by CJ Daly
or even care!” My voice cracked as though on a sour note—it still hurt that
he’d been faking this whole time. “ You’re such a phony and a liar! All you really care about is gettin’ results. And that equates to acquirin’ more innocent, gifted kids to pack into your stupid elite academy.”
Pete’s eyes hardened, but his body remained casually loose.
I was rigid as a cane. “It doesn’t matter to you who you’ve ripped them
away from or how immature the child is—Andrew’s eight-years-old for God’s
sake! Much too young to know what he wants or what’s good for him!”
The burgeoning crowd closed in around us, but I was focused on the
cadet, trying hard not to flinch at my words.
Backed into a corner, Pete came out swinging. “You are much too young
and immature to know what’s good for him. His father is a better source of
guidance than you, big sister . . . Especially in this case—you’ve been biased against The Academy from the beginning.”
I huffed an incredulous snort. “Have you met my father?”
“I have. Several times. And found him to be both supportive and
accommodating.”
“I just bet he’s been supportive and accommodatin’ . . . especially with a
little palm greasin’ from your dirty organization!”
A swell of buzzing followed that one. Pete straightened his shoulders, but
otherwise ignored the hit. “He’s doing what’s in Andrew’s best interests, not yours,” he finished.
“How dare you question my intentions!” I lunged forward, trigger finger
pointed. “How dare you minimize my role in my brother’s life! And then
Jerry- rig my car yesterday, so you could beat me to Mrs. Woodward!” I threw my arm out like it was exhibit A. “. . . That was a new low by the way.”
Pete openly scoffed, rolling his eyes to a couple of his fans like my accusation
was ludicrous. Our audience was following along with rapt attention.
I didn’t care. And didn’t slow my roll. “It’s you who doesn’t care about
Andrew’s well-bein’; all you really care about is signin’ him up and then gettin’
the heck out of Dodge. Honestly, Cadet Davenport . . .”—my eyes lashed
him—“how do you live with yourself?”
I could see up close that my words were affecting him: the marble
• 254 •
smoothness of his face was cracking, his body now rigid as mine. But when he spoke, it was in a level voice. “You know what Katherine Connelly? I’ve had
just about enough of your baseless accusations. I’ve been tolerant of your little
tirades up until now because your father has apprised me of your situation . . .”
“Oh yeah? And what situation would that be?” I sneered, thinking he
would allude to our social-economic status.
He sighed and removed his sunglasses. “Your emotional imbalance,” he let
drop as though it pained him. I felt like punching him in his pretty mouth,
but that would only prove his point. “I know it’s not your fault. I realize you
lost your mother a couple of years ago . . . and for that, I’m truly sorry.”
I flushed blood at his intimation, my jaw creaking from the force of my
clench. His followers were lapping up his words like dogs did kibble.
Allowing a brief moment of emotion to wash over them, he continued
in a soothing voice. “What I’m also sorry for is not addressing your wild
accusations about The Academy sooner. I felt sorry for you and let those
feelings color my judgment. That was my mistake.”
I physically cringed. He felt sorry for me?
“You have been downright delusional in your accusations,” he shot and
wounded me with his words, “and they’ve been proven false every time. If you
persist in accusing me of shady conduct like rigging your car”—he guffawed
and backed away from me—“then you’d better bring proof. Otherwise, I’m
going to be forced to inform your father of your irrational behavior and false
claims, and of the fact that you’ve been trying to sabotage Andrew’s testing.
Because what I’m not sorry for, is offering your brother a golden opportunity to better his life.” His voice positively rang with sincerity.
“Prove it,” I challenged.
“I think the proof from his testing is pretty definitive . . . not to mention
your own brother’s confession.”
I swallowed thickly, shocked Andrew had turned over so easily. The crowd
was high on drama; probably taking bets on when I would finally crack. Not
long—I was seconds from tears.
Cadet Cutthroat went for the jugular now. “I believe, if I’m not mistaken,
you’ve been forbidden by your father to interfere in any way with the mentoring process. He’s already informed me how emotional and irrational you’ve been
lately—almost paranoid—like your mother,” he said, planting a seed.
How dare he! Threatening to tell on me for Andrew’s sake. Making me
sound like I needed to be put away for my sake. And then bringing my dead
mama into it! That was below the belt (which was exactly where I wanted to
kick him).
• 255 •
“You would rat me out to my father,” I said bitterly.
He shook his head, holding a hand out to me like I was a jumper on The
Brooklyn Bridge. “That’s not what I want, Kate. All I want is for you to stop
interfering with the process . . . and trust me,” he said so softly only I could hear.I laughed in his face. “I don’t trust liars and con artists.”
His face went bone hard. “Kate, you need to stop interfering.”
“Over my dead body.”
Something scary flashed in his eyes. I took a step back from him. He
shook his head and the scary fell away.
