The Academy (The Academy Saga Book 1)

by CJ Daly

  to tuck the boys in. So I added Mama’s prayer to deliver us from evil—it

  suddenly seemed relevant tonight.

  • 7 •

  2

  Queen-B Ashley-Leigh

  When I finally closed the door to my room, I had myself convinced

  I was spooked for no reason—it was just some idiot out for a

  good time, paying no heed to the multiple No Trespassing signs

  posted around the fence. But then, what was with all the weird equipment?

  Maybe he was out surveying our land for oil? Maybe underneath the acres of

  infertile land, there was actually a fountain of oil about to spew forth, and

  we were gonna strike it rich.

  I snorted. With our luck it would most likely be buried plutonium!

  Anyhow, I had other problems to worry about, like where in the H-E-

  double-hockey-sticks was I gonna find money for new school clothes for us

  kids? I had about seventy dollars saved up from my job at the diner, enough

  to buy the boys a couple of new pairs of jeans and T-shirts. Sigh . . . We all needed new sneakers, too.

  I threw my closet door wide open, hoping to find some inspiration inside.

  Arg!—shapeless floral dresses, bell skirts, boxy Oxfords—the hangers clanged, one-by-one, as I shoved the offending garments aside. This was all I had to

  work with. All Daddy would allow me to wear. “Sister-wife” clothes my former

  best friend, Ashley-Leigh, always called them. I heaved a great sigh. Too bad

  I never took Mama up on those sewing lessons when I had the chance.

  I fell back onto my bed ready to finally allow myself to wallow in it. Lord

  knew I had a crap load of stuff to choose from. A couple of sobs broke loose.

  Why? I looked up at the rivers of cracks and water stain lakes, slowly turning my ceiling into a disaster map. Why can’t I catch just one little break? I flipped over, dragging my furry pillow over my head, ready for a good, long cry when

  I heard the shrill ringing of the phone from the kitchen.

  Wel shoot! No time to even wal ow in my own self-pity. I quickly blinked

  • 8 •

  away a couple of fat tears before Daddy could see them and count them against me: two strikes. His heavy footsteps came tromping down the hall. It

  would be Ashley-Leigh no doubt, calling to bring me her exciting day from

  the Clovis Country Club pool. Where she is the prettiest social butterfly in the bunch, I thought meanly.

  Daddy spoke through the door, heedless of sleeping boys. “Katie-girl,

  Ashley-Leigh’s on the phone for ya.”

  “Comin’, Daddy.” I wiped my nose on my sleeve and followed Daddy’s

  broad back as far as the kitchen.

  “Five minutes,” he warned, before returning to his recliner and favorite

  pastime. “I can’t hear what they’re sayin’ with all that gabbin’ girl talk goin’

  on . . . and I deserve some peace and quiet after the day I’ve had!”

  I snorted but said the requisite “yes, sir.” Then: “Hello.” My voice sounded a little thick, but she wouldn’t notice.

  “Katie!” A too bright voice boomed from the receiver. “You’ll never, ever

  guess who was at the CCC today!”

  “You’re right . . . so why don’tja just tell me.”

  “Aw, Katie. You’re no fun sometimes,” she pouted. “Go ahead . . . three

  good guesses.” While she waited for me to amuse her, she was probably posing

  for her next selfie or checking her smooth platinum hair for split ends in the

  mirror. It was Ashley-Leigh’s custom to talk and admire at the same time.

  “Hmmmmm,” I pretended to deliberate. “Kevin, Joe, and Nick?”

  “Jonas Brothers, right?” She laughed merrily. “Nope. Keep guessin’!”

  I audibly sighed, bored already.

  “Never mind,” she huffed. “I’m just gonna tell ya, since you’re obviously

  in one of your moods again tonight.”

  Gee wonder why? She never asked how I was doing, usually just calling to inform me how truly “fab” her life was. I really wasn’t much for envying

  Ashley-Leigh’s shallow existence, but I had to admit: juxtaposed next to my

  life, it sounded pretty dang great.

