“I don’t like bullies.”
He laughs at me and the others join in. Tom closes the last step between us and points one thin finger at me. He smells like too much garlic and week old gym socks. “You have no idea what bullying looks like.” His grin reveals the sliver of green between his teeth. Flossing clearly isn’t his strong suit, and his mother blames Dr. Pache? “Stay out of my business and you won’t get hurt. Continue to interfere and I’ll destroy you.”
“What do you want with Tate?” Kitalia, just shut up! But she won’t listen to me and, for the first time since she popped into my head, I wish she’d just go away.
Tom crowds me and I back up until the door opens behind me. I glance to the right at the grinning lackey who’s opened it and find myself in the hall outside, Tom filling the space as best he can, toes at the threshold.
“Like I said,” he snaps. “You’ve been warned. End of conversation.”
He slams the door in my face.
***
I stumble as someone pushes me, landing on my knees in wetness. A car door slams and tires squeal, engine gunning. I tear at the blindfold, scowling after the retreating sedan.
My filthy knees drip mud when I stand, the puddle they shoved me into soaking through my cowboy boots. I don’t even try to shake it off, too furious to focus on such details. They’ve dumped me in the middle of nowhere, though they must know I have the mental means to call for help.
It takes me a while before I do. A long while of lurching between utter rage and the old fear T.B. managed to uncover. While realizing, with sinking doubt and a whole lot of bitterness, he just might be stronger than I am.
Enough. I shake off my ancient fear and reach out to M., calling for a ride. T.B. might think he’s beaten me with his stupid tricks, but I have the CIA on my side. Time to call in favors and find out just what he’s up to before I tear him down.
***
Chapter Fourteen
I step out of the elevator and practically run down the hall to the green shielding, thundering through it, boots thudding on the stairs so loudly everyone in the situation room looks up, startled. I ignore them all, pushing my way through the glass doors, shoving their automatic hissing selves aside so I can enter the office faster. M. and D. are nowhere to be seen.
Damn it, where are they? I spin and find my new partner standing behind me, blue eyes wide as I face her down.
***
“What do you want?”
I swallow hard, knuckles a little sore from banging on the door. Ringing the bell got me nothing, so I had to try knocking. I have no idea how long I’ve been standing here, rapping on the white wood, but Tate is finally standing on the other side, looking at me through the tiny opening she’s allowed herself.
I can’t muster a smile. She knows something, I’m sure of it. If I can just find out what the boys want with her, I can help her and life can go back to normal. I have no idea why I can’t just let this go, but it’s eating at me, like a tiny animal chewing away from the inside. Any second now it’s going to burst out of my chest and I’ll be crying all over her.
“I just want to help.” My hands rise and fall to my sides, one thudding against the side of my messenger bag. “They took my boots.” Why did I bother saying that? It’s clear from the way she looks down she already knows. Was she in on it? I can’t believe that. She’s the victim here.
“I don’t want any help,” she says, voice so quiet it screams she’s lying. “I don’t need any help. Okay? Just leave me alone.”
My throat clenches, something I don’t want to look at stirring. Like Kitalia’s abandoned little girl, is there a hidden truth I’m not willing to face? No, nothing like that. Just…
I don’t like bullies.
“Whatever you need, whatever they have against you,” desperation claws and twists inside me, “I’m here for you, Tate.” Here for you. Whispered in my heart.
She slams the door on me and I’m left there, in my sneakers and the silence, to turn away from her door alone. Every step I take toward home feels like defeat.
***
Tatiana stares at me while M. and D. enter the office at last, both grim.
“Kitalia,” M.’s tone of voice burns, and I’m instantly wary. “Where have you been?”
I spin on her. “You know where. You sent a car for me, remember?”
Tatiana looks uncomfortable as she sits down in front of a pile of files. M. and D. are both grim faced as they join her. And point for me to take a seat at the far end of the table, away from them.
What is this?
“We need to talk.” M. pulls the first file off the top of the pile. D. won’t meet my eyes. “About some of your cases.”
“You’ve never had a problem with my work before.” The fear returns, the abandoned little girl. But no, this is my family, these are my bosses. And my work has always been above reproach.
Always.
“We’ve asked Tatiana to review your history, in preparation for taking over as your new partner.” D. sits back, arms crossed over his chest, handsome face dark. “She’s brought some disturbing details to our attention.”
Tatiana’s discomfort is physical as she shifts in her seat, cheeks pink. M. just looks angry.
“Take a seat, Kitalia,” M. growls.
“With all due respect,” I snarl back, “go to hell, ma’am.” I won’t sit here and be pinned to a board like a bug. T.B.’s plan to ruin me is already in motion, it seems, and he’s using Tatiana as a pawn to get to me. I turn for the door while M. leaps to her feet.
“Get back here,” she shouts. “We’re not done.”
“Yes,” I shout back, “we are. Until I get the respect I deserve.”
I storm out of there, but knowing I’ll have to go back eventually. I want to get my temper under control first, so I don’t say anything that I’ll regret later.
