by Lisa Jackson
His boots, now wet with melted snow, rang up the short flight of stairs to Lynch’s business office, the place where he dealt with secular business. The director also kept a smaller, cozier office in a room within the chapel complex. That book-lined cranny was relegated for conversations about faith, personal problems, or spiritual matters. Dr. Lynch also used it to meditate about all things theological.
Or so the company line went.
Trent rapped on the half-open door with his knuckles, then stepped inside the pine-paneled room. Tobias was seated at his oversized desk.
“Trent!” Lynch said, smiling widely and waving at one of the visitor chairs. “Here, take a seat.”
Crossing toward the desk, Trent noted Adele Burdette, looking distracted as usual. The headmistress for the female students stood at the window, resting a hip on the sill as she stared at the roiling waters of Lake Superstition. In her midforties, Adele was trim and strong, a sour woman who never bothered with makeup. Her curly red hair was scraped back from her head in a perpetual ponytail that was starting to silver.
“We’ve just got a few minutes,” Lynch said, “but I thought I’d bring you up to speed about a new student.” A tall, thin man whose posture reminded Trent of a modern Abraham Lincoln, Lynch seemed to hunch over his desk. Behind his tinted glasses were eyes as dark as obsidian, eyes that, Trent guessed, didn’t miss much. “It’s short notice, I know, but sometimes that’s how things work around here.” He offered a brief smile, stretching his mustache and soul patch. Lynch fulfilled many roles at Blue Rock: religious leader, theology teacher, headmaster for the boys, and dean of faculty. “So, I just got all the paperwork this morning via fax. Her name is Shaylee Stillman, and she goes by ‘Shay.’”
Every muscle in Trent’s body tightened. No way. Not Jules’s sister. He must’ve heard wrong.
“She’s had her share of run-ins with the law, and her mother is worried that once she turns eighteen, things will only get worse.”
Burdette was nodding, agreeing. “The mother’s right; I read all the reports.”
“Where’s she from?” Trent forced himself to lean back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. If the new student was Shay Stillman, things were going to get a lot more complicated. A lot.
“Seattle,” Burdette supplied.
Son of a bitch!
“Your neck of the woods,” Lynch said.
“I’m from Spokane.”
“Oh. Right.” Lynch rubbed his tiny beard with one finger as he studied the top sheet of a stack of papers.
Burdette was equally distracted, her eyes on the window again.
So much for their concern about the new girl, Trent thought.
“Anyway,” Lynch went on, “I’ve added her to your pod.” He slid the faxed documents across the wide expanse of his desk. “Here’re her records. Check out the questionnaire.”
“Classic,” Burdette muttered.
“When is she due to arrive?”
“Within the hour.”
“Today?” Trent tried to keep the concern from his voice.
“She’s on her way. Last report was that the plane was just north of Eugene.”
Trent kept his face impassive, but inside he was fighting a full-blown panic. If she was one and the same Shay Still-man—and it sounded as if she was—then she was Jules’s half sister and a holy terror. The age was right, the attitude was toxic, and she was coming from the Seattle area. It all added up to trouble for Trent. Big trouble. “You sure my pod’s the best?”
“Why not?” Lynch frowned. For all his outward talk of open discussions and being respectful of others’ opinions, Tobias Lynch was about as bending as an oak tree. The reverend didn’t like being opposed. In Trent’s short time here at the academy, he’d learned that much. Though Lynch saw himself as a kind, judicious, fair-minded leader who guided with a steady but thoughtful hand, in truth, the guy considered himself the only person capable of making the “right” decision. His word was etched in stone.
Still, Trent had to fight this one; he couldn’t be in close proximity to Jules’s sister. It was just too damned dangerous. He picked his words carefully. “Sometimes a troubled girl needs a strong female leader, someone who can relate to what she’s going through.”
Lynch disagreed. “Not this one—female dominated, confused about father figures.” He smiled. “Perfect for you.”
Burdette added, “Both Rhonda’s and my groups are full, and we’ve always had mixed-gender pods. It’s no big deal. Until we can hire another teacher and leader, we all have to pull our weight—more than our weight, actually. If there’s a problem, you know that any of the girls can talk to us individually, and there are female counseling sessions.” As she looked at him over her shoulder, tiny lines emerged between her eyebrows. “Do you have a problem with taking on this one?”