  “Remember that hot guy we saw at Chapa’s when me and my mom took

  you out to dinner for your birthday last year?” she asked.

  “Uh-huh,” I said noncommittally. I did vaguely remember her going on

  about something, but she usually found something or someone to go on about.

  I was still in too much of a stupor at the time to remember much of anything

  clearly. Mama’s death had still been so raw and painful.

  “Well . . . he’s baaaaaaaack!”

  “Wow. That’s uh, really . . . cool, Ash.” I tried and failed to infuse my

  tone with the right amount of enthusiasm.

  • 9 •

  “Yeah. He, like, works as a lifeguard now! Swoon!”

  That was enough to have her off and running for a while. As Ashley-Leigh

  droned on enthusiastically about the hot college guy, her accent became more

  exaggerated. She thought southern accents “drove men wild” and never failed

  to add that to her repertoire of feminine wiles. You had to give it to her—she

  was a force to be reckoned with. I pitied the poor guy she set her sights on.

  When it came to me and boys . . . well, it felt like I was mostly blind

  these days. It wasn’t always like that. I used to at least be slightly interested.

  I recalled the wild feeling of being chased by boys at recess, my ribbons

  unraveling in the wind as I nearly outran them. There had never been a

  shortage of admirers, both girls and boys, surrounding us. All that came

  screeching to a halt the day Mikey was born. Mama yanked me out of middle

  school, in the middle of seventh grade.

  I thought of the phrase I learned in last year’s Spanish class. “Como cambio el mundo, ” I muttered under my breath.

  “Say what?” her bright voice broke into my dark thoughts.

  “Uh . . . just seems like everything’s changed so much.”

  She let out a great heave of a sigh to convey how my wet-blanket mood

  was smothering her girl-crush high. “Yeah, I guess things have changed a lot,”

  she allowed, “but mostly for the good, right?”

  I guffawed into the phone.

  “Except for your mom dyin’,” she stuttered quickly. “That, like, totally

  sucked!”

  “Like, totally,” I said.

  “Oh you know what I mean, Katie. You can’t always dwell on the negative.

  You gotta focus on all the good changes in your life instead.” She sounded like a life coach I didn’t want.

  I bit anyway, grasping for straws. “Like . . . ?”

  “Like bein’ sixteen and able to car date—finally!”

  “You must be thinkin’ of someone else. Like, I’m not allowed to car date

  till I’m old enough to vote.”

  “Real y?”

  “Do you count ridin’ to church functions in mixed company datin’?”

  She laughed like I was making a joke. “Okay then . . . how ‘bout bein’

  just two years away from graduation and freedom from the iron shackles of

  your tyrantical father!”

  I laughed despite myself. “I don’t think tyrantical is a word,” I said, too

  embarrassed to cop to not leaving this place when I graduated. It was all we ever used to talk about—how we were gonna move to L.A. the day after we

  • 10 •

  graduated. While she was out living the California dream, I w
ould still be here, in a town that barely made a dot on the map, raising my little brothers.

  Leaving them alone with Daddy was tantamount to throwing them to the

  wolves. So my life was effectively over for the next . . . oh, decade or so. I

  shuttered while Ashley-Leigh continued her quest for positivity.

  “Okay, let’s see more good changes . . . hmmmmmm . . .” I hoped she

  wouldn’t short circuit on my account. “I already came up with one for ya,”

  she self-affirmed. “I bet I can think of at least two more.” Andrew and Mikey

  were just coming to mind when “Boobs!” blasted in my ear. “You finally got

  some boobs! Ha! I win! Toldja I could come up with two more!”

  I could practically see her readjusting hers so they sat up higher in her bra,

  like they were such miraculous things they needed to constantly be on display.

  “Aren’t they so much fun?”

  I looked down doubtfully at my own breasts, gently swelling out from my

  chest. “Well, just because your cup runneth over, doesn’t mean we all wanna

  get up and celebrate.”

