Drill looks up at this, his eyes wide. “Why Evers?”
“He just . . . I can’t explain it. He and Matthews are really close. . . .” I can’t bring Bekah into this. Not yet. If Drill knew she’s dating Evers, he’d have to report it and she’d get kicked out.
Tim grabs a piece of paper, scribbling something. “Have you seen this anywhere?”
He’s drawn a picture of Evers’s tattoo. “Why?”
“Whoever screwed up your KB drew that on the last page.” He’s right, but I’d forgotten all about it. “So, recognize it?”
“Evers has a tattoo like that on his shoulder.” I flush when Drill looks at me, clearing my throat before continuing. “He likes to walk around shirtless during morning calls.”
Drill stands, pacing the floor. “Why didn’t you tell someone about this?”
“It’s a tattoo, that’s all. I never even thought about it and the drawing together. As for why didn’t I tell someone? Because I don’t know who I can trust. Because anyone could be involved. Because my own brother told me to either keep my mouth shut or go home.”
“Jonathan knew?” Tim looks like he could beat the shit out of Jonathan. “He knew and didn’t do anything about it?”
“He said he needed solid proof. All I’ve got are guesses. And, nothing’s happened. Not really . . .”
“Amos never would have dared you to do this if he had known something like this would happen,” Tim says.
“Something like what?”
But Tim’s lost in his own mind. I don’t think he hears me. “And if it did happen on his watch, you know damn well he would’ve protected you.”
Unlike Jonathan. The unspoken words hang heavy in the room.
Tim scrubs his hands across his face and lets out a frustrated sigh. “What are you guys doing today? I need to make some calls.”
“I guess I should go back to campus. . . .”
Drill looks at me, studying my face. “No. We’ll go get you some clothes, but you’re staying here until break is over.”
I don’t want to say no. “Okay. Thanks.” I try to smile at him but it sucks. The whole situation sucks. “I’ll wash your clothes and get them back to you once I get mine from campus.” I don’t want to. What I really want to do is keep his shirt since I can’t have him.
He grins, finally, taking a step toward me. “Keep ’em. They look better on you anyway.” Then he takes another step and heads into the hallway. “I’ll take a shower then we can go.”
Drill thumps up the stairs and Tim just laughs. “They look better on you?”
“Shut up,” I say and walk back in to lie on the futon, my head spinning a million different directions. Secret societies. The anniversary of Amos’s suicide. The feel of Drill’s arm across my waist last night.
I pull the blanket up over my head, sheltering myself in the dark, hoping Drill will take a long time in the shower and leave me to my angst for just a little bit.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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TWENTY-SIX
I STAY OFF CAMPUS THE REST OF BREAK, SPENDING IT FREE of anything DMA-filled, except for Drill. There’s plenty of Drill. We run every day, he lets me beat him at a video game every once in a while, and we get to know each other. Drill tells me about his family and where his parents have been stationed over the years. It’s almost normal, except for Tim’s daily report on what he’s found out about the Society, which pretty much equals nothing every day.
Christmas Day itself didn’t suck like I thought it would without Mom and Dad around. We made homemade pizza instead of roasting a chicken, and we ate ice cream out of the container instead of pie. We didn’t swap presents but we spent a lot of time talking about family, about happy memories. And for just a minute, things didn’t seem so bad.
Despite wanting to know what Kelly is up to, I stay off campus on New Year’s Eve. His involvement I’ve kept to myself. Without proof, I don’t want to betray him. Besides, with school starting back soon, I want to be focused on Drill for as long as I can.
Before the first class of the new semester, I log in to my email. There are only two I care about. Suddenly Worm outings in January don’t matter much when the Society is deciding my fate.
I click on Mom’s first—it’ll be quicker. No way would she put serious news about Dad in an email. The subject says as much.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: No news—just checking in.
Sammy,
It was good to talk to you over Christmas. I wish I could have come, but I needed to stay here. Thanks for understanding. There’s no news on Dad yet.