T.B. thinks he has me cornered. As I enter the elevator and head up to the surface, I sag a moment against the wall. And admit he does. If they are questioning my cases… who knows what kind of evidence he’s had time to plant? And using Tatiana to get to me, a new girl who doesn’t know better, I have to admit that’s very clever of him.
When the door opens and the two agents waiting at the exit to escort me back downstairs enter the small space, I grimace. Fine, I’ll play the good agent and go along with this. I’ll even back down from T.B. for now.
But, can I walk away? Knowing he’s a traitor?
I might not have a choice.
***
Chapter Fifteen
I toy with my pen and examine the newest doodle I’ve created on the inside cover of my notebook. I’m not completely satisfied with the equation, though it does, in fact, create a heart when inputted on a computer. I was hoping to contrive a curly tail for more panache, but I just can’t seem to find the right algorithm.
I let the tip settle on the page and sigh, listless as Mrs. Malcolm drones on about medieval history. While normally I would find the Dark Ages fascinating, there’s a certain spark of interest gone from my life these past couple of weeks I can’t manage to fire up again.
It’s been a struggle to drag myself to school every day, to feign interest, even to muster Kitalia and her typically fascinating world of espionage and psychic assassination. Mom and Dad have noticed, both mentioning I seem down with that pinched expression on their faces. Like matching mannequins of some kind of impending doom.
“Are you okay, Kit?” Dad, just this morning, green eyes watching me over his cup of coffee.
Mom: “You’re sure you’re feeling all right?” She even felt my forehead. Just in case my lack of energy was some kind of bug. I can’t exactly tell them the reason for my lack of excitement these days is my own failure to step up and do the right thing.
The right thing, in this case, seems to lure me into trouble either way. The worst part of all, though it’s terribly materialistic of me to think so, is my still missing boots. Mom refused to replac
e the ones Tom stole and destroyed. Maybe if I told her the truth, that someone at school vandalized them, she’d be more amendable to helping a girl out. But, when I lamely explained I’d lost them, her disappointment in my lack of attention was almost as bad as the loss itself.
“Really, Kit,” she’d said as she turned away, pointing at the scuffed and forlorn pair of ankle boots I’d preferred last year. “If you can’t take care of your new things, you’ll have to make do with what you already have.”
I scuff the toe of my old boots on the tile floor under my desk and sigh at the sight. They pinch my feet, slightly too small, now, but it’s the worn brown surface that makes me saddest. I tested some of Dad’s shoe polish on the inside, but they aren’t real leather, so they won’t take the stain. I’ve considered a thick, black marker, even while pondering if Mom would yell at me for “destroying” the boots for the sake of appearances.
I know better than to beg, though. Mom’s favorite saying these days is, “Money doesn’t grow on trees,” and other such dogma meant to inspire me to be frugal, I guess. I know having both of my older siblings in college has to be expensive, and I don’t begrudge them their education. But, my boots…
Maybe they’ll finally let me get a job. I perk at that thought before sagging again while Mrs. Malcolm’s tone turns even more bland.
“Anyone?” I glance up to see her poised at the blackboard, textbook in her hands. She looks about as bored as the rest of us feel. The old me would have shot her hand into the air and made a guess at the answer from the jotted dates and keynotes she’d already written down. But, I just can’t seem to bring myself to care.
A job would be great, but Mom and Dad don’t believe in kids working before college. I think it’s silly. Sure, they want us to focus on school work, but the education I could get working would far outweigh any grade point average. I know they both had to work when they were my age, their families not as well-off as we seem to be. But that doesn’t mean a job is a bad thing.
And I could make enough to replace my boots. Maybe even trick them out with those cool silver chains I saw in the biker shop the day I talked Mom into buying them for me.
“Seriously, no one has the answer?” Mrs. Malcolm meets my eyes and I feel myself cringe. Fear, a faint and unhappy emotion, stirs in my stomach. Don’t draw attention to yourself. There was a time I would have pushed back and grinned in the face of such a whisper in my head. But, I catch myself looking down, shaking off her gaze even as she says my name.
It’s easy enough to suss the answer from her notes. “King Richard left for the Crusades,” I say. “Leaving his brother, Prince John, on the throne.”
“And giving rise to the Robin Hood stories.” Mrs. Malcolm sounds tired. I know how she feels. “You’ve all heard of Robin Hood?”
Crickets. Absolute and utter silence. I feel terrible for her suddenly, stirring the old Kit to action.
“He was a myth, wasn’t he?” I know he was, though highwaymen in that era were as common as rats. That’s pretty common, in case you missed your own medieval history class.
She seems a bit more relaxed, not as desperate to get our attention and I smile faintly at her before sinking down to doodle yet again.
Boots appear, filled in with black ink. My kingdom for a new pair of boots. And, as the bell rings and I rise, stuffing my books into my messenger bag, hanging back so I don’t get in anyone’s way, my courage. I’m the cowardly lion who’s lost her roar, a fraud, a faker, weak and pathetic.
Where did the Kit MacLean I love and adore go, anyway? She was murdered. I choke on that. By Tom Brown with the death of her boots.
Okay, so that makes me grin to myself a little. So melodramatic, I could try out for drama club. And, maybe I should. I know the auditions are happening next week. Might be fun for something new to do. A small warmth wakes in my heart, perking my step despite my pinched toes in my ugly brown boots.
