by CJ Daly
“Is there any other kind?”
Pete gave me a strange, sad smile.
“Just tell me,” I sighed.
“Your father informed me I wasn’t supposed to discuss the mentoring
sessions . . . or anything to do with The Academy in general.” His words came
as soft as his eyes now, but the impact hit like exploding shrapnel. “He wants
to be the only one privy to Andy’s info. That’s why your father is picking him
up this afternoon—we have the preliminary test results ready to go over. I’m
sorry . . . I know this comes as a shock to you.”
My face fell, right along with the last of my power points—right on the
industrial carpet. Mortally wounded, I plunked down on the stepstool and
buried my face in my hands.
“I’m really sorry, Kate—”
I felt a hand on my shoulder and quit feeling sorry for myself long enough
to shrug it off.
“—I didn’t want to mention it before, knowing it was a touchy subject,
but your father told me about your mother. How she died in a state of
paranoia. It all makes sense now . . . this-this obsession with The Academy
being some kind of ruthless organization out to get you. That’s just ridiculous.
It’s considered by every outside authority to be the most prestigious academic
and military institution in the world.”
Pete stooped down and softly touched my arm. “Your mother put that
in your head,” he whispered. “But she was sick, Kate . . . your father told me.
You’re a smart girl. I know you’ll come to your senses and realize that soon. In
the meantime, I agree with your father—it’s probably best if you take a step
back. Allow Andy to take advantage of this golden opportunity being offered
to him.” He sounded like a freaking psychoanalyst one minute, and an IEA
robot regurgitating bullet points from the brochure the next.
Who is he?
My head snapped up. “Andrew, or just Drew, if you must.”
“What?”
My feet stomped floor, anger rising up through the shock. “He hates the
name Andy, FYI.” Of all the things I could say in that moment, I don’t know
why I chose that.
“He never told me that.”
“Well, he does.”
Pete expelled some air. “Kate, I can see this conversation is going nowhere
good. I highly suggest you go home and rest. You’re overwrought and not
• 226 •
thinking clearly. Sleep deprivation makes even the sanest of people irrational—
it’s even been known to cause hallucinations.”
“Really? ” I said, a switch inside me flipping on. “Am I hallucinating
you? . . . You have always seemed too good to be true. How about when you and Terminator popped up in the middle of the night—on a deserted street—to
kidnap me? Did I hallucinate that, too?”
“You mean when we rescued you from a pit bull and a pedophile?” he
countered. “We’ve already gone over that.”
“Oh right.” I curled angry finger-quotes. “‘The big coincidence.’”
Pete cupped my shoulders, using the full force of his male magnetism.
“Kate, you’re understandably angry right now. I get that. But we can agree to
disagree for the time being, can’t we?” He began rubbing circles like he was
trying to thaw me out (or to work his magic into my arms). But boy was I
feeling both Arctic-cold and immune to his charms at the moment.
“This in no way changes the status of our friendship—at least in my
book.” Pete must’ve taken my silence for assent, because he pulled me to
him. (I took that for him being an arrogant ass.) “I’m afraid our afternoon of
fun is spoiled for the time being though,” he said, using the condescending
voice of someone who had a deep, underlying assumption of always getting
his own way.
“Where’s Daddy pickin’ Andrew up today?”
He seemed puzzled by my innocuous, out-of-left-field question, but also,
like, relieved I wasn’t pitching a fit. “From The Learning Center, why?”
The bell rang at the same time I said, “No reason.”
He tightened me into a hug that I allowed . One more time. I gave myself
exactly a second. One single second to relive the fantasy, to breathe him in,
to bask in his glow, feel the male perfection of his body.
“You’ll see,” he said, smoothing down my hair as if the strands were frayed
nerves curling up at the end, “it’ll all work out for the best.”
I broke free from his arms. And his charms.
“What d’yasay, Kate?—still BFFs?” Pete lifted his palm, so sure of himself.
I could almost see his tantalizing smile, even though I was staring beyond
his shoulder—at my future without him. Funny how things can turn on a
dime. I learned that little lesson early on, the day Mama came and yanked
me out of school.
Yesterday, I recalled being so desperate to keep him in in my life—even
if it was just as friends—that I was willing to overlook the fact he was playing for the other team. Yesterday, I would’ve went ahead and slapped him five,
• 227 •
allowed him to throw his arm around me, and razzle-dazzle me all the way to class. Yesterday, I was happy to pretend he wasn’t pretending.
Today was a different day.
I looked at him with eyes cold like December. “With friends like you . . .
who needs enemies?” That said, I walked away.
But I may have been the only girl in history to ever leave him hanging.
• 228 •
22
LIAR, LIAR, PANTS-ON-FIRE
I fled down the hallway, ignoring the rubbernecking stares aimed at
my back. Ashley-Leigh stopped mid talk-n-walk to gape then began
frantically waving me over, but I just whipped on by her like she was a
hallucination. So the Queen-B buzzed over to attack me outside Pre Cal.