“Since you’re being so unreasonable, you leave me no choice but to inform
your father,” he threatened.
I glared through the slit in my eyes. “Well I guess you gotta do what
you gotta do, Cadet Davenport.” It’s like I had a big stick and couldn’t help
rattling it against the fence—even though I knew he could bite my head off
at any moment.
“You sure that’s the way you want it?”
Emboldened by the fact that I had a couple of arrows in my quiver now, I
said, “If you take me down, I’m takin’ you with me!” I punctuated this with
a finger poke to his chest.
My little threat elicited the requisite “oooh” from our gawkers. We stood
there for a moment engaged in a glare-off. The bell rang, and I immediately
took off for my corner. Pete caught up with me a few strides later and grabbed
my arm.
“Kate, please—don’t do this. For your sake” he pleaded, dark eyes boring
into mine. A threat? Or warning? It seemed like both, but it was so hard to tell. That’s what made this so much harder—I was getting mixed signals.
“I know.” I closed my eyes, not looking at him lest I get confused. “Cadet
Davenport, the jig is up.”
“Where’s your proof, Kate?”
We were standing so close we’d become a crowd of two.
“Your little stunt with my car yesterday—”
“Ridiculous here-say,” he cut in.
“— almost foiled my plans to get information from Mrs. Woodward. It
was a nice touch actin’ like you were simply the sorry messenger of unglad
tidings.” His face remained carefully neutral. “Anyway,�
�� I went on, “your plan
worked until I decided I would allow Mrs. Woodward to show me the light.
And when she was sure I was beginin’ to see it, she let loose a couple of gems
I wasn’t aware of before . . .”
• 256 •
A flicker of irritation blinked his eyes. “Do share, Kate. I would be very interested to know what you think you have.”
My lip lifted in triumph; it was nice to finally have something in my
arsenal. “I know you’re lyin’ about quizzin’ Andrew about me during that first mentorin’ session. Mrs. Woodward was in the room the whole time. She said you introduced one another, chatted a little bit about The Academy, and then
Andrew took the preliminary test.” I counted off on my fingers. “So where
in that short meet-and-greet session was there room for twenty-one questions
about me?”
He rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”
“I asked her outright, just to be sure.”
“That’s it? That’s your proof?” His tone was so scathing it would’ve
discredited me to all but my closest alliances. “I told you to ask him about it, and I thought you did and we were over and done with it. You keep bringing
up the same old incidences like a broken record . . . or like a crazy person.”
I swear—I almost spit on him then.
“I did ask your brother about you, although why I bothered . . .”
“Right,” I steamed. “The day after we’d already had our picnic. Nice try
coverin’ your tracks, elite cadet . . . but you’re busted!” A new kind of cold entered his eyes; it sent shivers of icy fear down my spine. But I didn’t crack.
“And if you tell on me, I’m tellin’ on you—how y’all followed me that night, kidnapped me, held me against my will. How I had to escape out the side door
of that pharmacy to get away from you. Think that little bit of intel—I’ve
been keepin’ to myself—might be mighty interestin’ to my father . . . Maybe
we should report it to the authorities?”
A pulse in his temple began a slow throb. Somehow, this fascinated me.
I wanted to see him lose it—that glossy veneer of confidence that shone from him like painted-on glaze. I wanted it to crack, so he would be exposed for
the imposter that he was.
“What’suhmatter, amb- ass-ador?” I taunted. “Afraid that shiny reputation
of yours will get tarnished?”
He had to unclench his jaw to speak. “It’s funny how you forgot to
mention how we saved your sorry ass from actually being abducted. And I hate to break it to you, but you have no proof. I’d be careful if I were you,
or you might come off sounding delusional . . . No one even saw us together
that night.”
“The video cameras at the pharmacy saw us together that night,” I smirked.
“No they didn’t.”
• 257 •
“Uh, yeah they did,” I insisted. “And I bet we can still get the surveillance tape.”
He smiled coldly. “What surveillance tape?”
I blanched, a new kind of fear enveloping me like a ghostly hug. “Who
are you?” Before he could answer, my hand flew up. “If you think I’m gonna
let my brother get snatched up by your evil organization, you’re insane!”
“What’s insane is your head,” Pete said loudly enough for the farthest
recesses of the crowd to hear. He took a step back from me now like I was
covered in crazy drool. “I see your father’s right—you are absolutely delusional.
Everyone knows that mental illness runs in families . . . and it looks like you
inherited your mother’s genes.”
The words zinged through the air and hit me with the blunt force of a slap.
So I did the only thing I could to retaliate—I slapped him back. With the full
force of my rage. It was loud. Our onlookers collectively gasped. But I could
only focus on the imprint of my hand staining his perfect face. I was stunned.
He was stunned. Everyone was stunned. Our eyes met, communicating the
same thing—regret.
How could we have let it get so ugly?
