The Academy (The Academy Saga Book 1)

by CJ Daly

  emanating from his black T-shirt. Like a smoker taking the first hit of nicotine

  • 185 •

  of the day, I inhaled him all the way down into the farthest recesses of my lungs. I just hoped he wouldn’t prove to be toxic.

  He seemed the opposite of harmful to me this morning. More like a

  shield from the harm that threatened me as he embraced me in his capable

  arms. We stayed fused together like that for a few moments—right in front

  of the main entrance of my high school, in full view of the principal’s office,

  gawking latecomers, God, and everybody. And it felt good in a way that was

  dangerous to the health of my heart.

  He’s here to tear my family apart I reminded myself again and again, even as we swayed together as one. Finally, self-preservation kicked in. I stiffened, and

  he immediately loosened his hold on me. With a little throat clear, I stepped

  away and fingered my bottom lip.

  “Sorry . . . I don’t know what that was about.”

  Pete’s eyes darkened as he watched my nervous habit, but he kept his tone

  light. “Are you apologizing for needing a hug?”

  “Yeah.” I laughed, more than a little embarrassed. “I guess I am.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for—everyone needs a hug every now and

  again. And it just so happens I’m a hugger by nature. And . . .” he leaned in

  and whispered, “I needed one, too,”

  I gave him a grateful smile. “I, um . . . we better get to class.” I turned

  to go, but he caught my arm. Gah! Every little touch sent tingles like little electric shocks of pleasure.

  “Meet me for lunch today . . .”

  One step up from him, we were almost eye-to-eye. I couldn’t tell if it was

  a command or a question. The hypnotic pull I felt toward him was almost

  impossible to resist. I wanted to believe in him so bad it was an ache . . . almost as bad as I wanted to lean in and kiss him. Not trusting myself to speak, I

  simply nodded my head and scurried to the library before I could get sucked

  in any further.

  After re-shelving the books, I was able to shoot off an overdue email to

  Reese. She informed me my horoscope said I’d meet a mysterious, new love

  interest this year. Even though I had a feeling this was a made-up fun-fact,

  I just went with it, telling her about Pete but leaving out the weird way we

  met and the un-fun fact that he was not to be trusted. I couldn’t very well tell

  her my suspicions about my brother’s mentor being here on a secret, sinister

  mission, or else she would think I was certifiably crazy. . . . Maybe I am?

  Her insights were sweet and thoughtful, but more than a little bit off the

  mark since she didn’t have all the facts about what was really going on. She

  quickly suggested the elite boarding school would definitely be a good place

  • 186 •

  for my brother, and immediately found the best perk: when I visited him, I’d be able to see the good-looking (I’d opted out of using the word hot) cadet at the same time. She also pointed out that with Andrew away to a great school,

  I’d have more free time to cut loose and enjoy my high school experience.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that was never going to happen—I had

  about as much in common with my high school friends as atheists do with

  Quakers. And after spending time with Pete Davenport, I was completely

  ruined for regular boys. It was like going back to burgers after dining on

  the finest steak in the world; you found your palette to be suddenly and

  irrevocably altered. Once you’ve had a taste of the best, it really was kind of hard to go back to the rest.

  I heaved a sigh and trudged along to my next class, too preoccupied

  with scenarios of how things might play out to notice much of anything else.

  Miguel sidled up to me. Unsure if he was mad at me or not, I decided to greet

  him normally. “Hey, Miguel.”

  “Hey, Katie. Whazzup?” Standard greeting, but his face lacked animation.

  We walked into class together and sat down in our regular seats—a good

  sign. My head immediately sought its desk pillow, but I was sure I would be

  drooling within five seconds if I didn’t instantly yank it back up. So I did,

  yawning and unzipping my backpack at the same time. All the while, Miguel

  quietly studied me.

  “What?”

  It was hard to tell, but it looked like he might be blushing because his

  brown skin was slowly turning mahogany. “Katie, what’s goin’ on with you

  and that cadet guy?”

  I did the headshake-I-don’t-wanna-talk-about-it thing. “Nothin’ . . .

  really.”

  “Doesn’t look like nothin’ from where I’m sittin’.”

  Now it was my turn to blush. Several ears in close proximity suddenly

  tilted our way, so I just sort of rolled my shoulders, hoping he’d get the hint.

  “You wait on the guy one time and now all of a sudden, you’re hangin’

  out and havin’ lunch together?” he prompted.

  I decided to tell him a truthful mini-version of the story. It’d all come

  out anyway. Clovis was a lot like living in a fish bowl—sans water. “Actually,

  that was the first time we met, but I didn’t know who he was at the time.”

  Miguel made a sinusy grunt. “And who is he exactly?” His face looked

  un-cute distorted with anger.

  I puffed out some pent-up air, somehow not really wanting to say the

  • 187 •

  words. “He’s Andrew’s new ‘mentor’,” I air quoted, not quite keeping the acid out of my voice.

  “Mentor?”

  “Yeah. ‘Mentor,’” I air quoted again for good measure.

  Miguel’s anger came down a notch directly in proportion to how mine

  went up when I talked about it. “You mean he’s only here to mentor Andrew

  and then he’s leavin’ again?” The relief in his voice was unmistakable.

  “Yup. Pretty much . . . oh, and to see if Drew’s a good fit for his ‘ elite’

  school.” More angry air quoting from me.

  “So you don’t really even like the guy?” His face brightened a little at this

  prospect.

  “It’s more like I don’t like his school program,” I said, picking around my

  words. “If Andrew’s accepted, he’ll leave the beginning of January.”

