The Academy (The Academy Saga Book 1)

by CJ Daly

  It’s kind of an emergency—he’s still in preschool.” I winked at Mikey’s

  indignant face.

  The lock release popped, and a resigned “Come in” followed.

  “Just go with it, okay?” I coached Mikey as we hustled to the counter,

  where the guardian of the front office, Mrs. Jackson, peered down at us

  suspiciously from behind thick glasses. Her pupils appeared owl-like and

  wizened, and I wondered if that’s how mine looked all the time.

  “’Scuse me, ma’am,” Mikey hit his mark perfectly, “where’s the bathroom?”

  “Down the hall and to the right.” She pointed us in the right direction

  before getting back to the serious business of running the front office.

  “Thank you!” we chorused before rushing out like we were both dying

  to go. We tore down the hall, heading left, before skidding to a stop outside

  Mrs. Woodward’s room. I was slapping my little coconspirator five, when I

  heard the soothing tone of a low male voice. Oh no. High-pitched laughter

  • 233 •

  reverberated through the door. Oh yes . . . He’d got to her first. Felt like ripping the door right off the hinges. Instead, I did the customary knock thing

  so hard my knuckles were bound to turn black and blue. My staccato rapping

  must’ve signaled both my arrival, and the mood I’d arrived in, because the

  musical tinkle in the room instantly muted to murmuring.

  A put-upon Mrs. Woodward poked her head through the door. “Why

  Kate Connelly!” She conspicuously exchanged a backward glance with the

  unfazed cadet. “Your ears must be burnin’ . . . we were just talkin’ about you!”

  I bet. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Woodward. I hope I’m not interruptin’

  anything,” I said, hoping the opposite. No actual response was forthcoming,

  just a lot of hemming and hawing, so I continued: “I need to speak with you,

  if I may, for a few minutes.” She turned as if to ask his permission while I

  prayed I could keep my hands glued to my sides.

  “It’s fine, Mrs. Woodward,” he said.

  “Peggy, please—I insist.”

  He chuckled a little. Big fat faker. “Okay—Peggy. I was just leaving

  anyway. Duty calls.”

  “Oh.” Her face drooped disappointment. “I guess come in then.” This

  was directed at me like I was an IRS agent.

  I remained resolutely polite. “Thank you.”

  “Pete!” Mikey hurled himself at him.

  I grit my teeth as the cadet—formerly-known-as-Pete—swooped him

  up in his arms like nothing untoward had happened. Now I wanted to rip his arms right off and beat him with them! How dare he hug us from the front while

  stabbing us in the back!

  Mrs. Woodward chin-clasped her hands together. “Well, it certainly looks

  like y’all are still gettin’ along!”

  “Like a house on a fire,” I said, manufacturing a cardboard smile.

  His lips twitched, but I had nothing on my face but malice for him. The

  shady cadet shifted his eyes back to Mikey before setting him down. “I really

  should be going. Andy and Mr. Connelly will be waiting for me.” He said this

  like he wasn’t referencing two people directly related to me.

  Steam must’ve been coming out my ears by now.

  Mikey tugged on my arm. “Can we go to The Learwning Center

  today, too?”

  “’fraid not, buddy.”

  “Nobody wants to take me anywhere,” Mikey said dejectedly.

  “That’s not true!” The cadet and I chorused together.

  I glared at him so hard a lesser man would’ve melted. “We’ll go next week,

  • 234 •

  hon. Right now, I need you to wait out in the hall while I speak to Andrew’s teacher.” I retrieved a weathered Batman book from his backpack and cut off

  Mikey’s protest with a meaningful look. “It’s important.”

  Mikey snatched the book from my hand, still mutinously stalling, until

  the cadet offered his hand to escort him out. I heard Mikey trying to work

  him over as they walked to the door. And then I heard the cadet say, “It’s

  more than okay with me, bud, but you have to get your sister’s permission, remember?”

  Why do I always end up looking like the bad guy . . . when it’s real y him?

  Like a crawfish in the pot, I was really boiling now. Cadet Davenport shot

  me a look of concern, which only succeeded in shooting flames up my face.

  I clenched my jaw against the urge to scream at him.

  He paused at the door. “Goodbye, er . . . Peggy. It was a pleasure talking

  to you as always.” He acknowledged me with a curt nod. “Kate.” Then he left

  with a smile that left Mrs. Woodward beaming at the open door.

  I felt all the energy from my amped up anger fizzle. This meeting was

  likely pointless now. Score another one for Team IEA. But I had to try.

  Mrs. Woodward faced me, a good portion of her glow fading along with

  her eager attitude. “What can I do for you, Katie?” She actually had the

  nerve to pull out a stack of graded papers and begin entering them into the

  computer.

  “I, uh . . . wanted to ask a few questions about the tests Cadet Davenport

  has been givin’ to Andrew after school.”

  “I’m sorry, dear. I’ve been instructed that you are no longer to be involved

  in meetings involving Andrew—academic or otherwise.”

  “Did he tell you that?” I practically snarled.

