It’s kind of weird thinking about it.
Zach knows my mom.
Of course, he does. He’s my biological father. He had to know her. But the world between Zach and my mom is so vastly different. It’s hard to imagine the two worlds colliding.
I look at the guys, who have completely demolished their pizzas. They’re just watching Zach and me, listening to our conversation.
It’s strange how comfortable I feel with all of them, considering how short a time I have known them. They’re like family to me.
“You boys should probably get back to campus,” Zach says.
I frown.
I don’t want them to leave. Not yet.
“Can’t they stay?” I ask.
“Stay?” Zach asks. “The night?”
I nod. “I would feel better if they were here. I would sleep better.”
“I won’t sleep at all with them here,” Zach says, looking at me. He sighs. “Fine, but everybody sleeps in the living room. And if any of you try anything, so help me, you will never be within one hundred feet of my daughter again.”
I laugh at his threat. But the guys all look scared. I suppose that was the point.
I don’t think Zach is serious, though. I mean, he is, to a certain point. But he knows that I would never do anything like that. I mean, I still haven’t kissed a boy, for crying out loud.
“They’re too honorable for that,” I tell Zach.
He turns his head to me, narrowing his eyes. “The fact that you think that about teenage boys proves that I need to tell them this.”
His words make my face warm.
Do we really need to have this conversation in front of the guys?
“Don’t you trust me?” I ask him.
The scowl on his face immediately softens. “Of course, I trust you.”
“Then trust that nothing is going to happen,” I tell him.
He nods at me, then looks at the guys. “I meant what I said.”
After that, Zach heads to bed, and I help the guys get settled. I find a ton of blankets around the house and help them get settled in for the night.
Well... I help as much as they allow me. They won’t really let me do much, which is both frustrating and sweet at the same time. Tonight, I let them win, because it has been one heck of a week.
After saying goodnight to the guys, I head to my room upstairs, thinking it’s going to be really nice to sleep in my own bed tonight. No more cold, concrete floor.
I barely slept last night because I was so worried Ezra was going to die.
I roll my eyes, thinking how I worried for nothing. He was fine the entire time. It was only makeup. I feel like an idiot for not seeing it sooner.
Torture training.
This school...
How did I even end up here?
Before I walk into my room, I look behind me and see that Austin followed me up the stairs.
“You need something?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer. He just walks over to me and wraps his arms around me, holding me tight against him.
“I was so worried about you, Zara,” Austin says.
His voice sounds off. When I pull back from our embrace, I see that he has tears in his eyes.
“Austin,” I say, my own voice breaking.
Maybe it’s the stress of the week. Or maybe it’s seeing him cry... but I can’t hold back my own tears. Austin immediately pulls me back into his arms. He just holds onto me, allowing me to cry into his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” I say, after a moment.
“Don’t apologize,” he says.
“Austin... that was the worst thing I’ve ever been through,” I tell him.
“I know,” he says.
Of course, he knows.
He went through torture training himself.
“You guys were right. I’m not strong enough for torture training,” I say.
“No. We were wrong,” Austin says. “You were strong enough. You passed, Zara. You did it.”
“If I had stayed there a few more hours, I don’t think I would’ve passed,” I say.
“That doesn’t matter now,” he says. “What matters is that it’s over and that you did pass.”
I nod, pulling away from him. The front of his shirt is wet from my tears.
“Sorry,” I say, pointing at the wet spot. “I’m such a girl.”
“Being a girl isn’t a bad thing,” he says. “It’s one of the reasons why I like you.”
I laugh.
Austin puts a hand on my face and gently wipes away the tears from under my eyes. The gesture is so kind... so soft... so unexpected.
“You are beautiful,” Austin says.
Beautiful?
“I’m sure I look like a mess,” I say, lowering my head. But he pushes my face back up gently with his hand.
“If you are a mess, you’re the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen,” he says.
His words make me smile.
But more than that... standing here, looking at him, butterflies fill my stomach.
Is it possible to like him, too?
I find myself developing feelings for all the guys—Dylan, Tristan... now Austin.
And, if I’m being honest with myself, I feel something for Camden and Stefan too.
No, it’s not possible. I can’t have feelings for them all. It’s just our friendship.
Right?
“Goodnight, Zara,” Austin says, taking a step back from me.
“Goodnight, Austin,” I say.
He stands there, waiting for me to walk into my room.
When I’m alone, my thoughts once again haunt me, but even they aren’t able to keep me awake after the week I’ve had. Within minutes, I am sound asleep.
Wednesday, October 3
Special talents.
It’s almost ten o’clock when I wake up on Wednesday morning. I hardly ever sleep past seven, so I know I must’ve been tired. I’m a little disappointed, because I know the guys will have already left for school.
I get up, brush my hair and teeth before heading downstairs for breakfast. Not really caring how my hair looks, I put it up into a messy bun on top of my head. Nobody but Zach will see it anyway.
