The Academy (The Academy Saga Book 1)

by CJ Daly

  Pete chuckled at my honesty. “I’m not as scary as I look,” he said, taking

  my elbow and steering me toward the door. A jolt of electricity ran from my

  arm to my heart, shocking me with joy. “I blame it on the black eye.” He

  slanted a rakish brow my way.

  I colored hotly but managed a slip of a smile. “Yeah, well, that might have

  somethin’ to do with it.”

  As we talked our way to the parking lot, silhouettes of color (I tried to

  ignore) stared at us. This was a feat way easier to do than I would’ve thought

  because I was so caught up in our conversation. It’s like we were in our

  own little world . . . until we reached his Hummer. There, parked boldly

  beside him, was the same convertible as yesterday, stuffed to the brim with

  glossy-lipped girls caught gaping at us as we approached. I saw a series of

  “OMGs” mouthed, followed by an “I don’t believe it!” from the one and only

  Ashley-Leigh.

  I hunched in a little on myself as Pete opened the passenger door and

  helped me in. Then he walked, whistling, to the driver’s side door where the

  girls were parked.

  “Afternoon ladies,” he greeted, before hopping in and shutting the door

  in their collective face. Unconcerned with the amount of fanfare next door,

  Pete continued whistling away as he tossed his wallet and cell phone onto the

  console. He threw on the same aviators from yesterday, fired up the engine,

  and turned to me. “How much time do we have for lunch again?”

  “Um . . . about forty minutes give or take.”

  He was staring, so I moved my eyes along to the carload of disgruntled

  females driving off, furiously gossiping about me no doubt. I raised my hand

  in a small wave I knew wouldn’t be returned. Ashley-Leigh’s big ole stink-eye

  out the passenger window was the last thing I saw before facing him again.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Friends of yours?”

  I puffed out some air. “More like frenemies.”

  “I think I have a couple of those,” Pete said with a chuckle before throwing

  the truck into gear and pulling out. “I like this open-campus thing. We don’t

  really get to leave campus at my school.”

  I realized he opened up about his academy for the first time, but instead

  of jumping on it, I just kind of nodded absentmindedly, not wanting to spoil

  the mood with deep questions right now. I just wanted to relax and enjoy his

  company. A wormy feeling of guilt let me know how much that was working

  against my cause.

  • 152 •

  “Do you mind if I roll down the windows?” he asked.

  “Not at all.” I wanted the same thing—to feel the wind in my hair, the

  sun on my arms. A deep breath in of fresh air . . . and the pressures began to

  melt away.

  It was a beautiful day, not too hot yet with a bright blue, welcoming sky.

  He pulled out of the parking lot going left while everyone else went right

  towards the main drag, where the majority of the fast food restaurants were

  located. I idly wondered where we were going but didn’t bother asking. A part

  of me (bigger than was healthy) wanted him to just keep on driving forever.

  Happiness bubbled up inside me like the first day of spring after a long, hard

  winter.

  An unconscious tug must’ve been curving my lips because he said, “You

  seem like you’re in a good mood today.”

  I simply smiled back lazily, enjoying the feel of the thrumming engine

  beneath me and the rich smell of leather seats. I leaned my head on my hand

  and propped it on the open window, letting the breeze carry away my hair

  and my cares.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said, turning on the stereo to an

  appropriately upbeat song.

  I mumbled something unintelligible and closed my eyes. Sleep had been

  elusive lately, and I basked in the luxurious, carefree moment.

  Is it that obvious I’m happy? Maybe the French only got it half right: They say one can’t cover a cough or love. Might happiness be just as transparent? It

  was an alluring feeling, one I hadn’t felt in a long time. And even though it was

  encased in an artificial bubble of fantasy with a ticking time bomb attached, I

  was still determined to enjoy it—if only for the few minutes left of this drive.

  I was thoroughly enjoying my peaceful ride with the extremely handsome

  boy wonder (whom I still had a hard time believing was really enrolled in

  our high school) when I heard tires crunch gravel before slowing to a stop. I

  expected the butterflies to churn, but they mysteriously stayed away. Pete had

  managed, somehow, to put me at ease—another skill in his arsenal, I noted.

  I took another deep breath, not quite curious enough about where we were to

  open my eyes and break the spell. I could feel his eyes on me, but he remained

  silent. The quiet enveloped us in a warm cocoon of camaraderie that only

  enhanced the feeling of fantasy.

  “Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.” He broke the silence again, and my

  eyes popped open just long enough to roll them at him for such a cheesy line,

  but I couldn’t prevent the upward tilt of my lips. He laughed. “Well, it the

  slipper fits . . . or I guess I should say boot in this case.”

  • 153 •

  After getting out and retrieving a cooler from the back, he came around to get my door. I unbuckled my seatbelt to hop down, unassisted. The benign

  sun from a moment ago now blinded me, so I threw a hand-visor up, taking

  in the little park area that would be our lunch spot. Huh. A picnic?