  Mrs. Woodward sighed and stopped typing to face me from her rolly

  chair. I was still standing, because she hadn’t bothered with the courtesy

  of offering me a seat. I’d now been relegated to the status of mere sibling, a

  meddling one at that.

  “Listen, Katie. I do feel sympathetic. However, I’ve been informed you

  strongly oppose Andrew joining The International Elite Academy.” She said

  this as though I opposed the Clean Air Act. “You are too young and immature

  to understand the long-lasting impact this will have on your brother’s life.”

  Are you friggin’ kidding me? It felt like someone just thrust a red-hot

  branding iron at my face, and I had to just take the heat without flinching.

  “. . . This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance for Andrew. The Academy will

  pave the way for a golden future for him the likes of which your family could

  only dream of.” Peggy sounded like she’d drunk the Kool-Aid. “I understand

  • 235 •

  you have been workin’ against the greater good . . . for your own reasons. We believe these reasons are selfish in nature and are hinder—”

  “Selfish!” I advanced forward. “Who said that?” One hand flew to her chest in fright. I did probably look like someone who was about to stab her with her own scarlet grading-pen. “Who is we?”

  “Cadet Davenport, your father, and I,” she said in the tone reserved for

  putting one in their place.

  Who are they? — the Holy Trinity of Andrew’s life all of a sudden? None of them really cared about him like I did. To them, my brother was just another

  feather in their cap.

  “Since when?” I demanded.

  “Since now,” Mrs. Woodward stated flatly. “Pete informed me of your

  father’s decision this afternoon.” Seeing the animosity come to life on my

  face, she took up for him at once. “Actually, he was really quite sympathetic

  towards you, and didn’t want to meddle in a family quarr
el, but agreed it was

  in Andrew’s best interests if you remain out of it.”

  My face crumpled, and I collapsed onto a mini chair.

  Her face softened so that her better nature shone through for a moment. “I

  know this must be hard for you, Katie. You have done a good job with Andrew up until now. However, a prodigy needs more guidance in life than a teenage

  sister and an . . . absent father. Andrew has so much untapped potential, and

  it shouldn’t go to waste. That would be a travesty for him, for them . . . for

  the world!” she added dramatically. “You don’t want to be the one to hold him

  back from the life he deserves.”

  She was waiting for me to see the light, or drink the Kool-Aid, or whatever.

  So far, I had refrained. Maybe it was time to take a sip? See how it tasted . . .

  at least outwardly. I fabricated another smile, took a breath, and tried out my

  acting chops. “Well then, I guess I should be thankin’ you for hookin’ Andrew

  up with such a prestigious and generous school.”

  She stuttered and turned pink. “Good gracious! I wish I could accept the

  honor. To tell you the truth, we thought for a long time it was your father who did it. Come to his senses about Andrew needin’ a special school. Then he

  came thunderin’ up here that day.” She actually shuddered from the memory.

  “Created quite a scene about it, sayin’ he was completely against sendin’ his

  son away to any boarding school and that we should mind our own business.

  A few months later, he came back in singin’ a different tune. He informed us

  he’d had a change of heart and even had forms for us to fill out.”

  The disgust on my face must’ve registered because she quickly explained,

  “Feeling it was in Andrew’s best interests, we immediately complied. Though

  • 236 •

  we were quite sorry to think of him leaving us—he’s been such a bright presence here at our school,” she digressed, beaming like a proud mother hen.

  Oh please. Like she had anything to do with it. I continued the effort of

  my Miss America smile. Amazing how much this woman wanted to talk all

  of a sudden.

  “It was only later on when your father thanked us for helpin’ his son find

  The International Elite Academy that we knew it wasn’t him. We assumed

  one of the other boarding schools turned his application over to them. It was

  bound to stand out—a youngster with scores like that. To this day, it’s still a mystery how Andrew ended up on their radar.”

  The look on my face changed to one of horror.

  “Don’t worry, dear,” she hastened to reassure me. “We all care for Andrew

  as if he were our own. We would never have filled out the paperwork without

  doing our due diligence. We spent a couple of days researching what we could

  find about the school. And found out, it was indeed . . . the ‘World’s Most

  Elite Military Academy.’” A lot of pride went into her smile.

  I wanted to hurl.

  “When we were completely satisfied of the legitimacy of the institution,

  we reached out to them to identify ourselves and our purpose, and we were

  put right through. They were super cooperative from the start. Sendin’ us their

  very impressive brochures and their . . . even more impressive representatives.”

  Mrs. Woodward colored at the memory, her garish blush turning an alarming

  shade of salmon. “We’ve been more than a little honored we have an IEA

  candidate right here in our hometown! Were you aware they only accept the

  top one percent of the top one percent in the world?” She said this as though it were tantamount to earning a golden ticket to heaven from Saint Peter

  himself. And then as if to prove my point she said, “A gift from an angel is

  what it is. This whole experience!”

  All my self-control seemed to be leaching from my pores; I mopped some

  from my forehead with the back of my hand.

  “. . . A gift from your mother to take care of her gifted son properly,” she

  went on, placing a hand on mine.