When I get downstairs, I hear voices coming from the dining room, so I head in there, wondering who Zach is talking to. I stop at the entry way when I see that all five of my guys are sitting in the dining room with Zach, who has set out a huge spread of food.
“Um...” I say, my face growing warm.
I kind of wish I had taken another minute to fix my hair and change out of my sweatpants, but it’s too late to change now.
“I didn’t expect you all to still be here,” I say, walking farther into the dining room.
“I tried to get them to leave,” Zach says.
I laugh.
I’m sure he did.
Zach likes my team. I know he does. But he wishes they weren’t all guys.
That’s just too bad for him, because there is no way I would ever switch teams.
I sit down at an empty seat between Cam and Stefan.
“Cute hair,” Cam says, pointing at my bun.
“How do you fit it all into that small ball on top of your head?” Stefan asks, tilting his head to the side to study my bun.
I shrink into my seat.
“Girls have special talents,” Tristan says.
“Rubber bands are magical,” I say, then look at the food. “So, can we eat?”
“Yeah,” Zach says. “You woke up at the perfect time. The food just got here.”
I look at the food sitting on the table. It’s a true American breakfast—eggs, bacon, hash browns, biscuits, gravy and orange juice. But it’s definitely not something you can just order and have delivered. It looks homemade.
“Ms. Schmidt heard we were ordering a lot of pizza,” Zach says. “She had her cook bring something over because, apparently, I’m supposed to be feeding my teenage daughter something healthier than pizza—her words,
not mine.”
“Ah,” I say.
That makes sense.
Ms. Schmidt is tough, but I can tell she really likes her job. I think she has a heart for her students. It’s sweet that she’s being so nice. I’ll have to remember to thank her, later.
Before I can reach for food, the guys are filling my plate. Cam forks on a couple of eggs, Stefan adds a lot bacon, Dylan puts on a very large spoon full of hash browns, Austin adds two biscuits, and Tristan holds up the gravy.
“On your biscuit or on the side?” he asks.
“On the biscuit,” I say.
’Cause is there any other way to have biscuits and gravy?
There is no way I am going to be able to eat all this food. The guys put about the same amount of food they gave me onto their own plates.
Bottomless pits, I swear.
“So, what is on the agenda today?” I ask.
“You just got done with torture training. Certainly, you’d like the day off,” Zach says.
“Sitting around the house makes me antsy. I feel like I should do something,” I say.
I had intended going to school today, but my body had other ideas. There is no way I will be missing tomorrow, though.
“She’s already a true Spy School student,” Camden says, grinning at me.
“I’ve always been like this,” I say. “I like being busy. I feel lazy if I don’t have something to do.”
“Tonight, we have weapons training, and I’d really like to continue our classes tonight if you’re up to it,” Zach says. “I’d like to teach you how to shoot so I can teach you how to disarm.”
I nod. “Sounds good.”
“We have our classes tonight, too,” Stefan says, frowning.
On Wednesday night, all the guys take electives that they enjoy—Tristan is taking an advanced hacker class, Cam and Dylan are taking some kind of advanced MMA training class, Austin is taking an advanced class on psychology and Stefan is taking a medical training class. It’s perfect, since I’m busy with Zach anyway, but Wednesday nights always suck.
“I guess we’ll be going back to the dorms tonight, too,” Dylan says.
Right.
Because they don’t want to sleep on my living room floor forever. I don’t blame them. I should have insisted they go home last night and get some rest. It was selfish of me to want them to stay.
“One of you will come pick her up for school tomorrow,” Zach says.
It’s not a question.
“I will be picking her up,” Cam says.
“Why do I need to be picked up?” I ask.
“Because whoever messed with the airplane mechanics is still out there,” Zach says. “Just because we haven’t heard from them in a while doesn’t mean the threat has suddenly disappeared.”
Right.
Amongst all the chaos of the past few days, I had almost forgotten about my near death experience a few weeks ago. Must have slipped my mind while I was being tortured.
I have a feeling that things are going to be very different now.
Jealous.
I hold up the gun, closing one eye to aim it at the target. Before I pull the trigger, I feel fear—not because I’m scared of the gun, but because it’s loud. And it kicks. It makes me nervous to shoot guns, which, I suppose, is the point of weapons training.
“Don’t hesitate,” Zach says. “If you hesitate, it can mean the difference between life and death, for you and your team.”
He’s right—I can’t hesitate. For Cam, Dylan, Austin, Stefan and Tristan. I have to be able to protect them like they have protected me.
I pull the trigger and don’t stop until I empty the clip.
Once it’s empty, I lower the weapon and look at the target.
“Nice,” Zach says.
Two of the bullets hit very close to the center, but the others are scattered around the target—not close to the center, but at least I hit the target. It’s an improvement from last time, for sure.
“You’re catching on fast,” he says. “We will keep training every Wednesday, but it might not hurt to do a little training on the weekends.”
“Anything,” I say. I want to do well in Spy School.
