“He’s working.” She moved Mango away from Heather. “He’s not a pet when he’s working.”
“Oh, he’s working. Well, why didn’t you say so?”
Heather reached over to the table and grabbed a piece of chocolate. Before Clover could stop either of them, Mango had gobbled it up. “Its your payday, boy.”
“You’re going to make him sick!” Clover’s hands flapped at her waist, trying to get her head and her body on the same page. A thousand thoughts flew around her brain, like butterflies caught in a net, careening off her brain and shooting off orders to her body in a disorganized puke of neurons and synapses.
Just breathe. In, one, two, out, one, two. Breathe. She would not lose it here. Not here. She had to calm down.
She almost got there, too, before Heather pressed a chocolate into the front of her mother’s dress and ground it in with the heel of her hand, squirting bright red glaze over the yellow fabric and bruising Clover’s collarbone.
Anger flooded Clover, pushing out her attempts at self-restraint. “What the hell is wrong with you!”
Heather stood next to Wendy, who was laughing with another girl. She leaned close enough that her breath brushed Clover’s cheek. Clover stumbled back a step, barely containing the urge to double her fist and put it through Heather’s face.
“You don’t belong here, Clover Donovan,” Heather said. “We all know that. Why don’t you just go home to your brother?”
“Send her brother to me,” the third girl said. Clover’s anger hid the girl’s name, even though she’d gone all the way through primary school with her. Holly? Polly?
“Leave her alone,” said a boy, one of the few Clover didn’t recognize.
“Oh great, now the freak has a boyfriend.” Heather rolled her eyes and started to walk away. The heels on her shoes were twice as high as Clover’s, but she didn’t wobble. Not even once. Wendy and the other girl followed like sheep.
“Molly,” Clover mumbled, suddenly remembering who the other girl was. She was on the verge of tears but fought hard to keep them back. Never let them see you cry. Any sign of weakness put them into a feeding frenzy.
She rubbed at the stain on her dress with a paper napkin instead, and managed to make the mess considerably worse.
“Don’t let them get to you,” the boy said after Wendy and Heather moved off to where their friends waited to congratulate them on their successful bullying.
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m Jude,” he said.
She tossed the soiled napkin on the table. “Clover.”
He wasn’t nearly as tall as West but still maybe five or six inches taller than her five foot nothing. He had dark hair and olive skin with a thick scar that ran from his left ear to the corner of his mouth.
He was the only other person in the room not wearing the Academy uniform. He wore the same red canvas pants and white shirt that every Foster City kid Clover had ever seen had on. The red made him stand out, like he had a beacon on him.
“What happened to your face?” she asked. His fingers went to the scar and Clover winced. Why couldn’t she ever get things to come out the right way? “I’m sorry.”
Jude put his hand down and held his fingers out for Mango to sniff. Clover hoped her dog wasn’t going to be sick from the chocolate.
“It’s okay,” Jude said. “We almost all come out of Foster City with scars.”
“That happened in Foster City?”
Jude shrugged. “My house father was a sick son of a bitch.”
Clover looked at the scar again. It was deep and almost as thick as one of her fingers. West had the virus scars on his cheeks, but they were less startling. Lots of people had those. “Does it still hurt?”
“Not anymore.”
“Did you get boarding?”
Jude smiled and nodded. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
Jude looked at his green plastic watch, then leaned in closer to her. “They have ham sandwiches. Want one?”
Clover followed him. Mango walked obediently beside her, now that she wasn’t giving him any reason to worry. The dog didn’t seem sick yet, so maybe one chocolate wasn’t going to do anything bad to him.
“Crowds are hard for you, aren’t they?” Jude said.
Was it that obvious? She looked up at Jude—at his scar again—and shrugged the same way he had when she’d asked a too-personal question.
“Me?” he said. “I can’t stand confined places. I’m glad this is a nice, big room.”
She took a bite of a small, square sandwich. It did taste good. She couldn’t remember the last time West brought home a ham from the Bazaar. A year ago, maybe. “Are there other Foster City kids here?”
“Not here, but there are a few already enrolled.”
“I wasn’t sure how many got through the exams,” she said. The Foster City kids didn’t study at the primary school, but they were all brought in when they were sixteen to test.
“Our house parents are supposed to teach us. We try to teach each other.”
“I thought they gave you the same resources we get.” She frowned for a minute, recalling what she’d read about Foster City in the newspapers.
“Yeah, well, in theory.”
If Jude’s house father did something that scarred his face as badly as it was, what were the chances that the man had made sure that his charges were ready for the exams? “You passed, though; that’s good.”
“You did, too. Sounds like those girls didn’t expect you to.”
Clover watched Heather and Wendy talking with a couple of other girls, their heads together. One girl’s head popped up like the periscope on a submarine and dropped back down when she saw Clover watching them. “People underestimate me a lot.”
Jude plucked a peach from a bowl and took a bite. “I wish I could fill my pockets with some of this stuff.”
“I won’t tell if you do.”
Jude held the peach to his nose and inhaled. “I can’t go into my interview with food squishing around in my pants.”
