The Academy (The Academy Saga Book 1)

by CJ Daly

loosely over my breasts, exposing just enough cleavage to be flattering but not

  overtly sexy. It was nothing like what spilled out of Ashley-Leigh—she was

  pouring out of both ends.

  Just then she popped her sunny head back in, holding up a pair of nude

  heels for me to try on. Warmth flooded my face at my unkind thoughts. At

  least she owned it and flaunted what she had with pride, I mentally defended her as she unabashedly bent over to strap me into pleather stumbling blocks.

  “Um . . . Ash. That’s really sweet, but I don’t think it’s gonna work,” I

  said at the same time she growled in frustration.

  “God, Katie! How tall are you now? . . . And your foot is huge!” she

  accused me as if I had something to do with it.

  “I only look so much taller now cause I’m wearin’ stilts,” I said, feeling

  like an Amazon.

  She caught my face. “No, it’s not that. You look good . . . nice and skinny

  with long legs. You’re lucky—I have to work out all the time to look like this,

  and you don’t have to do nothin’,” she grumbled. “’Snot fair!”

  My eyebrows lifted at her skewed perspective, but I remained silent.

  “Well, you’re just gonna have to wear your boots,” she stated the obvious.

  I was secretly relieved—at least my ankles would be covered tonight. I

  stomped back into my old trustees. “All ready.”

  “Wait!” she screeched. A jingling arm barred my exit. “Don’tja wanna

  • 55 •

  wear some make-up?” I made a face. “Aw, come on! It’s your seventeenth birthday for cryin’ out loud!”

  The correct answer to her question was obviously heck yeah! But I wasn’t

  allowed to wear it and really didn’t want to anyway. I looked doubtfully at

  her rendition of a smoky eye—that looked like a lot of work to do and undo.

  “Um, maybe just some mascara?” I compromised. She looked on the verge

  of a hissy, so I quickly explained, “It’s just . . . Daddy will notice anything else, and I won’t have time to come back and wash it off before curfew.”

  To my surprise, she handed over a slick black tube without further

  comment. As I applied a couple of quick coats, eagle eyes appraised my wand

  technique. I was so busy watching her watching me that I didn’t really notice

  the full effect until I stepped back.

  “Wow!” her outlined lips mimicked my thoughts exactly.

  Are these real y all of my lashes? I blushed and looked down at my familiar boots, secretly both shocked and pleased by my appearance.

  “Okay. Now for the piece de la resistance,” she butchered the French phrase cheerily, coming at my face with a sticky wand of what felt like strawberry

  glue. “Just a bit of shine, and we’re all done.”

  She took a moment to look me over, admiring her handiwork. That’s

  when I noticed her face fall, almost imperceptibly. Something flickered in her

  eyes that she tried to hide. Her smile slipped a bit before she could catch it. I

  smiled warmly at her, trying to re-fan the flames of our fledgling friendship.

  Fortunately, Ashley-Leigh was a pro so she snapped out of it, curling her lips

  back into a bright smile.

  “You see, Katie,” she chirped waspishly. “Now you look like you actually

  belong in high school instead of a commune!”

  My own smile slipped away. Another awkward pause ensued while she

  tried to laugh off the insult. Alrighty then . . . female-bonding time over. Looked like she’d already stepped back into her mean-girl shoes.

  “So long as I don’t look like I belong on a street corner,” I said, going for

  glib but managing to sound like a goob instead. She shot back with a loud

  “mee-ow” and mock scratched at me with her metallic claws.

  Disgusted with myself for sounding like a prude, I stomped downstairs,

  feeling like fun evaporated the moment I touched it. I was so occupied with

  my fuming that I almost ran into Mrs. M waiting for us at the foot of the

  stairs, camera loaded. She wolf-whistled at me and Ashley-Leigh, who was

  right on my heels.

  “Don’t you two girls look gorgeous!” she exclaimed, oblivious to the

  tension in the air.