Oh, yeah, a major problem. “Not at all,” he lied, and hoped to hell he sounded convincing. “Just talking aloud, wondering what’s best for her.”
“Good.” The reverend seemed relieved. “We always put the students’ needs first. Since you’re in line for the next new student, she’ll be in your group.” He was nodding to himself, silently congratulating himself on a job well done. “Should be interesting.”
More than interesting. He noted that the tiny lines of suspicion on Burdette’s forehead hadn’t disappeared. There was stress here at the school, more than anyone let on. Being down a teacher was just one of the problems.
Lynch forced a smile and rose to his feet, signifying that the meeting was over.
Trent couldn’t wait to leave. He needed time to think about how he was going to handle Shay. Would she recognize his name? They’d never met face-to-face, but there was a damned good chance that Jules had mentioned him.
And not with fondness.
Nope. Their breakup had been anything but amicable.
Great.
Just. Damned. Great!
Shaylee Stillman was a complication he didn’t need. He left the building and half-jogged to the gym, where his office was nestled on the far side of the locker rooms. He tossed Shaylee’s file onto the desk and flipped it open, and sure enough, Jules’s little sister stared up at him from a photo. He suspected it was a candid shot; the girl’s eyes glimmered with rebellion, anger, and mistrust.
With one eye on the clock, he skimmed through the file, all the while knowing that Shaylee Stillman could blow his cover and damned well ruin everything.
Clicking on the computer’s mouse at her desk, Jules half-listened to the radio while she searched online for information about Blue Rock Academy. Ever since Edie had announced she was shipping Shaylee down to Oregon, Jules had been consumed by the desire to learn everything she could about the school.
Then she heard the commercial. Between songs on the radio came a sincere woman’s voice, a woman at the end of her rope. “I didn’t know what to do,” she lamented. “I was out of options. My daughter was getting into trouble with the law, with drugs, with the wrong crowd, and she wouldn’t listen to me. Her attitude was affecting my marriage and my other children. I thought I had nowhere to turn, but then I learned about Blue Rock Academy, a forward-thinking school that knows how to deal with troubled teens.”
Jules stopped surfing the Net and listened as the testimonial continued. The mother’s voice was stronger now. “So I enrolled my daughter at Blue Rock Academy. Ten months later, she returned with a new attitude, great grades, and a healthy lifestyle. She’s now an honor student on her way to college.” There was just so much pride in the woman’s voice. “Thanks to the caring, intelligent staff members at Blue Rock Academy, I got my daughter back.”
A younger, bright voice chimed in, “And I got my family back. Thanks, Mom. Dad. I love you guys!”
Really?
No way.
Disbelieving, Jules stared at the computer as a serious, deep-timbered announcer gave some information about the institution, including the Web site and phone number. “If your teen is tr
oubled, call Blue Rock Academy. It’s a phone call that could save your marriage, and your child’s life.”
“Oh, give me a break,” Jules said, rolling back her desk chair as music resumed. There was something about the radio spot that felt false, a facade. She thought of Shay, probably already touching down on the campus of the academy tucked into the southern Oregon wilderness.
What was it about the place that bothered her? Why couldn’t she just accept it as the haven for at-risk teens it was touted to be?
She turned back to her keyboard and clicked on a link to the school’s Web site. On Blue Rock Academy’s home page, she viewed pictures of cedar and stone buildings flanking the shores of a pristine lake—Lake Superstition, said the caption. Teens smiled as they canoed through the sapphire water. A large church dominated the landscape. Its windows rose to the high peak of a sharp roofline, and the framework of those glass walls was supported by beams in the shape of a magnificent, three-storied cross. Snow-laden mountains rimmed the campus, their spires sparkling in sunlight.
In a montage of photographs, groups of laughing teenagers were photographed doing a variety of activities: astride horses on wilderness trails, navigating challenging whitewater rapids in rafts, pitching tents near glowing fires, or strumming guitars at sing-alongs under the stars. In the winter shots, some students snowshoed while others skied cross-country.