  “Ha! I think the Wildcat football, basketball, and baseball teams would

  all beg to differ!” she positively crowed.

  She had me there, and the entire male population of Clovis High. No

  wonder she’d moved on to greener pastures— she’d already chewed up and spit out all the “worthy” boys at school.

  I’d suddenly hit my limit of Ashley-Leigh and her “feel good” perspective

  on life for the time being. “Um, Ash, thanks for the . . . er, pep talk, but I’m

  bushed. Think I’m gonna call it a day.”

  “Yeah, me too. I’m exhausted.”

  I let that one pass, inwardly rolling my eyes at what constituted exhaustive

  behavior for her. Sucking in her stomach all day at the pool?

  “What?” Ashley cut off the sniggle I’d accidentally let slip into the phone.

  “I am. Mom made me babysit Benny all afternoon, and it totally sucked!”

  I failed to remind her that I also babysat my brothers every single day on

  top of everything else I had going on. Playing Who’s-The-Most-Exhausted?

  was the one contest I would definitely win hands down. And Ashley-Leigh

  was a sore loser. And I wanted to leave on a positive note. So I just went with

  the course of action that always worked best with her—I agreed.

  “Yeah. It’s pretty sucky to spend your summer babysittin’. Speakin’ of

  which . . . I gotta do that exact thing tomorrow, and then I’m workin’ the

  late-shift at the diner, so I really gotta go. Good news about the hot lifeguard

  though,” I finished, determined to be a good sport.

  “Yeah! Totally!” she said, mollified.

  • 11 •

  I yawned into the phone. “Okay . . . let’s talk soon.”

  “Wait!” she screeched before I could hang up. “I totally forgot why I

  called.”

  “There’s more?” Usually it was just a litany of admirers, boy crushes, and

  petty rivalries she wanted to regale me with.

  “Yeah. So my mom wanted to . . .” she stalled, “I mean me and my mom

  wanted to take you out for your birthday next Saturday, like we did last

  year . . . Yunno, kinda make it a tradition.”

  I hesitated. It really burned me up when Ashley-Leigh acted like she

  was doing me a favor by hanging out with me. Actually, she really would be

  doing me a favor because I could use another life-break. But I worked every

  weekend now, and the fact was we really, truly needed the extra money (not

  that I would admit that to her).

  “Um . . .”

  “Are you, like, checkin’ your busy calendar or somethin’?” Obviously, she

  thought I should jump at the chance.

  “It’s not that. It’s just . . . I work Saturdays now,” I explained, which she’d

  know all about if we were actually still friends. “And I have to see—”

  “Perfect! You get a night off from work, get to go out with me, and a

  birthday dinner all rolled into one!” she trilled as if the matter had all been

  cleared up.

  She was clearly missing the point. “I actually have to ask not to work.

  It’s not like I can get off any ole time I want. And I just started last month

  so hate to ask off so soon. They pretty much hired me because I said I could

  work weekends.”

  Ashley-Leigh snorted rudely into the phone. “I seriously doubt that dinky

  dive has enough customers to keep one waitress busy, much less two. You

  should just quit so you can have a life again.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re quittin’?” She seemed only mildly surprised I would instantly

  follow her suggestions.

  “Okay, I’ll ask Ms. Norma for the night off,” I elaborated.

  “Well don’t do me any favors.”

  I was growing weary of this conversation. “No, Ash. I totally want to, of

  course I do. Thanks so much for askin’. Real y. ”

  “Okay then . . . it’s a date!” she exclaimed, back to her sunny self in two-

  point-two seconds flat. “I’ll tell mom. Meet at our house at 7:30 cause we have

  a little surprisey for you before we leave!”

  • 12 •

  “That’s alright, Ash. You don’t have to do that. Just a girls’ night is plenty for me.”

  I was secretly dreading the big reveal outfit I got every year on my

  birthday. It was always something wildly inappropriate, like the shimmering

  gold cocktail dress last year. Where was I gonna wear that to? Church?