“Ohmigod! Katie, what just happened?” Not even attempting to cover the
thrill in her voice.
I spun around, eyes flashing from her bug-eyes to where Pete was being
enthusiastically comforted by some senior girls down the hallway. “You know
what, Ash? You want him? . . . He’s all yours!”
“I don’t really think he’s yours to give away,” she smirked.
Pushing past her into the classroom, I hurled down my backpack, slunk
into my seat, and immediately thunked my head on my desk. I focused on
hatching a Hail Mary plan to salvage my credibility with Andrew and bring
some proof to Daddy—before I was shut out further. For all intents and
purposes, I’d been Andrew’s mother for the last couple of years. Where has
Daddy been? Nowhere that’s where. And there’d never been a Cadet Davenport
before, nor would there be again after Andrew was signed. He would disappear
from our lives like he really was a hallucination. Did no one but me realize this?
Inexplicably, I felt betrayed Pete was in cahoots with my father. My face
burned with the memory of the kiss in the park, the easy afternoon with the
boys trading licks of an ice cream. How silly of me to forget he was here on a
“mission” to procure my gifted brother. I was simply a stumbling block along
the way. Well, I was gonna morph into a friggin roadblock!—starting this
afternoon. While they we
re busy poring over inconsequential test scores, I
would have a little “chat” with Mrs. Woodward. In the meantime, I just had
to avoid talking . . . to anyone.
• 229 •
Not exactly easy to do when the hungry patrons of CHS were trying to unearth juicy gossip. But I managed to dodge everyone’s questions and even
refused to speak to Miguel in English. He tossed me worried glances, but I
pretended to be too absorbed in Canterbury Tales to catch them.
I was fairly sure Cadet Davenport wouldn’t be stupid enough to be waiting
for me today. Correctomundo. Could not believe the dull ache of letdown
that constricted my chest. It was crazy how he could evoke such powerful
feelings in me. Even though I knew he was playing me, like a particularly
accomplished violinist would a country fiddle. Guess the heart really does
want what the heart wants, no matter how bad for it.
I knew I had to completely avoid him like the plague until my heart had
sufficiently hardened, so I spent lunch in my fortress of solitude. There was a
sweet, upbeat email from Reese waiting for me, asking about my “new crush.”
I hammered the computer keys, the words spilling out as I tried to make her
understand why I had to fight for my brother. No matter how “golden” this
opportunity seemed, I was taking a pass—on the school and the mentor. Then I went proactive in my efforts to distance myself from Pete by going to Spanish
early to persuade Mr. Sanchez to switch my seat. My broken glasses were a
great excuse, so after a two-minute chat, I found myself sitting up front near
Miguel. As soon as he came in, he bumped me on the shoulder.
“Whuzzup, Katie-girl?”
I looked up, bleary-eyed from my ten-second nap. “‘Sup.”
He peered sideways at me. “What’s wrong with you today? You’ve been
actin’ like somebody ran over your cat.”
“Nope. Just my glasses.”
“That’s why you’re so pissy?”
“You don’t wanna know,” I mumbled into my arm pillow.
“Try me.”
“They’re tryin’ to buy Andrew.” I didn’t quite make it without my voice
cracking.
Miguel leaned over and put an arm around me. “Oh man. That’s so
messed up. I’m sorry.”
I sniffed a little. “‘S’kay. Hopefully, I can persuade him to not wanna
go. But so far Cadet Davenport”—acid dripped from my tongue—“has him convinced everyday will be like Disney Land over there. “Who cares if they’ve
got Olympic-sized pools and field trips to The Eiffel Tower? I know it’s not the right place for him, Miguel!”
“Really?” he marveled. “The Eiffel Tower?”
• 230 •
“Yup,” I sniffed. “It’s in the brochure along with a picture of a bunch of phony cadets wearing berets.”
That garnered a derisive snort from Miguel. “Told you that Davenport
dude was no good.”
I gave him a watery smile. “Hold on to the I-told-you-so’s for right now.
I don’t think I can take it.”
“I’ll save it for a rainy day,” he joked. “Anything I can do in the meantime?”
“No thanks . . . I’ll find a way around it somehow.” I just realized his arm
was still around me and sat up. And didn’t need to turn around to know that
he’d walked in. His presence crept up my spine a beat before Miguel threw
him the ole stink-eye on my behalf.
Then a grating voice called out like she was the town crier: “Looks like
Katie switched seats to be next to Miguel. Maybe I could sit here today?”
Without waiting for his response, Ashley-Leigh flounced up to Mr.
Sanchez to work her magic. He made short work of shooting her down,
sending her straight to her regular seat, where she proceeded to sulk like a
two-year-old. For the duration of class, I was the poster girl for front-row-
student, keeping my pencil moving and my eyes glued to Mr. Sanchez. The
bell rang, and I lingered about my desk to give our newest student ample time
to make his exit, but needn’t have bothered because when I turned around,
he was long gone.
Wel good.