  “Do you need sunglasses?” He offered me his while I pretended not to

  squint.

  “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? I have an extra pair in the truck.”

  “I’m sure,” I replied, stomping my way to the graffiti-decorated picnic

  tables near the playground.

  Of course he has an extra pair, Boy Scout that he is. So wished my sunglasses weren’t among the casualties that fell out of my purse the other night . . . when

  I was running from them. My watery eyes cut to the cheerful cadet swinging

  a cooler and whistling while he strolled blithely along with his fancy aviators

  on. Ugh! I started to plop onto a scarred bench when he caught my arm. I

  wrenched away, an overreaction that just as quickly embarrassed me because

  he immediately held up his free hand, like in surrender.

  “Hey—I just wanted to see if you wanted to sit over there instead.” He

  nodded towards a patch of shade between two trees near the basketball court.

  “Um . . .” I did a little hmm-hmm. “Okay.”

  Following after him, I found myself noticing how his low-slung jeans fit

  his body the exact way it should—loosely at the hips and waist but snug in

  all the right places. Then quickly averted my eyes to a safer place, grateful to

  the sun for being a reliable alibi for my red face. Instead, I marveled at how

  his hair shimmered in the light and thought about how much money girls

  paid to get their hair to look half as good. We arrived at the picnic spot, and

  Pete spread out a plaid blanket he’d thoughtfully brought along on the sparse

  dry grass.

  “Can I do anything to help?” I offered while fervently hoping fried chicken


  wasn’t on the menu. “I could’ve brought somethin’, if I’d’ve known we were

  havin’ a picnic.”

  He gave me another heart-breaking smile. “Nope. Just sit back and take a

  load off,” he commanded while unpacking glass containers of food.

  I thought that was mildly weird because I lived in the land of Tupperware.

  I made no comment—our worlds were sure to collide in more ways than one.

  I was reminded of our Spanish II book cover, Dos Mundos—Two Worlds.

  While Pete laid out our lunch in a remarkably efficient way, he talked

  nonstop about nonsensical things. And as he worked, I noticed every little

  detail about him, from the deft movements he made, to certain idiosyncrasies

  • 154 •

  I’d already memorized: how he always placed his cell phone and keys together like they were best friends, the way he constantly brushed his hair back as

  though unused to it being in the way, how one eyebrow would arch when he

  wanted to make a particular point, and how, when he thought something was

  really funny, he threw his head back and laughed out loud.

  Oh man . . . I’m gettin’ it bad.

  I snapped out of it because he just said something that needed a response:

  “Hope you like PB&J.”

  “Yeah.” I was surprised by his choice. “Actually, it’s one of my favorites.”

  “Good,” he grinned down at me wolfishly, “I aim to please.” He offered

  up his half of a very large sandwich in a sort of cheers gesture.

  “Buen probecho,” I said, bumping my half against his.

  “Buen probecho,” he echoed before digging in.

  After a few moments of chewing our grainy sandwiches in companionable

  silence, I felt myself go tongue-tied. Where should I begin? The questions were sticking in the back of my throat with the peanut butter. Awkwardly, I groped

  for the silver thermos and tipped it back to drink the ice-cold mystery inside.

  A laugh gurgled out, as the familiar flavor hit the back of my throat.

  He squinted at me through one eye—a new expression. “What’s so

  funny?”

  “Milk?”

  “Yeah, milk. Can you think of anything else that goes better with a

  peanut butter sandwich?

  I laughed again. “No, not really. It’s just . . . not what I expected.”

  He laughed a little too, reaching for a grape. “What did you expect?”

  I watched as he threw it up and caught it in his mouth. The coordinated

  movement reminded me of Andrew. It was disconcerting to watch the

  similarities and realize my little brother might actually belong to his elite world.

  I laughed hollowly, trying to shake off the feeling to answer his question.

  “I dunno, maybe something a little more conventional, like ham and

  cheese.”

  Pete stopped chewing and looked at me for a second. “Did you prefer

  ham and cheese?”

  Maybe it was the way he phrased it, or I was already on the defensive

  again, but suddenly my intuition was telling me he knew going into this I

  didn’t eat meat. Reality crawled back in, unwelcome as an ant at our picnic

  lunch. Has he been spying on me? He watched my face, trying to decipher why the easy smile from a moment ago was having trouble staying put.

  “No. It’s just . . . I thought a manly-man like you would prefer meat,” I

  • 155 •

  said, trying a better facsimile of a smile. I was still hoping to pump him for info and didn’t want him to know my antennae were up. Then I remembered

  at the restaurant he’d only ordered whole-wheat toast. Could the explanation be as simple as he was a vegetarian, too? Was I making a mountain out of a molehil ?

  “Are you trying to imply a real man can’t enjoy a good PB&J?”

  I forced a laugh. “No. But . . . are you a vegetarian?”

  “Not exactly,” he said not elaborating.