Clover’s stomach contracted at the thought of her interview. Maybe the only thing worse than a crowded room was a room with one adult who didn’t understand her. Sometimes it was like she spoke a language no one else could decipher.
“Paulette Casey.” A man as short and fat as Santa Claus stood in the doorway. His white hair was combed from one side of his nearly bald head to the other and tucked behind that ear.
Paulette was a girl who hadn’t been awful to Clover in primary school. Not friendly, either, but at least not overtly cruel. Clover watched her curl her index finger into one of her tight, dark, corkscrew curls.
Clover turned back to Jude. “What do you think they’ll ask us?”
“Who knows. You’d think with all the stuff they asked on the exams, they’d know more about us than we do.”
The exams took three days and were designed to test not only knowledge, but aptitude, memory, honesty, and a slew of other characteristics.
The Academy was only for the best.
Clover was surprised all over again that Wendy and Heather made it in. They were still huddled together with a gaggle of other girls, looking over at Clover and Jude every once in a while. The hierarchy was already forming. Did they really have to be there? Maybe if Clover told Kingston how dimwitted they were, he’d kick them out.
They must have cheated on the exams. Clover was sure that Mr. Kingston would want to know that. The Academy wasn’t the place for cheaters.
“Do your folks work for the Company?” Jude asked.
Clover picked up a chocolate from the tray on the table and shoved her thumb into the bottom. Something white and creamy oozed out. “My dad does. My mom died of the virus when I was a baby.”
She put the candy back and wiped her thumb on a napkin before asking Jude, “What about your parents?”
“Um…”
“Jude Degas.” The man with the weird hair moved away from the doorway to let Paulett
e Casey back into the room.
“That’s me,” Jude said. “Talk to you later, Clover.”
“Yeah, sure.” Clover watched Jude walk away, then knelt next to Mango and took his wrinkled face in her hands. “You aren’t sick, are you?”
Mango woofed. Clover turned back to the food table. She wished she could bring some sandwiches home to West. She eyed Mango’s harness—it had a pocket on each side—but decided against it. Too gross. She’d eat one for him, she decided, and picked up another sandwich.
“Aww, look, a dog and his pet miniature pig!”
Wendy, Heather, and another girl came up behind her. Clover turned to face them. “And a couple of trained monkeys. We’re a regular zoo, right?”
Mango pressed his side against Clover’s leg, and she offered him the rest of her sandwich before she tightened her hold on his leash and turned away from the food table.
“Love your retro look, Clover,” Heather said behind her.
Clover sighed. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? “Thanks.”
“Yeah, it’s super sexy.”
Clover felt cool air on the backs of her thighs when Wendy took a handful of the bottom of her dress and flipped it up.
Clover pushed Wendy away with one hand and her dress down with the other, still holding Mango’s lead. “Don’t touch me.”
“Why not? I heard people like you let just about anyone touch them.” Wendy bent at the waist and put her face close to Clover’s. “You don’t belong here, and you know it.”
How could someone so stupid have gotten past the exams? Wendy and Heather both had fathers who were higher-ups in the Company. Maybe that was it. Wendy reached for Clover again and Mango moved between them, baring his teeth in a low growl.
“Call off the monster, Donovan. I was just playing.”
“I told you not to touch me.”
“Well, God. You didn’t say you were going to sic your hound on me.”
“Clover Donovan.”
Clover sighed with relief. Jude came in past the man with the comb-over. Before she could take a step, Wendy grabbed her hand, crushing her finger bones together and making her yelp in pain.
“Good luck, Clover.”
Clover tried to yank her elbow back and pull her hand out of Wendy’s, but the other girl held on tight. “Let me go.”
“What’s going on here?” the man demanded.
Mango barked as Clover finally pulled her hand free. Then Wendy screeched, “Her dog bit me!”
Oh, no. Wendy held one hand in the other, cradling it like a broken bird.
“He didn’t bite you.” Clover turned to the man who had called her name. “He didn’t!”
Wendy tilted her head and then looked back at Heather with a barely perceptible smile. “You saw, didn’t you, Heather?”
Heather nodded solemnly. “We know you need Mango, Clover. But if he’s going to bite…”
“But he didn’t. Mango doesn’t bite. Make her show you her hand.”
“He didn’t break the skin,” Wendy said, pulling her hand closer to her body. “It was more of a…pressure bite.”
The man tugged his pants up nearly to his armpits. “Ladies. Miss O’Malley, go to the front desk and ask for directions to the health office. Miss Donovan, you come with me.”
“But she’s lying!”
“Can Heather come with me?” Wendy asked.
The man flipped one wrist in a dismissive gesture and the two girls headed for the door, Heather’s arm around Wendy like she was afraid her friend might not make it.
Clover looked around for anyone who would back her up. Jude had moved closer to her, but he hadn’t been in the room until it was too late.
“Mango doesn’t bite,” she said to the man.
“Mr. Kingston is waiting for your interview, Miss Donovan.”
“But he didn’t bite her. She’s lying.”
“Mr. Kingston is waiting.”