Blue Rock appeared a veritable Eden.
Of course, there were serious shots of earnest teachers leaning over students’ shoulders as they sat in front of computers. Other pictures of teens avidly studying test tubes and peering into microscopes. Still others were seated in a large carpeted pit in front of a massive stone fireplace. The students cradled open books, camaraderie evident among the good-looking, clean-cut kids. Bibles were in evidence in several of the shots, and not one tattoo or pierced body part or colorful Mohawk was seen. No, sir.
Everyone in the pictures was model-beautiful, teachers, students and aides alike. There was a politically correct mix of Asian, Hispanic, and African American students and staff.
Most of the photos could have been published to advertise a resort rather than a school. The buildings were new and clean, the grounds well kept, the entire campus surrounded by pristine forest. Jules half expected to see a couple of Bambis and Thumpers peering curiously from the woods.
She clicked to the preapproval questionnaire and quickly skimmed some of the questions and answered them aloud as she thought of her sister.
Yes, Shay was angry.
Yes, she disrupted the family.
Hell, yes, she’d threatened a family member, more times than Jules would care to count.
Yep to Shay being in trouble with the law as well as using drugs and alcohol.
Shay had admitted as much. Had she made statements about suicide?
Only to get Edie’s goat.
All in all, there were thirty questions, some general, some specific, all, when applied to Shay, answered with a big yes.
Maybe she shouldn’t be so jaded. Maybe Blue Rock was on the up-and-up. Maybe the counselors there would get through to Shay.
“I hope so,” Jules said to Diablo as the cat trotted into the room and hopped up to her lap. “But I just don’t believe it.”
CHAPTER 4
Trent watched the seaplane descend.
Engines roaring, the aircraft landed noisily. It bounced over the roiling water of Lake Superstition, then motored over to the dock. Steely dark clouds reflected in the shifting water as the pilot, Kirk Spurrier, cut the engine and climbed out of the cabin. With the help of an eager student who’d been summoned by Reverend Lynch, Spurrier tied the plane to the cleats at the end of the dock. Once the plane was secured, Spurrier ducked back inside and Blue Rock Academy’s newest student emerged.
The muscles in the back of Trent’s neck tightened.
Sure enough, Shaylee Stillman, Jules’s younger half sister, was Blue Rock’s new student.
Bad luck all the way around.
Trent hoped Shay didn’t recognize him. If she did, he was counting on her to keep her mouth shut until he had a chance to speak with her alone.
What a damned small world, he thought as he stood with seven of his colleagues on the beach that rimmed the lake. In matching Windbreakers emblazoned with the Blue Rock Academy logo, they were an impressive group: Reverend Lynch was in the lead, with Dr. Burdette a step behind him. Dr. Tyeesha Williams, the women’s counselor with a doctorate in psychology, stood with her arms folded, blinking against the wind. Rhonda Hammersley, dean of academics, spoke quietly with Wade Taggert, a psychology teacher, and Jacob McAllister, a youth minister. At the end of the line, Jordan Ayres, the school’s nurse and medical authority, waited to greet the newest student.
She didn’t keep them waiting.
Shay emerged from the plane with her attitude firmly in place. Smaller and thinner than he remembered Jules ever being, Shay wore a gray sweatshirt and tight jeans. Her hair, a dull, fake black, was mussed and shaggy, falling over big owlish eyes rimmed in thick, dark pencil. Several braided cords encircled one of her wrists, and she wore flip-flops despite the frigid temperatures. Black nail polish on her toes matched the chipped color on her fingernails.
Trent had the feeling that her I-don’t-give-a-damn, rebellious look actually took a lot of work to achieve.
Hauling her backpack over one shoulder, she eyed the group of authority figures waiting for her, and, if possible, her white complexion paled. Still her mouth was set, pale lips determined. It was obvious she would rather be any other place on earth than here.
Trent didn’t blame her. His own gut clenched as Lynch stepped forward. This was the moment of truth.
“Welcome to Blue Rock Academy, Shaylee,” Lynch said, hand extended.
