The Academy (The Academy Saga Book 1)

by CJ Daly

  into playing for their teams. And if the families still felt reluctant to give their children away, they moved on to bribes. Any way you wanted to look at it,

  it was a nasty business—cherry-picking the world’s brightest kids out from

  under their parents. I didn’t care how much legal paperwork was involved; it was akin to kidnapping in my book .

  How could Pete be involved in such a sinister organization? I harbored the suspicion he didn’t even like the academy he was trumpeting, even though he

  was trying hard not to show it.

  “Kadee . . .” Mikey stuck a plastic replica of a Hummer between me and

  his rubber cheeks. “Can I have this?”

  • 346 •

  “I don’t know, sweetie . . . how much is it?” I dug in my wallet even though I was sure we didn’t have enough. Maybe if I put back the jeans?

  “It’s twenty-four, ninety-nine dollars,” he matter-of-factly read the

  numbers on the tag.

  I chuckled. “Wow. That’s a lotta money.”

  Mikey’s shoulders immediately sagged. “I know . . . but it’s just wike

  Pete’s.”

  I deliberated. I’d planned to buy the boys a couple of long-sleeved shirts,

  always having to be practical. I thought of Daddy covertly spending that IEA

  money on who-knows-what?—not groceries or new coats for us kids, that’s for

  sure. Really perusing the contents of my wallet now, I recounted the money

  mentally subtracting what all I had to buy. Hmmm. I could swear there was

  an extra twenty that wasn’t there earlier. Again.

  A funny feeling came over me.

  “You know what, Mike?” The lift in my voice turned his hopeful face

  gleeful. “It’s yours.”

  “Yay!” Trophy Hummer held over his head, Mikey ran and dumped it

  into the cart before hurling himself into my arms.

  “You deserve it,” I said, squeezing him to me. “You’re such a good boy.”

  He tilted his head back, grinning to the gum line. “I know . . . I haven’t

  made anybody do nothin’ in cwass for a wong time!”

  I laughed at his funny wording, leading him away from the toy-traps.

  “That’s good to know. How about doin’ somethin’ for me instead?”

  “What, Kadee?” He looked up at me, earnestness personified. “I’d do

  anything for you.”

  “Even help me pick out which color lip gloss looks the prettiest on me?”

  He giggled as embarrassed as if I’d asked him to put on a frilly dress and

  skip around the store with me.

  I bent the top of his ear. “How about if we try to find the exact same

  shade of pink as your ear?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Oh, Kadee! I don’t know ‘bout that!”

  We spent the next five minutes discovering the make-up aisle together.

  Since it was my first visit, I felt a little overwhelmed by the choices. Should I go for volume or length for mascara? Black noir or brownish black? In the end, I randomly grabbed a black tube from a line that was having a weekly sale,

  and picked a neutral gloss from the same brand. As we headed to the grocery

  side of the store, I idly wondered if Pete had ever done the one-stop shopping

  thing in his life. Highly doubtful. Just like it was highly doubtful I would

  ever shop for my wardrobe in a store that only sold clothes.

  • 347 •

  An image of a classic blonde in crisp outfits came to mind. Reese

  Caruthers—that was the kind of girl who belonged with Pete. Polished,

  pristine, yet so personable every single member of camp fell in love with her,

  including me. Just like Pete. When you were with them, you felt like you were

  at the center of the universe, no matter where you were. Clovis, New Mexico

  had never been so desirable. Now it seemed exciting as New York City and

  glamorous as Paris, France. My desire to flee had fled me ever since he’d set

  foot in town limits.

  The thought that Pete was leaving tomorrow—maybe for good—was

  enough to make me sick with longing. Why had I wasted two whole weeks

  avoiding him? Oh yeah . . . because he’d lied and tried to sabotage me with my family, and was only here to snatch Andrew out from under us for his

  evil academy. Idiotically, I didn’t care about that little bit of relevance at the

  moment. He hadn’t succeeded so far and couldn’t help whom he was working

  for, I reasoned. All I focused on right now was the side of Pete I sensed was

  good and not out to hurt us, the one who did find me attractive and enjoyed

  spending time with me.