There’s hope for me yet.
I hesitate as I turn the corner and spot Tate by my locker. She’s talking with Donnelly and she looks extremely unhappy. None of my business, none of my business, none of my—
I hate this so much I’m ready to cry. They finally walk away, going in opposite directions. It’s humiliating to duck my head to avoid her eyes as she slips past, cheeks pink with whatever emotion she’s lost in. I can’t help but catch the flicker of her gaze as it flashes to me on her way by. I turn my head, watch her go, before gulping at the blunder, immediately scurrying off so she won’t think I’m being nosy.
So Tom won’t notice. He’s made it clear to me these last few weeks even looking at Tate is worthy of his attention.
None. Of. My. Business.
My new mantra. And yet, it kills me a little inside every day, every time I see her and her unhappiness. My locker door clangs as I pull it open a little too forcefully. And cringe from the new picture plastered to the inside of it, my fresh torture. I never know when it’s going to show up, or how. As a photo, a text, a public humiliation in front of class when one of my tests was switched out for a romance novel.
Image this time. They aren’t so bad, really. They got the cat right, though they managed to photoshop my face onto the rear end of it, as though the poor kitty is passing me out of his unmentionables. My fingers rise, snatch it from the metal, crumpling the page. But not before I read the black lettering on the bottom.
Your daily reminder. In case you ever forget.
There is a tiny bit of satisfaction from crushing the page in my hand, but not enough. Still, the rage I remembered from the day I confronted Tom in the computer lab is nowhere to be found. Just a dull, uneasy feeling, wretched with failure, remains. I jam the page into my bag and trade off books before slamming the door shut again.
Home isn’t any more fulfilling as I step off the bus at the end of the day. Jimmy’s silence feels less like companionable good nature these days and more like he’s—no, don’t say it, Kit, it’s not true—ignoring me. The terrible fear maybe he’s been—stop it right now!—purposely shutting me out since we’d met crosses my mind a time or two and I struggle with tears as I stare at the toes of my scuffed boots while I close the distance over the cracked sidewalk to my front door.
***
Chapter Sixteen
Mom and Dad aren’t home yet, the twins probably loving their time at college. They have to be. Neither of them has made any attempt to reach out to me since the message they left me the first day of school. It’s been weeks alone here and I think I’m really starting to go mad.
Flinging myself on my bed does little to help, nor does studying. A quiet dinner with Mom and Dad where I mutter “I’m fine”, “it was good” and “no thank you” ends with me back in my room, closing the door behind me.
I hear them talking downstairs so I sneak my door open a bit to listen in at their low and tense tones. My socks shuffle over the hardwood as I creep out further to make out their words.
“—this would happen.” Mom sounds afraid, almost. “With the twins gone, she has no one.”
“She’s a big girl.” But Dad doesn’t sound all that convinced, either. I cup my hands over my hot cheeks as they go on below, oblivious to the fact I can hear them.
“What if she…” Mom stops, draws an audible breath. “You know what I’m talking about.”
Dad doesn’t answer right away and I catch myself rubbing at the line between my brows. What if I what?
“That was a long time ago.” His tone is soothing. I hear him moving, but into the living room, the click of the TV coming on. His voice is muffled under the cheer of the crowd watching a game show. “She’s sixteen, for goodness sakes. Give her the benefit of the doubt, Joanna.”
“She’s sixteen,” Mom says, heading up the stairs. I don’t want them to know I’ve been eavesdropping, so I duck into my room again and close the door almost all the way, pressing my ear to the crack. “Going on twelve, the same age she was when it all ended. But if we’re getting a repeat of last
time, I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
She disappears into their room at the end of the hall and I quietly close my door, turn to lean my back against it. What was that all about? I ignore the tiny ball of horror growing in my stomach as I push off and pace up and down a few steps. What were they talking about?
And should I know? Ask questions? I don’t remember anything from when I was young that might—
She’s pretty, tiny, with pale blue eyes and a smile that makes me want to smile, too—
Shudder. Whoever the girl is from my memory, I won’t think about her. Not ever again.
I have a math test tomorrow. And while I know I could write it in my sleep and still get full marks, I sit down to study. Because school, yo.
By the time the sun sets, I’m ready for some air and a chance to escape the cramped closeness of my room. Dad is still watching TV, though from the faint sound of snoring coming from his chair, he’s decided napping is a better use of his time. I don’t see Mom and can only assume she’s still upstairs.
I pause by the living room door. Should I tell him I’m going out? I let Dad sleep and slip into the kitchen, though the fear in me now feels like I’m slinking around, doing something wrong. Even though a walk to the park was a nightly ritual for me and the twins.
I shake my head at myself as I slip on my old boots and out the patio doors to the yard. It’s a short circle around the house to the street, and another two blocks to the park. It’s dark, but only early yet, really, the evening warm enough in late September it still feels like summer might come back for another visit. I cross the grass to the swings and hop on mine, the far left, turning as I do to imagine Clare and Calvin laughing and pushing each other on the remaining two.
Girl Incredible Page 7