  “It’s just . . . well, I could’ve had a peanut allergy or somethin’,” I

  prodded some more. “You never know these days. Peanut butter can be risky

  business . . . and you don’t really strike me as the careless type.” I searched

  his face for answers.

  His expression remained loose, but his jaw tightened. “Looks like you

  have me all figured out,” he said with an edge to his voice I’d never heard

  toward me before. It stung. More than I cared to admit.

  He put down his half-eaten sandwich. I dropped the carrot stick I was

  no longer going to eat.

  “Likewise. . . . It just so happens, PB&J is one of my favorite things

  because I am a vegetarian.” I leaned forward to meet his gaze head on. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  Pete laughed what should’ve been a very persuasive laugh. “Relax, Kate.

  Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid?”

  Blood gushed to my face. Gah! I really hated that—when guys tell you

  to relax. That’s about the time you shouldn’t relax, I’d found out. Didn’t that ape Ron Tillman just tell me that exact thing Saturday night, after putting his

  hands all over me? And Pete said it like I was acting hysterical or something. I

  heard him telling Ranger this mission would be as easy as taking candy from a baby, right after they’d abducted me in the middle of the night. And now

  he just happened to be Andrew’s “mentor” and was testing him to have him

  shipped away to some super-secret boarding school nobody’s ever heard of.

  And he had the nerve to tell me to . . .

  “Relax?” I guttered the word. “How dare you tell me that when you’ve

  been followin’ me around spyin’ on me! . . . And I demand to know why

  right now!”

  I was seething. How could I keep fal ing for his phony charm time and

  time again? He was part of the enemy that was after my gifted brother! I was reminded, with a harsh pang, why he was sitting here with me—silly country girl falling for the charming prince. But instead of us riding away into the

  sunset together, he rides away with the real prize—Andrew.

  Unable to sit in his deceitful presence any longer, I trembled to my feet.

  • 156 •

  He rose to his knees pleading, but also like if he needed to spring quickly to grab me, he could.

  “Whoa! Hold on a minute, Kate. I don’t know what’s going on here all of

  a sudden, but I can explain everything. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to

  have lunch with you today.”

  “Fine. Explain yourself. Startin’ with why you were followin’ me the night

  of my birthday.”

  “That was your birthday?” he said, with what I thought was a little bit too

  much surprise sprinkled in. “Happy belated birthday!” Pete smiled his most

  charming smile, and usually it was enough to make my heart go pitter-patter.

  Now it just stopped cold in my chest like a stone.

  “Why were you followin’ me, Pete?”

  He sighed, stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels.

  “We actually weren’t following you per se,” he hedged. “We saw a girl—you,”

  he indicated me with his chin, “walking the drag. We saw you cut across the

  waiting cars at the stoplight, and . . . I don’t know if you know this or not,

  but a carload of guys made a U-turn when you started down the side street.

  We believed their intention was to follow you.”

  He peeked through his lashes to see how his little story was going down.

  I just stood there, a wall o
f skepticism.

  “And concluded they were up to no good—a car load of dudes turning

  around to follow a girl, wearing . . .”—he looked at me with chastising eyes—

  “that outfit, walking alone down a dark street at night. That was something we could not ignore, so we followed you for a while to make sure you were

  okay, never realizing you were the same girl from the restaurant.”

  “So, you’re sayin’ it was just a coincidence? ”

  He laughed a little at my expression. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.

  It was a coincidence—they do happen in real life, you know.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “I don’t believe you.”

  He laughed again. “I didn’t really expect you to, you stubborn girl. But

  I’m not sure why not.”

  I found myself surrendering again to his good looks and charm so closed

  my eyes against him. “What were y’all even doin’ there in the first place? And

  don’t tell me out cruisin’ the drag, cause I don’t buy it.”

  He sighed as if debating, eyed my determined face to determine what he

  could get away with leaving out—nothing.

  “We had a meeting with your father earlier,” he admitted. I stiffened

  instantly, so he explained, “We’re ambassadors for The Academy, so we met

  with him to introduce ourselves and go over how the program works.”

  • 157 •

  I turned to face the empty playground. “Kate . . .” Pete stepped behind me and began to rub little circles on my shoulders, melting my resolve to hate

  him. “Have you ever felt like you were meant to do something?” I shrugged.

  “Like you were meant to be somewhere at a specific time to do something?”

  Silence was my answer, but he had my attention. As if sensing this, he

  turned me back around. “I think most of the time life is just a series of random

  occurrences. But every-once-in-a-while, I feel like there is a specific purpose to my life. Like now,” he said, eyes blazing. “Maybe that night, on your birthday,

  I was meant to be in that specific spot, at that exact time, so I . . . or I guess

  we could follow you.” I was slightly mesmerized by his gaze and his words.

  “And it’s a good thing we did, or else we might not be standing here having

  this conversation right now . . .”

  And now I was on the receiving end of the kind of look that makes you

  gulp. “So you’re sayin’ it was fate?” I meant to say in a cutting tone, but ended