  A desperation to extract every last drop of time from him as possible

  overcame me. It was the same intense feeling I’d had right before Mama died.

  Everything seemed to have been heading in the right direction until I’d lost

  my temper. Maybe I could still salvage things? I quickly jerked the cart back

  out, remembering another feminine wile my mother used on my father.

  “Hey!” Mikey protested. “What are ya doin?—we were next in line!”

  “I’m suddenly in the mood to bake,” I announced with a huge grin.

  My coconspirator fist-pumped my decision again. “Yay! . . . This is the

  bestest day evuh!”

  I morphed my grocery cart into a go-cart, careening back around the

  food aisles, hoping the way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach.

  We made it back in record time, half-running half-stumbling into the house,

  loaded down as pack mules. Blue’s excited yelps and jumps could no longer

  be ignored, so I dropped the bags, and a kiss on his whiskery face, and tossed

  him a refrigerated ham bone. Then ran around like a cyclone, slamming cans

  into cupboards and cramming produce into bins.

  “Mikey!” I overly yelled while whipping together butter and sugar. “I need

  you to scoop one and a half cups of powder into each of the calf bottles while

  I get the cookies started.”

  He appeared, defiantly hugging his Hummer to his chest.

  “Please. You said you’d do anything for me, remember? Then we’ll have

  • 348 •

  your favorite cookies—oatmeal, butterscotch-chip. But you gotta help, okay? . . . I’m gonna invite Pete to join us for snack today.”

  “Pete’s comin’?” Mikey clarified. When I nodded my head, he spirited his

  prized possession away and ran whooping out the door to the shed. Looked

  like Pete was the magic word.

  I sighed, reaching over to preheat the oven. I realized Pete’s exit from our

  lives would affect us all. Maybe this was a bad idea? It felt slightly irresponsible, like bringing home the most irresistible puppy in the world, only to give it

  back after a couple of weeks because you were allergic to it. It was so much

  harder letting go once you’d already fallen in love.

  Too late for me . . . I’d already fallen.

  I didn’t have time to ruminate further because I was in business mode.

  When the first batch of cookies was baking, I grabbed the slop bucket and

  ran to the shed to check on Mikey.

  “Great job, buddy!” I acknowledged his hard work, and Mikey beamed

  at me from the last bottle. “Now feed and water the chickens, then you’re all

  done for now.”

  After a quick reward hug, we set off down our respective paths, weighed

  down but light-hearted at the prospect of a Pete-filled afternoon. The wind

  picked up, whipping my hair into a frenzy and
flying bits of grit into my eyes.

  In the distance, dried brush waved back and forth, and the earthy smell of

  sunburnt pasture reminded me: time was marching forward.

  I dumped the water and slop then ran back to the house with two plastic

  buckets clanging around my ankles, making it back just in time to pull out

  the first batch of cookies. I set them out on the counter to cool and fragrance

  up the place. A quick glance at the ticking clock, and I skedaddled to the

  bathroom to freshen up.

  After splashing water on my face, I yanked off my shirt and flung it into

  the hamper before pulling on a pink-hearted fresh one. Then released my hair

  from its bondage to brush it so that it spilled down my back in an obedient

  line—an exercise in futility, for the moment I walked outside, it would simply

  knot itself back into a mass of tangles. However, my girly urges could not be

  denied, so I finished with a couple of sweeps of my new mascara, immediately

  feeling like a cuter version of myself. I was skipping back to the kitchen like

  the Easter bunny with my basket of dirty clothes when Mikey banged in

  from the outside.

  “Mmmmm! It smells good in hewer!” It was hard to say who was salivating

  over the cookies more: Blue or Mikey. From the puddle of drool at his feet,

  I’d have to give it to Bluesy.