  She laughed at my pitiful protests. “See ya next Saturday!”

  “Okay. Sounds good. Tell your mom—” The buzzing of the dial tone in

  my ear interrupted me.

  I exhaled. Maybe I real y do need some girl time? It would certainly be a nice change of pace, and Mrs. Montgomery was certainly gracious. I just couldn’t

  help feeling like Ashley was sometimes positively gleeful about my dive from

  the social stratosphere, not that she would ever come right out and show it. I

  was puzzled why. I certainly posed no threat to her and was happy to let her

  have the lion’s share of the spotlight she reveled in.

  And Mama made me anyway.

  “Katie!” Daddy bellowed from his recliner. “Time for bed. We gotta lotta

  work to do tomorrow,” he added, unnecessarily. I knew the drill.

  “Yes, sir.” I hopped off my stool and headed obediently to the sanctuary

  that was my bed.

  Yup. I could bear a girls’ night with Ashley-Leigh if it would mean a

  couple of hours break from the monotony that threatened to choke me daily.

  And maybe I’d be able to sneak five minutes on her laptop to email Reese.

  That thought perked me up, and I fell asleep feeling like the morning light

  might actually bring with it the possibility of something good.

  • 13 •

  3

  AT FIRST SIGHT

  I pulled off the long, flat stretch of Highway 70 and into the back alley

  of Norma’s Diner where I sputtered to a stop. Despite pulling down my

  visor and wearing sunglasses, I arrived nearly blind. Facing the beat down

  rays of the afternoon sun was becoming an occupational hazard. I blamed my

  Dollar Store glasses. And the lack of hills, trees, or buildings to help buffer the blaring sun along the way.

  It’s funny how much the heat can wear you out (but not in a ha-ha kind


  of way). I expelled some tired air from the same-ole, same-ole that was my

  life, arriving in no mood for more work but needing the dinero. Mama’s old Subaru Hatchback was due for a new transmission. Luck had been getting

  me to and from work for the last couple of weeks, but I was pretty sure it was

  getting ready to run out on me. And Daddy wasn’t likely gonna part ways

  with his precious Bronco any time soon. It wasn’t much newer, however, it

  was much cooler.

  Cooler. Sigh. I readjusted the icepack around my neck. Air conditioning

  was another thing I would have to pay for—a luxury I couldn’t afford.

  Oh wel . I had a few me-minutes before I had to go clock in and didn’t

  want to waste them dwelling on the negative . Maybe Ashley-Leigh’s pep talk

  worked? I parked in the shade of a dumpster and rolled down the window, but the stench of overflowing garbage cans immediately molested my nose. What

  did I expect? A meadow in spring?

  The back alley of Norma’s was a shantytown of cardboard boxes and

  graffiti-decorated walls. Shattered beer bottles and discarded cigarette butts

  littered the cracked pavement. Rolling the window back up, I closed my eyes

  against the mosaic of broken dreams to recreate some of my most memorable

  moments from Camp Pinewood, the best week of my life . . . since Mama

  • 14 •

  died. But arriving on time for once, Beatrice beeped in beside me, waving madly

  So much for my R&R.

  I sighed and readjusted the rearview mirror to get ready—a twenty-second

  job—then dug around in my bag for the brown tie that no longer matched my

  hair and the forgotten glasses I promised Mama I would wear. While scraping

  my hair back into a ponytail, I noticed quite a bit of the “golden” streaks from

  my summer dye-job remained. Even though I knew it was an epic fail, it was

  fun to be someone different for a while. I’d been channeling Reese, but the

  bottle-blonde had turned my chestnut hair a burnt, brassy orange.

  So much for my foray into hairdressing.

  Most of the color had washed out, thank goodness, because I looked like a

  total imposter as a blonde. I thought I’d never hear the end of it from Daddy, who claimed I looked like a “dime-store hustler” . . . Whatever that is.

  He would have grounded me for it, too, if there were actually something