  • 56 •

  “Thank you,” I said, not quite meeting her eyes.

  “Thanks, mom!” Ashley-Leigh did a little twirl and hip bumped me into

  the banister. Obviously she was over our little tiff, or else wouldn’t allow her

  good mood to be hampered by little ole me. She even linked her arm in mine

  before proceeding to march me out the door. “Let’s get goin’ while the gettin’s

  still good!”

  “Not so fast girls. I wanna take a few pictures first.”

  “Not now, Mom . . . we’re already runnin’ late.” Ashley shot me a pointed

  look. “’Sides, we got our phones. Let’s just take some there—that way we can

  post one with everybody.”

  “Ashley-Leigh, it’s not every day a girl turns seventeen. Now you can spare

  a couple more minutes.” Ashley started to protest again, but Mrs. M cut her

  off. “What’s gotten into you? . . . I’ve never heard you complain about being

  the subject of a photo before.” She winked at me. “Remember when you two

  girls wanted to move to Paris to be models?” she reminisced as she posed us

  like mannequins. We stiffly put an arm around each other, neither of our

  hearts quite into it.

  I did vaguely remember that was one of Ashley-Leigh’s many grand

  schemes. I was to go along as her manager, though I didn’t bring it up.

  “Too bad you didn’t keep growin’ like Katie here.” She snapped a couple

  of pictures still reminiscing about our long-forgotten plans. “You two could’ve

  been roomies!”

  “Mom! That was like a million years ago . . . ‘sides, models’ careers are

  short. I’m in it for the long haul, so I’m gonna be an actress now.” Ashley-Leigh

  said this as matter-of-factly as ‘I’m going to be a redhead now,’ and it was as

  easy as a visit to the hairdresser.

  The sky had turned dusky with twilight, so Mrs. M turned on the flash

  and blinded us with a couple more pictures. My eyes are super-sensitive to

  light, so I was only able to see stars for a few seconds. Ashley-Leigh took

  advantage of the break, bounding out the door, cell phone already up to

  her ear.

  Mrs. M sighed at the sight of her daughter’s sudden exit stage right and

  came over to place an arm around my shoulders. “You okay, Katie?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I furiously blinked back tears. “The flash seems to have

  got me.”

  “Oh, sweetheart!” she clucked. “I know it’s been hard for you—no girl

  should have to go through her teenage years without her mother.” She brushed

  the tears from the corners of my eyes. “I want you to know that I’m here for

  you anytime you need me.”

  • 57 •

  I appreciated the sentiment, I truly did. It was just that she was as different from my mother as night is from day. And I didn’t want some manicured,

  Victoria Secret-wearing mom who wanted to be my best friend. I wanted my

  real mother like I wanted to breathe air, after holding my breath for as long

  as I could. I dubiously eyed the cleavage I was being smooshed into as she

  rocked me back and forth. I was clearing my throat, unsure how to extricate


  myself gracefully, when a sharp honk intervened on my behalf. At least the

  girl had good timing.

  “Mom! Cut the sentimental crap—we’re missin’ all the fun!” Ashley-

  Leigh called from a slit in the window.

  Mrs. M and I chuckled together gently at her daughter’s expense and

  proceeded to the car. “Just a minute.” I broke away. “I just remembered I

  brought some heirloom tomatoes for y’all. I’ ll just go get them.”

  Another sharp honk hit my back as I hustled to the hatchback, followed

  by the mechanical buzz of a window going down. “Katie, just ride with mom.

  I’m goin’ on to get a table for everyone,” she announced, backing out of the

  driveway before squealing down the street.

  “Okay . . .” I trailed off with a half wave.

  Mrs. M came up and put her arm around me again, and I didn’t mind so

  much now. “She’s just bein’ an impatient teenager. Don’t pay any attention

  to her—not every teenager is as mature as you.”