  • 349 •

  I beamed at him, sailing past to Daddy’s room. Looked like my feminine wiles were working on those two males, but they were an easy audience.

  After hastily sorting through Daddy’s dirty clothes, I went to the sink to

  wash my hands. And peek at his scotch stash. Sure enough, it was still there,

  only almost completely full now . A new bottle? Watered down? Whatever the

  case, it looked like the teetotaler was still imbibing. I shoved it back under

  the sink and headed back to the kitchen, where the sweet butterscotch and

  vanilla smell embraced me like a hug from heaven. Mmmmmm. I inhaled,

  feeling a pang touch my heart—making Mama’s favorite cookies always had

  a bittersweet effect on me.

  The unmistakable rumble of the Hummer, prowling over the uneven

  terrain, caused my stomach to do its own rumble and the dormant butterflies

  to stir. I hightailed it to the oven to remove the next batch. They were already

  here, so I didn’t have time to gloss my lips without running the risk of him

  taking off on me. It just now occurred to me: I didn’t have a way to get in

  touch with Pete outside of school. I didn’t even know where he was staying for

  that matter. It was an odd sensation—feeling so drawn to someone I knew so

  little about. Almost like falling off a steep cliff. I just hoped there was a net

  somewhere at the bottom, waiting to catch me.

  Determined to remedy that situation right now, I burst out the door to

  greet them, fully prepared to throw myself in front of his two-ton truck if need

  be. Bounding down the steps a little too enthusiastically, I realized I probably

  looked like a dork so forced myself to a more dignified pace. I obviously

  caught Pete off guard because a brief look of surprise crossed his face before

  he shoved the gear into park, a grin already forming.

  The window whirred down. “Missed me already?”

  I settled my restless hands on the window frame, my chest swelling with

  hopeful expectation. Before I could say anything, Mikey came bounding

  down the same steps, whooping and hollering like his pants were on fire. “Yay!

  Pete and Drewy are here!” The second Andrew’s foot hit dirt Mikey attacked

  him with love pats and whaps. “We’re gonna have cookies with Pete today,

  Drewy!” he announced, managing to turn his hug into a power lift.

  Feet still dangling from the ground Andrew grinned, his eyes finding

  mine for confirmation.

  Pete had been watching Mikey’s antics, and now his eyes also found mine.

  “Cookies?” he said.

  “I, ummm . . .” My cheeks tingled, but I determinedly pushed through.

  “We wanted to invite you in to have some cookies with us this afternoon.”

  • 350 •

  I moved my eyes from his sensual mouth back to his captivating eyes. “You know . . . kinda like a good-bye party.”

  He was quiet a moment, staring down on me with eyes that could only

  be described as tender until a gleam of humor sparked in them. “Are they

  homemade?”

  I smiled broadly, bobbing my head like an idiot. “Uh-huh. From scratch.

  Oatmeal and butterscotch chip. It’s, ah . . . my mother’s recipe.” I swallowed,

  suddenly feeling vulnerable.

  “Come on, Pete!” Andrew chimed in. “Join us.”

  “Yeah, Pete, join us!” Mikey clawed at the door handle, determined to

  drag him out if he had to.

  “You don’t have to ask me twice!” Pete killed the engine and pushed a

  button. The window whirred back up to separate us. But not for long, because

  as soon as he stepped down, he grabbed my hand like it was something we

  did every day. “Lead on!” he grinned.

  A swift surge of pleasure shocked me with joy. I felt as much like jumping

  up and down as Mikey, but tried to play it cool. I led him into our trailer,

  memorizing the dry, rough texture of his palm, just in case I never got to feel

  it again. Andrew’s eyes bugged out when he saw us, but Mikey beamed and

  scampered over to take possession of Pete’s other hand.

  “Come on Drewy!” Mikey beckoned to his brother. “Let’s pway fowow

  the leaduh . . . Kadee’s the leaduh!”