Since I got here, I’ve been stressed a bit about my grades. Back home, at my old school, if I was worried about a test or my grade, I would just spend a few extra hours studying. But here, you can’t study for everything. Sure, you can study for the math, language, and similar classes, but you can’t train for things that we do in the field. What happened in Tokyo was pretty much dumb luck for me.
Okay, maybe not.
I work hard. And I always will, whether I am a student or a graduated agent, because that is what I do.
I start to reload my gun, but Zach stops me.
“Our time’s up tonight,” he says.
“Should we stay late and keep working?” I ask.
He shakes his head at me. “There is no doubting that you are my kid. Your work ethic is incredible, but no. We can’t keep going. Somebody has it booked tonight. Besides, you shouldn’t keep pushing yourself. Sometimes, it is good to take a break.”
He’s right. I know he is. But it doesn’t stop me from wanting to push. I hate being less than perfect at anything. Shooting guns is no exception to that.
Zach and I clean up our stuff—we put weapons away and swap my target for a new one before leaving. And then we head to Zach’s SUV to go back home.
“You hungry?” he asks, as we take off.
“Yeah,” I answer.
I haven’t eaten anything since our late breakfast this morning and I am pretty hungry after shooting.
Zach turns onto the road, going the opposite way of our house. A few minutes later, we pull into a diner.
Tonight, it’s just me and Zach, which is strange. I’m used to having the guys around, always, but it’s also nice to get to spend time with my dad without everybody around. I haven’t really gotten to know him as much as I’d like.
When we walk inside, I notice the black and white checkered floor, the bright red booths, and the jukebox in the corner playing a song that sounds like it’s straight from the 1950’s. The hostess smiles when she sees us—I take note of her bright red lipstick, pink poodle skirt, and the roller skates on her feet. I immediately like this place.
The girl tells us to sit wherever we’d like. Zach takes a seat in a booth. He’s facing the door, which I feel like he’s done on purpose. I sit down across from him. A few seconds later, our waitress comes to hand us our menus and ask what we want to drink. I look at the menu for a second, but I already know what I want—how could you come here and not get a burger, fries, and a shake?
After we order, I look around.
“Is everybody here Spy School?” I ask Zach, taking a sip of my water.
“No,” he answers. “Some. But people live and work in this town besides us.”
“What do they think of the wall?” I ask.
“People know that something is going on here,” he says. “But they aren’t sure what. They do know that their city is the safest in the world and it really is a nice town to live in.”
“Has anybody ever figured out the truth and told anybody?” I ask.
“Their social media accounts, phone calls, and texts are monitored,” he says. “People here are very good at keeping a secret.”
I nod.
That’s kind of cool, I guess.
The waitress comes back, putting my chocolate shake on the table. I thank her and take a drink—it’s the best chocolate shake I’ve ever had.
“So, why does everybody speak English here?” I ask Zach, as I drink my shake. “Don’t they speak German in Switzerland?”
“Swiss German,” he says. “But our town is special. All of our students speak English.”
“What if somebody lives in a country that doesn’t speak English?” I ask. “They just aren’t allowed to come to school here?”
“Ninety-nine percent of Spy School is secon
d, third, and fourth generation,” Zach says. “So, even if the student lives in a non-English speaking country, their parents make sure they know English.”
“What is the other one percent?” I ask.
“It’s very rare, but if a student shows exceptional talent, we will offer them a scholarship to get them here.”
“What do you tell the parents?”
“We always come across as an elite boarding school in Switzerland,” Zach says. “Most parents jump at the opportunity for their children.”
I suppose it makes sense, though my parents would never have sent me here if it wasn’t for Zach, even if I was offered a scholarship. My mom hates the idea of me being in a different country. Hypocritical, I know, considering she spent a lot of my childhood filming in other countries while I was stuck at home with a nanny or with Jason.
“I never did say thank you,” I say.
“For what?” he asks.
“This opportunity,” I say. “I know I’m late to the school, but I love it so much. It’s where I belong. Thank you for bringing me here.”
He smiles at me. “Of course. I only wish I could’ve brought you sooner.”
“It was perfect timing,” I say.
Who knows what would’ve happened if I had come here as a freshman. I might not be on the same team with the guys—I might not even be on their radar.
Fourteen was... not pretty. I was even more of a noddle. I was a really late bloomer, so I looked like a ten-year-old. And I had braces. Plus, at that point, the only physical activity I participated in was whatever stupid sport they forced us to participate in during PE.
“I worried about you coming here,” he says. “That this school wouldn’t be for you. I mean, I know you had the potential. I saw your grades. You’re a genius. But I was worried you’d be a little spoiled.”
I laugh. “I am a little spoiled.”
“No, you’re not,” he says.
“I have a Range Rover and a Bentley,” I say. “How many sixteen-year-olds do you know who have not one, but two nice cars?”
“You left both of your cars behind to come here,” he says. “And not once have I heard you complain about it.”
Eh, to be honest, I hate driving. Especially in LA.
“I can’t believe your mom bought you that car,” he says.
Trust Page 4