  “That’s alright. I don’t mind. I’m sorry I was late. Daddy—” What could

  I say? “I know, honey. I know.” She accepted the grocery sack of tomatoes

  from me and peered inside. “Thanks, sweetie. These will be just super in our

  salads. I always did envy Lara her green thumb—looks like she passed the

  gene onto you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling the kind of pleased that glowed skin.

  “You really do remind me so much of her.”

  I couldn’t answer right away because my throat ached with longing. “We’d

  better get goin’ before Ashley-Leigh disowns us both,” I finally said, making

  a stab at humor.

  “Yes! And enough of this sentimental crap—let’s have fun, party, and get

  down tonight!” Mrs. M danced off to her suburban with her mini Coach bag

  and sparkly key chain, and I tromped after her, feeling distinctly like a fish

  out of water.

  • 58 •

  6

  ALL THE COOL KIDS

  Radio blaring, we rolled up to what was considered the hippest

  restaurant in town, Chapa’s Sports Grill. I couldn’t help compare

  it to Norma’s crowd. The cars here were . . . well, mostly cars and

  not semi-trucks for one. The trucks that were here were newish and freshly

  washed. The lot was packed with the well-heeled citizens of Clovis out in their

  Saturday-night-best—casual with mall name brands flashing. Recognizing

  several kids from school, I cringed. I’d been so preoccupied with thoughts

  of my mother that I totally forgot what I was wearing for half a second. And

  now it was time to get out.

  “We’re here!” Mrs. M trilled, waving at familiar faces coming to-and-fro.

  “We are,” I confirmed, also giving a half-wave to one of Ashley-Leigh’s

  friends. My stomach clenched when I saw her do a double-take.

  Mrs. M’s door opened, and the ping, ping, ping of the car’s electrical

  system signaled it was time for me to get out. Ready or not here I come . . . I heaved myself against the door with unnecessary force and almost fell onto

  the asphalt.

  “Oh honey! Are you all right?” Mrs. M click-clacked over to assist me,

  but I’d only hurt my pride. I was being uncharacteristically clumsy—a sure

  sign of nerves. I needed to get a grip. This was perfectly normal attire, I told

  myself. No one’s even going to notice you.

  “I’m fine.” I gave Mrs. M a weak smile and gave up on my fight against

  fidgeting to tug on the back of my shorts.

  She smiled warmly. “You look beautiful, darling.”

  “Thanks,” I replied doubtfully. “So do you.”

  She beamed in response, doing a little twirl. “Katie Lee, I fully expect to

  see more of you from now on.”

  • 59 •

  “Everyone’s gonna fully see a lot more of me tonight!” I muttered.

  Mrs. M laughed and put an arm around my waist. “Katie, you’re only

  seventeen one time. I highly suggest you try to enjoy yourself tonight . . . and

  if anyone can pull this look off my dear, it’s you.”

  With that, we paraded through the parking lot to a chorus of greetings

  from the long list of Montgomery friends and acquaintances. I thought I saw

  a few of the grown-ups look askance at my outfit, and Meagan Banks and

  Halie Gomez giggled behind my back as I slunk past. Despite my lack of

  clothes, I felt myself grow hot and was sure even the backs of my legs were

  turning pink by this point. I just wanted to get in and sit down so I could at

  least hide them under the table.

  As soon as we walked in, Ashley-Leigh waved us over from amongst a

  gaggle of girls. They all looked up at once and then down as if on cue, tittering

  loudly together like blackbirds on a wire.

  “I got us a table, even though the wait’s over forty-five minutes!” Ashley

  boasted above the din. “. . . ’sall about who ya know.” After a zigzag finger

  snap, she turned back to gossiping with her minions, leaving me standing

  there, listening to the buzz of excitement surrounding me.

  So this is what the gang does on a Friday night? I observed that several girls were dressed similarly, but nonetheless, most were eyeing me and my outfit

  and elbowing each other. One by one the group gave me the once over, and

  I soon found myself on the receiving end of several digs masquerading as

  compliments.