  “I’ll follow her wherever she goes,” Pete said, winking.

  “That’s for babies,” scoffed Andrew, though I could tell he wanted to join

  the fun.

  “No it’s not! Pete’s doing it . . . and he’s a grown- up,” Mikey pointed out.

  My eyes flew to Pete’s.

  “What can I say,” he shrugged around a grin, “I drive a manly truck.”

  “They’re not playing follow the leader, you idiot—they’re holdin’ hands.”

  Following this announcement, Andrew’s face turned the same shade as mine.

  “Oh.” Mikey looked up at Pete with new eyes as we crowded into our

  entryway. Pete dropped my hand the moment we stepped inside. I’d still been

  holding on like an idiot. Gah. This whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing . . . or whatever we were, was confusing. I didn’t know the rules because I’d never

  played the game. As if sensing my discomfort, Pete pulled me into his chest,

  his chin resting on my head.

  “Smells delicious,” he murmured. “My mouth is watering already.”

  (I was just thinking the same thing about him.) “Mikey and I have been

  hard at work. Right?”

  • 351 •

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  I chose to ignore Pete’s remark, moving to the kitchen to set out plates

  and cups. “Okay boys, wash up for snack.”

  “Pete, come with us,” invited Mikey.

  “Guess I am one of the boys,” he said. “Lead on . . .”

  “Yay! Now I’m the leaduh!” Mikey grabbed Pete’s hand again and dragged

  him down the hall.

  “I’ll show you our room, Pete.” Andrew squeezed ahead of them to take

  the lead. “I have some cool quartz and Indian arrowheads.”

  “And I have Spiduhman sheets, and Kadee bought me
a Hummuh . . .

  just wike youwers!” Mikey bragged, almost beside himself with pride.

  “Is it parked out back?” Pete teased.

  Andrew laughed while Mikey set the record straight. “No, it’s in my

  woom . . . it’s not a weal one.”

  As I set about pouring milk and slicing bananas, I listened to their boy

  banter. Tears shimmered in my eyes. A visceral sensation—I hadn’t dared

  hoped for since Mama died—overcame me again. That everything-is-exactly-

  as-it-should-be feeling. It felt like a soothing balm on the parched skin of my

  soul.Setting a sunny plate of warm, gooey cookies on the center of the table, I

  called for the boys. They all elephant-trumped back in, smiles of anticipation

  brightening their faces. Pete’s eyes found mine. “Where should I sit?”

  “How ‘bout here?” Mikey pulled out the chair at the head of the table.

  “You sure?” he hedged. “I feel like I’m taking someone’s seat.”

  “Sure, I’m sure . . . that’s Daddy’s chair, and he’s nevuh home,” declared

  an ever-informative Mikey.

  I didn’t dare glance at Pete as he lowered himself onto the only padded

  chair, instead, placing napkins on each place mat during the second awkward

  pause of the afternoon so far. I plastered a smile. “Dig in.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Pete said, grabbing a cookie off the top.

  We Connellys used our manners and waited for our guest. I realized we

  were all staring at him with baited breath, adding weight to the inconsequential

  moment. He held the cookie midair, his lips appearing to be too occupied with

  suppressing a smile to take a proper bite. I had to laugh because the impatient,

  frozen anticipation on our faces as we waited for Pete to take his first bite was

  something right out of Mikey’s Green Eggs and Ham book. Finally, before the suspense threatened to kill Mikey, he took a slow, giant bite.

  “Mmmmm! Oh man!” Pete exaggeratedly worked his jaw, humming

  noises of pleasure and banging on the table, acting as if it were so good, he

  • 352 •

  was rendered speechless. After a hard swallow, he said, “Wow!—that might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted!” My brothers’ faces illuminated like light bulbs.

  Then in an aside to me: “Well . . . maybe the second best.” He winked, and

  I whacked him with a dishtowel, blushing all the way to the tips of my toes.