Clover and Mango walked toward the door. Jude touched her arm as she passed, and she jerked away from him. It felt as though every one of her nerves was right on the surface of her skin. Mr. Kingston would hear about this. Wendy O’Malley and Heather Sweeney would not get away with blaming something on Mango that he didn’t do.
The Academy wouldn’t get her without Mango, and Kingston had written a personal note right on her acceptance letter about her high scores.
“Mango didn’t bite Wendy,” she said again, for good measure.
“Right through here.” The man put his hand on the small of her back, and she arched sharply away from him.
Kingston’s office had windows from floor to ceiling. Behind a huge wooden desk sat a small, trim man. “Hello, Miss Donovan.”
“My dog doesn’t bite.” Clover looked back when the office door closed. “He doesn’t bite anyone, ever.”
“Oh.” Adam Kingston was the headmaster of the Reno Academy. He was the one who’d written the note on Clover’s letter. And this was obviously the man himself. He had a big brass name tag on the edge of his desk. “Yes. Well, you brought a dog to your interview, that’s…ah…I’m glad he doesn’t bite.”
“He’s a service dog. And he’s very well trained.” Make eye contact. Keep your voice low. Watch his face. Don’t talk too much. Clover ran through West’s advice and clamped her mouth closed.
“I see. I wasn’t aware that you had a…um…a disability.”
Clover bristled against the word disability as Kingston ran a finger around his collar. She didn’t suggest he loosen his tie before it strangled him. She was pretty sure that would be weird. “It’s right in my application.”
Kingston opened a file on his desk and flipped through it, running his finger down several pages. “There is no mention here of a physical problem. You do know that the Academy requires strenuous physical training, don’t you, Miss Donovan?”
“I don’t have a physical disability.”
“I see. So, then the dog?”
Kingston was nervous. She didn’t usually notice things like that, but he had sweat through his shirt and kept stumbling over his words. “I have autism.”
“Oh, autism. I see, I see. I…um…and the dog?”
“Mango helps me.”
“Helps you?”
“He knows when I’m getting overloaded. He makes it so I can go to class, just like everyone else. And he doesn’t bite, Mr. Kingston. Wendy O’Malley is a huge liar. I can’t believe she was accepted into the Academy in the first place.”
“Well, yes. You did score exceedingly well on your exams, Miss Donovan. In some areas, close to the best I’ve seen.”
Clover sat in a chair in front of the desk when Kingston extended his hand toward it. “Yes, sir.”
“Your memory is extraordinary, in particular.”
Clover dropped her hand to Mango’s head. “I didn’t cheat, if that’s what you think. I’m sure Wendy and Heather did, though.”
“Do you have a photographic memory, Miss Donovan?”
“An eidetic memory,” she corrected, and then immediately wished she hadn’t. “That’s the right term. Anyway, I remember whatever I’ve read, and most of what I see. Less of what I hear.”
Mr. Kingston nodded and looked down at her folder again. “That would explain the gaps in your scores. You need things in writing, then, to perform at this level.”
“Yes, sir.”
“There is the problem of the dog,” Kingston said, without looking up. “You’ll have to attend without the dog.”
“You don’t have to worry about him. Really. He won’t get in the way.”
Kingston hesitated, like he was thinking something over. Then he sighed and said, “Miss Donovan, you will have to attend school without your dog. You’ve been assigned to the research department at this time.”
“That’s good, but Mango—”
“Sometimes things change, as we become more aware of your strengths. Now, you’ve been roomed with a Miss Sweeney. Heather Sweeney. When you rejoi
n the group—”
Clover came out of her seat. “No! You can’t do that!”
Kingston leaned back in his chair and looked up at her. “Miss Donovan, really.”
“You can’t do this.” Clover tried to take a breath, in through her nose and out through her mouth, but her teeth were clenched so tight that her exhales came out in loud steam-train huffs.
“Miss Donovan, please calm down.” Kingston looked from Clover to Mango and then to the door, yanking at his collar again. “Really, just sit down.”
She sat on the very edge of the chair, the leather sole of one shoe tap-tapping on the wood floor, and hit the heel of her hand against her forehead a couple of times.
“I must insist that you stay calm.”
She looked up at him and forced her hands into her lap. “I must insist that you don’t discriminate against me.”
“We are happy to—”
“I can’t be here without Mango.”
They looked at each other for a minute. He had beady eyes. And his forehead was sweaty. He kept brushing the palm of his right hand over it, pushing back a slippery patch of brown hair.
“And I can’t room with Heather Sweeney,” Clover said.
“Part of being at the Academy is following direction.”
“You don’t understand—”
Kingston closed her folder. “I’m afraid the Reno Academy might not be the best place for you after all, Miss Donovan.”
“No. Wait, no. I already got my letter.” Why hadn’t she brought it? “You wrote me a note about my scores.”
“Sometimes someone looks like a perfect candidate on paper, but in person they just—”
Clover kept from crying by sheer force of will. “You can’t do this.”
“You’re already having problems with other students. And if you can’t function without that animal—”
“He’s a service dog.”
“Please, let’s not have a scene.”
Not have a scene? Was he expecting her to just lie back and let him…“Steal my education. That’s what you want me to let you do?”
Viral Nation Page 5