  “I know, right?” Ashley-Leigh cut in as a girl she cheered with commented

  on how “different I looked tonight”—a left-handed compliment, if I’d ever

  heard one. “I picked it out for her. You shoulda seen what she was wearing earlier”—like I wasn’t standing right there. “It’s her birthday tonight,” she

  announced, as if to some unasked question. A long trail of “Happy Birthdays”

  enveloped me right on cue, followed by a lot of enthusiastic compliments on

  the outfit. “Yeah, me and my mom buy her an outfit and take her out for her

  birthday every year!”

  Ashley’s bright smile was no match for my face, and I felt every bit the

  charity case as everyone pitched in a comment about how nice that was for

  them to do that. I was grateful when the conversation quickly spun back to

  the main topic—something about a new boy registering for school as a senior,

  out-of-the-blue, and how unbelievably gorgeous he was. I really couldn’t

  follow much of it through my haze of embarrassment and general disinterest.

  A group of senior guys, who were piling up on each other on their way out

  the door, nudged and nodded my way. I pretended not to notice. Thankfully,

  • 60 •

  Mrs. M returned from her girls’ chat with one of the cheer moms, and we were finally ready to sit down.

  “You girls go on and enjoy yourselves,” she said. “Ms. Rachel and I are

  going back to her house. The menfolk have taken it upon themselves to grill

  steaks tonight, so we get to sit back and watch them work for once.” Mrs.

  M winked at me. “Happy Birthday, sweet Kate. . . . . Remember, you only

  live once.” With that sage advice and a quick hug, she headed out the door,

  probably thinking she was doing me a favor. But it felt like my one ally just

  abandoned me.

  “That’s right! YOLO, baby!” Ashley-Leigh high-fived randomly as she

  parted th
e crowd, leading the way through the packed restaurant to our table.

  With several chairs crowded around it.

  What happened to our party of three? I sidled in next to a girl I hadn’t

  spoken to since seventh grade. Whew! I was relieved to finally be seated and quickly spread a cloth napkin over my lap. “Do you mind if I sit here?” I

  inquired politely.

  My icebreaker must not have gone over so well, because she looked at me

  like I was crazy. “It’s your birthday—do whatever you want,” she replied, then

  promptly hair-whipped me to talk animatedly to Stephanie Aguilar.

  Wow. Way to turn on the charm there, Kate . . . I must be rustier at this

  socialization thing than I thought.

  Actually, I was sort of surprised by the thread of hostility running

  through the group tonight. Usually everyone was pretty nice to me, despite

  my anti-social behavior, leftover remnants of friendships past or else feelings

  of sympathy for my tragic life. Tonight, it was like the polite veneer had

  worn off, and I was fair game all of a sudden. I guessed everyone’s attitudes

  had something to do with me showing up with Ashley-Leigh’s mom. They

  probably thought we were rekindling our friendship and would be back to

  being besties like we’d been up through middle school. Everyone was acting

  like I was out to knock her down a notch from the social rung that dominated

  high school. But I couldn’t care less about social status when I had to care

  about so many other things—like surviving.

  A sudden eruption of laughter roused me from my thoughts, and I found

  myself laughing along, a beat too late. Ashley-Leigh had just ordered up a

  “Skinny Bitch.” Apparently, it was funny enough to warrant hysterics. When

  it was my turn to order, I surprised myself by saying Arnold Palmer. A few

  polite giggles began because everyone was in the mood to laugh, but they soon

  stalled out when I explained that it was just half-tea, half-lemonade.

  • 61 •

  Ashley-Leigh commented, “Why didn’t you just say that in the first

  place?”

  Embarrassed, I wondered why I did do that? Thankfully, the focus

  returned to Ashley-Leigh, who was asking Meagan detailed questions about

  the new boy. Everyone leaned in, clearly enthralled with the idea of fresh meat

  to compete over.

  “He was beyond gorge!” Meagan gushed, happy to have the dish on the