Miguel and I lumbered together out the door from Spanish and then
again after Chemistry, where we parted ways with a brief hug. I noticed his
girlfriend’s wave back to me was a little half-hearted and realized I wasn’t the
only one thinking Miguel’s affection for me was a little overboard.
I was half-dreading, half-looking forward to P.E., and a hundred percent
disappointed in myself for still having half a mind about Pete. I quickly
dressed out, deflecting knowing looks and personal questions left and right.
P.E. was over with almost as soon as it began. This was probably because my
body was on autopilot while my mind worked overtime, twisting and turning,
frantically searching for a way to prove my theory.
I was very proud of myself for not casting a single glance at the boys’ side
the entire duration . . . until about ten minutes before class let out. That’s
when I noticed a tall, solitary figure exit the field early. His lithe, athletic body and sure, easy stride held my gaze captive before I caught myself and ducked
my head back to my neon feet. That’s when I let out a hard kick that knocked
the ball plumb into the goal post. The whistle blew.
• 231 •
“Well done, Katie!” approved, Coach Sams. “Only wait till it’s your turn next time.”
I “yes ma’amed” her then continued playing subpar soccer for the
remainder of class. Afterwards, I hippety-hopped back to the locker room
to grab my gym bag and backpack, not bothering to change clothes. Even
though I didn’t want to have a serious meeting with Mrs. Woodward in
a sweaty top and cut-off bottoms, I was in a big hurry, I really was. Fear
and helplessness—two feelings I loathed—were fueling me on. I bypassed
incoming athletes on my way out, practically sprinting to my car.
The Hummer was conspicuously missing from the lot, and I started to
get an uneasy feeling. Yanking the door open, I threw my bags in, slid the
key into ignition, turned it—nothing. Aw, heck fire! Did not need this today!
My hand slammed against the steering wheel before trying again. It gave
the smallest of clicks. That’s it though, the engine never turned over. I was
stranded—another thing I hated (especially in light of recent events).
An idea was taking shape in my mind. And it took the form of a certain
cadet. Hmmm. Cadet Davenport leaves class early and suddenly my car doesn’t start? Maybe I real y was starting to get paranoid. I mean he couldn’t know what I was up to. Right? And my car had been giving me trouble for a while.
Only made sense that it would break down eventually. Despite these plausible
arguments, I still had a very strong suspicion that he had something to do with it. A simple coincidence? I thought of him saying them seeing me that night was a coincidence. Then I thought of Mama telling me there was no such a thing.
But she was a paranoid, right? Wrong.
That switch in me flipped again, shedding light on his shady deeds. How
dare he play so dirty! I flung the door open and sprinted back across the parking lot to find Miguel. After hurriedly filling him in on my situation, he handed
me the keys to his pickup without hesitation. Two minutes later, I
was heading
back out of the parking lot—now stuck behind a train of cars all trying to
exit at once. Arg! My face flamed. Thank Goodness Miguel’s truck had A.C.
Five excruciating minutes of waiting with the air turned on full blast,
and I screeched into the street only to crawl through the school-zone. Then I
booked it down the side roads, leaving tread marks leading straight to church.
I picked up Mikey (by literally picking him up) and flung him into the truck
before speeding away, driving way too fast for a low-rider I noted.
“Wow! I get to wide up fwunt . . . and without a boostuh!” Mikey was
too enthralled to notice my mood.
We crawled through another school zone to Andrew’s school, where
• 232 •
I pulled a shrewdy by bypassing the carpool lane to turn into the faculty parking lot.
“Hey Kadee, Pete said to pick up Drewy from The Learwning Center
today—you forgotted!” he accused.
“No I didn’t. Daddy’s gonna pick him up today instead, so I decided to
talk to Mrs. Woodward about . . . somethin’ important.”
Mikey shook his head. “Oh no! Drewy’s gonna be so mad!”
His own fault for playing for the wrong team.
I hoisted my backpack-strapped brother from my borrowed wheels and ran
up the steps to stab the buzzer. “Katherine Connelly to see Mrs. Woodward,”
I announced, trying to sound official and unwinded at the same time.
“Mrs. Woodward has bus duty this week,” a boss-lady voice informed me.
“She’s expectin’ me,” I assured, a little too breathlessly. A long pause
ensued where I sweated it out beneath the camera’s eye.
“You’ll have to schedule an appointment for next week . . . unless it’s an
emergency,” she added, doubtfully.
Dagnabbit! I looked over to where the buses were loading and couldn’t
see Mrs. Woodward directing traffic. A dour-looking teacher, with a hat so
outdated you could only call it a bonnet, was standing around in the heat
doing the job. So that meant Mrs. Woodward was probably still in her room.
But refused to see me. Now how could I get in there without attracting the
drama that comes with claiming an emergency? An emergency of a different
kind.I stabbed the buzzer again. “Excuse me, it’s Katie Connelly again.” I tried
for more casual. “Would it be alright if my little brother uses the bathroom?