Focus on school, on getting through the rest of the year. I love you, baby. Talk soon, okay?
Love,
Mom
I send her a quick reply, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of my stomach. Dad’s strong, though, and fighting fit. Even if he is in trouble, he’s probably never been happier. He lives for this. And the last thing he’d want any of us to do is distract ourselves by worrying about him. He’d want me to press on, to complete the objective. And that’s what I’m going to do. For him. For me.
I save Mom’s email and click on Jax’s.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Tunnels
THERE ARE TUNNELS UNDER THE DMA. THEY MEET THERE. MORE WHEN I GET IT.
I look around, but no one is sitting close enough to read it, and thankfully Matthews doesn’t appear to be in this new class. Still, I minimize the window while the last of the cadets come in and I think of a reply. I’ve never heard about tunnels under the DMA, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. If we know where they’re meeting, maybe we can sneak in there and listen in on their plans.
Drill enters and scans the nearly full room, then sits in the chair next to me. He jerks his head up in a greeting. “McKenna.” He says it like this is an ordinary high school computer lab and we’re just ordinary kids. But it’ll never be that way.
I try to ignore the small grin he gets when he sees me here and how much I want to touch him when he’s this close. I clear my throat. “Drill Sergeant Stamm, good morning, Drill Sergeant Stamm.” He smells like aftershave and there’s a small nick on his chin. I want to ask him why he’s in a sophomore English class as a junior, but I don’t know how to walk this line. How can I ignore what happened over Christmas?
Thankfully, Professor Williams, my Military History professor from first semester, starts to speak. “Good morning, gentlemen.” He has a leather bag slung over his shoulder and is wearing an Army sweater with leather patches on the elbows. “Oh, and, uh, ladies. Lady. Please forgive me, Miss McKenna. It’s nice to see you again.”
I smile but can’t make myself answer him.
“Now, this is sophomore English,” the professor says, sounding unsure as he reads the title on a piece of paper. “And I am . . .” He reaches for the glasses stuck on top of his head and slides them down on his face as if that will help him remember. “Professor Williams.”
Some of the cadets laugh, but he’s grandfatherly, just like he was last semester, and I instantly want to come to his defense.
“Coming around now,” he says as he hands a stack of papers to the nearest cadet, “is the course syllabus. You’ll notice a large part of your grade comes from outside reading and group work.”
When I get my syllabus I scribble a note on the edge to talk to the professor about making an exception to his group work rule. I’m hoping he’ll give me permission to work by myself again.
Professor Williams continues. “You would do well to choose your groups wisely. Many cadets have failed this class due to their, um, unwise group selection.” He clears his throat, his eyes falling on Drill. A wide smile crosses his face. “A prime example sitting in the back row. Good to see you again, Mr. Stamm.�
��
“And you, Professor,” Drill says with a grin. “Listen to him, guys. He’s not wrong about the failing part.”
I glance sideways at Drill and the grin slides into a full-fledged smile, which throws me completely off-kilter. He shrugs before turning back to the front, a little bit of red coloring his cheeks.
“I’m sure you’re eager to know what we’ll be doing in here. Our focus will be on researching the DMA, looking for famous military heroes from within our ranks. We’ll write reports to publish in our very own DMA newspaper.”
The guys are mumbling to each other under their breath, none of them sounding happy about research, reading, or publishing. The perks of being in a class you’re forced to take. They should be happy it’s only a semester long.
“Now, our first assignment will be to research different branches of the military DMA grads have gone into to get an idea of the breadth of people available for us to study as the semester goes on. After some presentations, we’ll pick a direction in which we want to start off. Sound good?”
My classmates nod and grin at each other. They get to decide what they want to study? Suddenly they think they’ve got it made.
