was still too raw and
fresh to go poking at.
We’d reached my dusty car now and stood around awkwardly not talking,
just kind of staring at the puffy clouds changing shapes and then each other.
A stray hair escaped my ponytail to float across my face. He reached out to
tuck it behind my ear, bringing his sensual mouth in close proximity to mine.
I was finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden.
Pete seemed to also be struggling for air because he deep-breathed in
through his nose before letting it leak out slowly between his lips. Then he
studied me like I was a newly discovered species he couldn’t quite figure out.
For someone who wanted to talk, he sure was being awfully quiet. I fervently
wished he wasn’t wearing lens that only mirrored back my own eyes.
After a few more moments of standing under his stare and jiggling my
key chain, I went with: “I guess I better go pick up Mikey . . .”
• 209 •
He still hadn’t moved his vocal cords, so I made to move forward with my plan, but the dadgum door was glued shut. He watched me struggle for a
second before heaving another sigh and moving me aside to wrench it open
for me.
“Thanks.” I made a face. “It’s, uh . . . kinda jammed.”
He simply nodded.
Somehow, I didn’t feel released from our odd encounter yet. So I stalled a
moment longer, wondering if he’d actually start a real conversation but hoping
he wouldn’t if it involved more talk about our mishap of a make-out. He just
stared some more until I saw myself flushing. Something was on his mind. I drummed my fingers on top of the car, standing half-in, half-out.
“Okay then . . . I guess I’ll see you at 4:30.” Spinning around to get in, I
inadvertently whipped him with my ponytail.
“Hey!” He batted it out of his face.
I whirled back around. “Sorry!”
“It’s fine.” He gave a little laugh. “You know . . . you could probably
classify that thing as a weapon.”
“Uh . . . thanks?” I frowned at him.
“No, it’s cute.” He smiled and pushed the stray hair behind my ear again.
“Except for the fact that it subtracts a few years from your age.” There was
that edge again.
“Well, I feel about seventy-one today,” I said right on the verge of yawning in his face.
He shook his head at me. “I told you—you gotta take better care of
yourself.” He said this in a teasing manner that didn’t sting, and I could tell I
was forgiven. It immediately felt like a weight had been lifted, and I was just
sighing in relief when he said, “Kate, I know you don’t want to talk about it,
but I need to apologize again for today.”
My chest swirled with emotion. “’Snothin’ to apologize for,” I mumbled,
moving my eyes to my sneakers.
Pete chucked a hand under my chin. He removed his shades. “As much as
I enjoyed kissing you, it was very wrong of me to do so. I’m Andrew’s mentor, and it could be construed as a conflict of interest . . . especially in light of
how opposed you seemed to be to the idea of him joining. Having that kind
of relationship with you could cloud my judgment, and it’s my duty as his
mentor to give him his due diligence”—he batted my ponytail—“and not be
swayed by ponytail-wielding vixens.”
Is that why he’s been sighing all afternoon? Does this mean we can no longer
• 210 •
spend time together? Isn’t that what I want? A reality check hit my gut. No, no it was not.
I must’ve looked stricken because he quickly said, “But there’s nothing in
the rules against us being friends. And I don’t know about you, but I could
sure use one right about now.” He flashed me another of his brilliant smiles,
and it literally took my breath away.
It wasn’t what my body or my heart wanted to hear, but my head had
to admit—it was a good idea. Because he was clouding my judgment. And wasn’t I supposed to keep my friends close, and my enemies closer? . . . Pete
just happened to fall into both categories.
Does that make him my frenemy?
He watched the play of emotions on my face. “Whadoyasay, Katie-Kat . . .
friends for real?” He offered his hand, and I accepted it.
&nbs
p; “Sure.” This time, I was prepared as he pulled me into a hug. He really
was a good hugger—none of those Ashley-Leigh face-smashers or one-
armed things. He hugged with his whole body, but not in a lascivious way
(unfortunately).
He threw his aviators back on and held up his palm. I slapped him
five, and he held on to my hand, intertwining our fingers before letting go.
“Okay . . . I’ll see ya later then, buddy.”
“After while, pal,” I fired back.
He turned around and shot me with his finger-triggers, and another
spectacular smile, before climbing into his monster truck and driving off.
After Pete left to go do his “due diligence,” I collapsed in my car awhile,
using the steering wheel as a pillow. Gah. I was so tired. My body was tired, my brain was tired, my eyes were tired. I closed them for a second, thinking
of everything. The problem was I quite simply wanted to believe in a world
where Pete Davenport was as good as he was good looking and more interested
in me than procuring my gifted brother for his elite academy. I sighed. I sure
needed some clarity, so I started up the car, determined to go on a fact-finding
mission this afternoon.
I picked Mikey up from preschool, holding my breath that Mrs. Reyes
wouldn’t need to pull me aside again. She simply smiled and nodded to me
from the playground. Nothing to report in regards to Michael Connelly was
a good thing. I exhaled and squished his palm in mine, praising him lavishly.
“Come on, baby bro, let’s go shoppin’.” We skipped to the car with
Mikey protesting indignantly at being referred to as a baby. Three stop signs,
two stoplights, and a giant pothole later, and we were parked outside the
• 211 •
always-busy Wal-Mart. I was in the middle of counting our money when Mikey broke my concentration.
“Hey Kadee, why aren’t you wearwing your gwasses today?”
“Uh . . . I broke them today at the park, honey.”
“Did you fall off the merry-go-round?” Mikey wondered.
I snorted. “You could say that.”
“Huh?”
That’s just what I was thinking. I recounted the money in my wallet.
Weird . . . it had grown by twenty bucks. When you were as poor as us, you
knew right down to the last nickel how much money you had on you at any
given time.
“I wike you bettuh without your gwasses on anyway,” Mikey declared.