She didn’t respond, just stared at his outstretched fingers with indifference.
Lynch didn’t miss a beat. “This is Mr. Trent. He’s in charge of the students in your group, or pod, as we call them.”
“Pod?” she repeated, her eyes even rounder. “Really? Like whales? Maybe I’ll get lucky and end up with the orcas.”
Trent ignored the sarcasm. “Hi, Shaylee.” He thought, for just a second, she narrowed her eyes at him. Or maybe he was being paranoid.
Lynch motioned to the woman at his side. “This is Dr. Burdette, the dean of women here. She’ll be your counselor.”
“Welcome to Blue Rock,” Burdette said, and Shaylee rolled her eyes.
While Spurrier unloaded a small suitcase and a bedroll, other introductions were made hastily to Wade Taggert and Jordan Ayres. Whereas Taggert was tall and lean with a perpetually worried expression, Nurse Ayres was a force to be reckoned with. At nearly six feet, she looked as if she could’ve once been a part of the German Decathlon Olympic team. Short blond hair, startling blue eyes, and a muscular frame. Determination fairly radiated from her.
Lynch herded everyone along the dock, toward the cluster of buildings rimming the shore. “Come on inside and we’ll get you registered and settled in.”
“Settled in?” she repeated. “You’re kidding, right? I’m not settling in.”
No one argued. Her reaction was expected. Typical. The staff had heard it hundreds of times.
Shaylee eyed the cedar, stone, and glass buildings that resembled a resort more than the locked-down institution it was. Trent followed her gaze and caught a few students looking through the windows as they tried to get a glimpse of their newest peer.
“You’re in the girls’ dorm,” Burdette said. “But before you’re allowed into your room, you have to go through an evaluation and detox at the clinic.”
“Detox?” Shay repeated, her cool mask cracking. “Why? You think I’m hopped up on something? That I’m using? Oh, for God’s sake, I’m not on drugs! Any drugs! Unless you count the caffeine in Red Bull! What did Edie tell you?” She threw an arm up angrily, fingers grasping the air. “What? That I’m a crack addict? On meth?!”
McAllister
stepped forward and offered the frightened girl a smile. “You’ll be okay,” he said.
“Oh, yeah? How do you know?” She wasn’t buying it.
“I have an in with the man upstairs,” McAllister joked. “He told me.”
Shay rolled her eyes as McAllister backed off, while Dr. Williams and Nurse Ayres led the way to the clinic at the back of the admin building.
“This way,” Burdette said calmly. She gestured toward the group, giving Shaylee no choice.
Frightened, Shaylee glanced over her shoulder, her gaze chasing after the youth minister, but he was already crossing the campus.
She found Trent staring at her. There was fear in her angry glare and something more—a question. Her forehead puckered and her eyes narrowed as she sized him up.
Trent guessed she wasn’t sure if she knew him or not.
“So you would describe your experience as positive?” Jules asked as she sat on the edge of her cousin’s couch in Analise’s postwar cottage in West Seattle.
“Of course.” Analise wiped her daughter’s face with a warm rag. “Yeah, it was great.”
Chloe, all of twenty-four months, was protesting from her high chair, shaking her head and shouting, “No! No, Mommy!”
“Blue Rock really turned me around.” To her daughter, “Okay, okay, you’re clean now.”
“Down!” Chloe ordered.
“You got it.” Analise released the toddler who, with a mistrustful eye cast in Jules’s direction, waddled over to their chunky bulldog. A moment later, the dog took off like a shot, nails scrabbling on the hardwood floor, rather than being subjected to the two-year-old’s curiosity and pokes and prods.
“I just have a bad feeling about the place,” Jules admitted.
“Why?”
“All this secrecy and isolation. I can’t even call her.”
“That’s to keep everyone focused. But she’ll be able to call you once a week or so, depending. As soon as she finishes the introductory phase.”
“When is that over?”
“It’s different for everyone, but Shaylee will be able to reach you in a week or so, and then you’ll see that you’re all worried for nothing. Hey, would you like a cup of coffee or tea? I think I’ve even got an ancient Diet Dr Pepper in the fridge.”