“The partners you choose for the first assignment will be the ones you’ll work with the entire semester. There will be no switching partners after today. I think most of you all know each other, and while I’m sure there will be some uneasiness regarding Miss McKenna among us, I’m sure one of you will make her feel welcome. Partner up and start brainstorming some topics.”
I hear names yelled across the room, some cadets get up and move around.
Drill speaks up after a few seconds. “McKenna’s my recruit. I’ll partner with her, Professor.”
Spending hours researching and writing a paper with him? Late nights where we’re actually allowed to be together? I bite the inside of my lip to keep myself from smiling.
“How chivalrous of you, Mr. Stamm.” Professor Williams sounds like he means it, and I like him even more. He’s been here for years—he must know how hard it would be for Drill to stand up to them and work with me.
A cadet in front of us snorts, nudging the guy next to him. He holds his hands in front of his face, moving them like he’s groping an imaginary girl. “Chivalrous, my ass!” They both erupt in laughter.
Drill grins, though it looks like he’s plastering it on his face for show. He lifts his head in acknowledgment. Even though I know he’s playing it up for them, it still hurts.
Campus seems different at night, with no one out here to scream at me for not keeping my eyes straight ahead. Pulling the hood of my PT sweatshirt up to block the bite of January, I glance around, sticking to the gutters just in case anyone notices me. Only a few cadets walk around campus at this time of night, but most are heading back to the barracks, not toward the armory.
I shouldn’t be out past curfew, but Katie promised not to tell anyone where I’m headed. Remedial PT is useless and I’ve got to do something to stay fit or this year is just going to get worse. I’ve got to show them I’m tough—that I can do whatever the DMA throws at me. It might require a lack of sleep, but at this point, I’ve got to focus on something other than the Society or I’m going to go crazy.
I’m almost to the safety of the armory when I hear a voice behind me.
“McKenna?” Drill’s voice comes from only a few steps back, but I hadn’t heard him at all.
I stop, coming to attention. “Drill Sergeant Stamm, yes, Drill Sergeant Stamm.” I don’t want to wake anyone up, so I speak quietly. We still haven’t figured out a balance between what we had over Christmas and how we’re supposed to be here. The air between us is thick with longing, with something we aren’t allowed to be.
“What are you doing?” He sounds more concerned than upset. “Are you okay?”
“Drill Sergeant Stamm, this recruit is heading for the armory, Drill Sergeant Stamm.” My eyes scan the darkness behind him. I don’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t people watching.
He raises his eyes. “What? Now?”
“Drill Sergeant Stamm, this recruit couldn’t sleep. This recruit wanted to get some weights in, Drill Sergeant Stamm.” I feel stupid, talking this way, especially to him. Heat burns my face. I should have just stayed in my room and done sit-ups.
“I was on my way to the weight room, anyway. Come on.” He starts walking and I hurry to keep up. “You shouldn’t be walking out here alone, though. Next time, just ask.” When we reach the armory, he opens the door and shoos me in before him. “After you.”
“Thanks.” I bite my lip as I pass, keeping my eyes on the armory floor. Only the emergency lights are on and the polished floor shimmers with the reflection. I’m hoping it hides the red in my face like it’s hiding the dirt that must be all over in here.
Huff stands by a basketball hoop, lobbing a ball up and missing spectacularly. “There you are, Stamm,” he yells, grabbing the ball and passing it to Drill. “Hey, McKenna,” he adds, a huge smile on his face.
I grin but don’t say anything, glancing at Drill and waiting for him to tell me I need to go back to the barracks but he just lobs the ball back through the air to Huff. “Don’t worry. You can be at ease if it’s just the three of us. This shitbag’s not going to rat you out.” Huff tosses the ball back and Drill catches it easily. “Mac’s going to lift with us.” It’s not a question. He rolls the basketball against the wall and heads across the court to the weight room. “Huff made a New Year’s resolution.” He punches Huff on the shoulder. “Ready to lose some of your shitbag status?”