I heard a tittering mixture of approval and outrage from the reinvigorated
audience. The headliners were frozen, staring wordlessly at each other. My
eyes teared up about the same time he slid me a reptilian smile.
“Feel better?” he said.
Shock, lack of sleep, constant fear, and being the center of a spectacle,
which climaxed with me performing an act of violence, was suddenly too
much. I stumbled back a few paces, my hand stifling a sob. It looked like his
face melted, but it could’ve just been my blurry eyesight.
“Kate . . .”
Reeling, I turned and fled with the sound of my name still on his lips. I
couldn’t face him now—the ugliness between us—I wasn’t equipped to deal
with it. I made it back to the relative safety of my car and tried wrenching
the door open, but the dang thing refused to budge. Just like my life—it
was getting worse. After a couple of more failed attempts, I stalled out and
collapsed over the top of my car, weeping.
Am I delusional? Am I paranoid like my mother and suffering from mental il ness? I honestly didn’t know anymore. All I knew was that I was flat-out, to-the-marrow exhausted.
Pete was behind me now. I couldn’t even look at him, afraid of what
I might see. I heard him swear under his breath. “Kate . . .” He hesitated
• 258 •
before placing a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I lost my temper. I didn’t mean for—”
“Just l-leave me a-alone!” I couldn’t listen to his sorries right now. He’d
humiliated and discredited me and talked bad about my dead mama.
He tried to pull me to him. I half-heartedly shrugged him off. Half of me
wanted him to hug me. The half I hated right now.
“Kate, listen to me, please.”
“I mean it, Pete . . . just l-leave me a-alone.” I already felt alone. And
helpless. A JV player transplanted into the Big Leagues against my will. Who
was I kidding? I couldn’t win. Sobs started heaving from my body.
“I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.”
“P-p-please just go!” I begged.
He went to grab my arm again when something pulled him back. “You
heard her. She wants you to leave her alone.”
Miguel. Oh God! Did not need more of an audience to witness my nervous breakdown.
“You need to mind your own business,” Pete said, a threat audible in there.
“Katie’s more my business than yours.” Miguel wise-guy laughed. “Dude,
need I remind you?—you just got here yesterday . . . and nobody will miss
seein’ you when you leave tomorrow.”
Loud, raucous laughter erupted from Miguel’s running buddies. My
stomach dropped. Emotionally charged crowds usually came with violence
attached. I had to do something. But Pete had already turned his back on me
to confront my well-meaning friend.
“Well, dude,” Pete spoke down, as one only could, who was both taller and
socially superior. “This has nothing to do with you. So I suggest you back up
out of my personal space . . . while you still can.”
“You gonna make me?” Instant encouragement spewed like sparks from
Miguel’s fired-up friends.
Oh Lord! This was escalating fast. I spun around, too alarmed to care what a mess my face was. “Guys, stop! Please!” I spread my
arms out, imploring. “I just wanna go home.”
I saw Miguel, Ron, and several helmet heads, along with a large crowd
of hanger-oners willing to sacrifice a tardy for a good fight. I had a very bad
feeling about this—they all had a blood thirsty look in their eyes that had
very little to do with defending my honor, and a lot to do with trying to get
even with Pete Davenport for . . . existing.
Fear for all parties clenched my gut, but a small part of me was glad that Pete must be feeling the way I’d been feeling for a long time: outmatched
• 259 •
and outnumbered. However, my better nature quickly took over. “Please! You guys—just go to class. I-I’m okay.”
Nobody moved an inch. It’s like I was yelling behind a thick wall of
Plexiglass. Pete seemed unfazed by it all, as usual. His face and his hands were
still relaxed, unlike Miguel’s, which were already clenched into fists.
Pete spoke up in an authoritative way: “Look, I don’t want any trouble
here.”“Oh, so now he don’t want no trouble,” someone jeered from Miguel’s
entourage.
Pete ignored them and spoke directly to Miguel. “I’m sure Kate appreciates
your concern, but I only want to speak to her alone to apologize. And neither
one of us wants an audience right now, so I’d appreciate it if you would give
us some privacy.”
Miguel took a moment to smirk over his shoulder. “You sure do talk fancy
for a military dude. Maybe that’s all they do at that rich boarding school of
yours—teach you how to run your mouth. Seems to me like you already done
too much talkin’ already today.” Miguel nodded at me, and an onslaught of
obliging eyes followed to my tear-streaked face. “You got our home-girl, Katie
in tears. She’s been through enough already without havin’ some big talkin’,
phony cadet dredge up the past and bully her.”
I noticed how he used my word phony. I also knew how that would set
Pete off.
Miguel’s girlfriend took this opportunity to shoulder her way to the front.
Obviously, she’d heard through the wide-band grapevine what was going on.
I watched as panic transformed her pretty face into a mask of fear. My mouth
went dry; I knew the feeling.
Miguel stepped forward, as though over an invisible line. “So, you gonna