  I wanted to slap the earnestness right off her face. It was a true testament

  to how much I didn’t want them to get their claws into my brother that I

  didn’t move a muscle in that moment. I reached for sincere gratitude. “I hadn’t

  ever thought of it that way, Mrs. Woodward. I can see better what’s really

  going on now . . . thank you.”

  She patted my hand. “No thanks necessary, dear. I’m just glad you’re

  • 237 •

  beginnin’ to understand the importance of not standin’ in the way of something so wonderful happenin’ to your brother.”

  I removed her hand like I did one of the creepy crawlies the boys put in

  my palm. “Well, thank you anyway for sharin’ your insight with me and for

  bein’ such a great teacher to Andrew.” I finished with a smile so fake I shoulda

  taken home the crown.

  Now that she was convinced she had convinced me to see the light, she

  got up to come hug me. “You’re so very welcome, Katie. He’s lucky to have

  a sister like you; I want you to know that. It’s simply time to hand the reins

  over to someone with more experience in dealing with his level of giftedness.”

  “Maybe you’re right . . . thanks again for the talk, Mrs. Woodward. I

  better go and get started on my homework. I’ll see ya later.”

  As I was making my way back to the door, I noticed it was cracked

  open a fraction—a peephole for a peep-eye . Mikey was staring over at

  Mrs. Woodward like it was his mission not to break eye contact. When I

  approached, he hung his head like a naughty puppy. I smiled down at him,

  rubbing my palm across his bristle. How could I be mad when I would’ve

  done the same thing? I helped Mikey up, thinking, she’d helped me see the light all right. Unfortunately, I still didn’t have any proof—yet. I whirled around.

  “Oh, one more thing . . .” Mrs. Woodward looked up from her desk

  warily. “Did Cadet Davenport ever ask any questions about—” I faltered and

  turned red, “me? I-I mean our family, in general?”

  She gave me a condescending smile. “No dear. I’m afraid not. Just tutoring

  stuff—strictly professional. Cadet Davenport really is so good with him, a

  natural . . . it’s been an absolute pleasure to watch!” The pink glow was back.

  I’m sure it was a pleasure to watch. “Well, thanks again for everything,” I called, practically running out the door with my little brother in tow.

  I sped back to school, my mind twisting and spinning like a Tilt-a-Whirl.

  After dropping off Miguel’s truck, I had the maddening task of borrowing the

  office phone to call Daddy. His cell just rang and rang as I ground and ground

  my molars together. Of course he wouldn’t break up his precious meeting with

  Cadet Davenport to pick up the dadgum phone for his stranded daughter and

  four-year-old son! I punched in the number for The Learning Center like I

  was jabbing eyes out of sockets. At last someone obligingly tracked down my

  father (only after I insisted it was, indeed, an emergency). About ninety-nine

  minutes (while the secretary pointedly looked at the clock) later, he finally

  came on the line.

  • 238 •

  “Katie, what on God’s green earth could be so pressin’ that you had to in’errupt my very important meetin’ with Cadet Da
venport?”

  Instead of snapping back at him, I found myself with two uneven pieces

  of chewed-up pencil in my hands. “Sorry Daddy, but my car wouldn’t start

  this afternoon, so Mikey and I are stranded in the high school parkin’ lot.”

  “If yer car wouldn’t start, then how’d you come by Mikey?”

  “Because I borrowed Miguel’s truck to pick him up.”

  “Can’t he just give you a ride home then? We’re pretty busy right now

  with IEA business,” he said importantly.

  I gripped the phone so tightly those blue knuckles turned white. While

  inhaling some germ-infected phone-receiver air, I heard a smooth voice in

  the background say, “It’s fine, Mr. Connelly . . . we’re almost finished here.”

  I actually had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

  I’m sure he thought he really was almost finished here . . . and would be

  headed back to Cali any day now. Triumphantly. With my gifted brother.

  Like a knight presenting a head on a platter before his king.

  “He can’t drive me home,” I hissed. “He’s at football practice. So can you

  please come and get us?” Real y? I had to beg?

  Daddy acquiesced, with poor humor, seeing as how he had no other

  option. In the meantime, I ran to the bathroom to put on my bell skirt. Then

  Mikey and I slurped some water from the fountain and headed out the door,

  splitting a bag of chips I’d bought from a vending machine.

  After about twenty minutes of sweltering out in the sun and regretting my

  salty snack choice, my father pulled in. With an entourage. Following behind

  him, in a cloud of heavy exhaust, was none other than Cadet Davenport. I

  noticed there was now a respectable enough amount of dust coating his truck

  to peg him as a local . . . and that my little brother was riding shotgun. I

  wondered how often he’d had to visit the car wash to keep the dang thing

  looking so shiny then mentally kicked myself for wondering.

  “Look, Kadee! It’s Pete,” Mikey pointed out. “No fayer that Drewy gets

  to wide in the Hummer twice!”

  I squeezed his shoulder as they arrived, pulling one mammoth truck on

  each side of my puny little hatchback. My father walked to the back to gather

  the licorice-colored jumper cables from his toolbox, without even coming over