“I didn’t make it of my own free will,” he grumbles, but gives me a grin. They head straight to the bench press—typical males—and I go across the room, starting with some lat pull-downs. I watch Drill from across the room, stern but patient as he coaches Huff on proper bench press technique. He’s calm, relaxed, the version of Drill I saw at Christmas. The one who almost kissed me.
I shake my head to clear it, to keep my thoughts away from his lips and the electricity that flows through me, charging me with energy and confidence whenever he touches me. I’m on my second set before Huff has even done five reps on the bench.
“Come on, Huff,” Drill yells, using his drill sergeant voice. “You can do better than that. Stop slacking.”
“God, chill out, man. I’m not one of your recruits.” He’s laughing, though, so he’s not too pissed. “Why do you think I’m making you do this with me in the middle of the night? If anyone knew I was actually trying to get a little better, they’d laugh me out of here. Besides, I like my remedial PT.”
Drill helps him put the bar back in the holder. “You’ve got fifteen seconds. Then we’re doing it again.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.” Huff sits up and turns, searching the room for me. “Mac, how the hell do you put up with this shit? He’s like a freaking drill sergeant or something.”
I laugh, the weights clanking down as I finish my set.
“Time’s up,” Drill growls, trying to sound tough. He’s standing up by Huff’s head, arms out in a spotting stance, ready to catch the weight if it’s too much for Huff. “Lie down and give me eight more.”
Huff leans back, grumbling about his taskmaster, but picks up the weight and begins. Drill talks to him about what he needs to start eating as I make my way around the room, working two more machines before Huff’s done with his third set.
“It’s been nice having you guys in PT with me, Mac. I enjoy looking good for the ladies,” Huff chimes in between labored inhalations.
My smile’s gone in a second and I lower the weights I’ve been using to work my quads, pumping through a fury-filled extra set. “Yeah, well, it’s not by choice.”
Even though he’s still holding Huff’s weight bar, Drill looks over at me. “I’m sorry, Mac. My hands are tied. Corporals are in charge of their recruits’ fitness.”
“Isn’t there an SOP for changing back? Say I want to get back into Corps PT. How would I
do that?” I push with all my might, attacking the weights since I can’t hurt Matthews.
“The recruit would go to their corporal and request a change. You’d have to take a PT test and score within a certain range to be able to move.”
I stand, legs shaky after too much work, and walk over to them. Huff’s raising his arms above his head to stretch them. He’s breathing hard and I almost feel bad for him. “And if the corporal won’t listen or won’t let a recruit test?” Matthews had demoted me to remedial PT. I’m guessing he won’t want me moving out anytime soon.
Drill huffs out a burst of air. He knows I’m right. “Then I guess you’d come to me.”
I nod toward the bench press. “Can I work in?”
Drill raises his eyebrows and takes a step back. “Sure.”
It’s hard to keep the grin from my face, knowing I’ve impressed him with my weight room terminology. Amos and I used to work out all the time before he was deployed so I know my way around. I grab two tens and two fives, adding them to Huff’s one hundred-five pounds. I also know when I’m overdoing it. I’ve never benched this much but I was gearing up for it at the end of the summer. Being in here with Drill and Huff is almost like being at home with Jonathan and Amos. I was always doing stupid things to push myself and impress them. And here I go again.
Huff whistles. “You’re way past me, Mac.” He raises his hand and heads to the treadmill.
I ignore Huff’s comment. I’m too focused on the weight I’m determined to push. Lying down on the bench, I slide up so my head is directly under the bar.
“I’ll spot you.” Drill stands above me, looking down, his hands under the bar but not touching it.
I blow air into my hands and rub them together, drying them off so my grip is sure. Gritting my teeth, I hold the bar, lifting it just a fraction and letting my muscles settle into the familiar pain. When I grunt with the unaccustomed weight, Drill moves to grab the bar. “No.” I grimace.
Rites of Passage Page 20