  “So you mean Davenport’s here all semester?”

  I gave Miguel an impatient look. “I think you’re missin’ the point,

  Miguel—Andrew, my eight-year-old brother, might be leaving for boarding

  school, in California, at the end of the semester!”

  “Right. Wow. Sorry to hear that, Katie. I guess that kind of blows.”

  Whatever he was going to say was cut short when the bell rang and Mrs.

  Jenkins started to take roll.

  All during class, Miguel shot sympathetic sidelong glances while Ashley-

  Leigh shot daggers at me. It didn’t really matter because neither one was really

  penetrating my sleep-deprived haze. Even the omnipresent butterflies that

  floated around my stomach every time Pete Davenport so much as flitted

  across my brain were subdued today. I could barely keep my eyes open. Lack

  of sleep and the strain of trying to keep my family together with nothing

  more than bubble gum and duct tape, while the enemy was trying to destroy

  us with army tanks and nuclear bombs, well, let’s just say: It was beginning
/>   to take a toll.

  Thankfully, Mrs. Jenkins never called on me, and the bell rang just as

  my head began to droop again. I remained seated, packing up slowly, hoping

  Miguel and Ashley-Leigh would head on to lunch. Yeah right. Miguel started

  up our previous conversation as if he’d been on pause and the bell signified

  the start button. He didn’t get very far though, because Ashley-Leigh came

  storming up, waving her outraged grievances at me like purple pom-poms.

  “Katie, I’m, like, so pissed at you right now!”—Like I was too obtuse to

  read her over-the-top social cues. I remained mute, packing up my books.

  “Why haven’t you called me back yet?”

  • 188 •

  “Because I wasn’t aware that you’d called,” I snapped. It felt good to vent some frustration on someone so deserving.

  “Well, I did,” she sniffed, toning it down. “Like five or six times . . . and

  I left messages.”

  “Look, I’m sorry Ash, I’ve just been busy and there were no messages on

  the answerin’ machine when I got in yesterday afternoon. Daddy must’ve

  erased them and didn’t bother to leave a note.”

  “Well, if you’d just get a cell phone, like . . . oh, the rest of America, you

  wouldn’t have that problem,” she said, ever the problem solver.

  “Great idea. Why didn’t I think of that?” I yanked the zipper on my

  backpack. “I’ll get right on it—right after I get my hair highlighted and my

  nails done.” I threw my backpack over my shoulder and headed out with

  Miguel following and Ashley-Leigh bringing up the rear.

  “Uh! Whadoya mean by that?” she asked, playing dumb.

  Miguel and I exchanged eye-rolls in the doorway. “What do you want,

  Ashley?”

  “I wanted to see if we could grab lunch today,” she said, about as obvious

  as a room key presented at prom.

  Miguel’s girlfriend was standing around the hall waiting for him, so he

  slid past with a “We’ll talk later, ‘kay?”

  I nodded and smiled and waved at his girlfriend. And then I saw him

  striding my way, making the dingy floors of our hallway look like a runway

  in Paris. As usual, everyone was openly staring at him. That meant that in

  about two seconds, everyone would be staring at me. I felt a wave of warmth

  wash over my face followed by a swell of giddiness inside at the thought that

  he was here for me.

  Ashley-Leigh saw where my eyes had strayed to, and her face looked as if

  she’d just swallowed bleach. “Guess I have my answer.”

  “I’m sorry, Ash. Maybe tomorrow?” I said as insincere as her lunch

  invitation. But I had a feeling my voice fell on deaf, hula-hooped ears, because

  her focus shifted, along with her whole demeanor. She beamed at Pete with so

  much wattage I thought she might inadvertently shock him to death.

  “Hey Pete! . . . Right on time,” Ashley-Leigh greeted. “We were just

  discussin’ what we were gonna do for lunch today!” She smashed our faces

  together. “Right, Katie-girl?”

  Pete raised his eyebrows at me, and I gave him a helpless look. “Is that

  right?” he said, bending to kiss my cheek. The wattage in her smile dimmed

  a bit, but I knew Ashley—she considered herself down but not out. Like a

  pro, she plastered the smile back on and went for it. It was kinda fascinating

  • 189 •

  to watch, like a car crash you see coming, but the passenger in the car in front of you is too busy putting on lipstick in the mirror to notice.

  “That’s right.” She nailed him in the chest with her finger. “We feel like

  it’s unfair of Katie to keep you all to herself . . . and, like, visa versa I guess.”

  She giggled like she’d just made a funny, but it fell flat without her backup

  laughers.

  I had trouble following her one-sided conversation the second a possessive

  arm draped around my shoulder. Pete didn’t seem to be paying attention at

  all. “Ready?” He looked down at me; I nodded up at him.

  In tandem, we began walking through the hall with Ashley-Leigh trailing

  us like a high-heeled shoe attached to the newlywed’s getaway car. She was

  gibbering on and on about how we used to be known as the “two Lees” and

  how we were more like sisters than friends growing up. I have to say: I kinda

  started feeling bad for her. She was trying so hard, and Pete wasn’t trying at

  all. This would be pretty tough to take—things usually worked out for her

  in pretty much the way she planned. If Pete kept this up, she was liable to

  get frostbite.

  We reached the exit, and he finally acknowledged her presence by holding

  the door open for her. “Why thank you!” she trilled up at him as if she were

  a southern belle twirling an umbrella instead of a prima donna wearing a

  hoochie day-glow tee.

  “Looks like this is where we part ways,” Pete spoke directly to her for the

  first time, then grabbed my hand and led me in the opposite direction of the

  parking lot.

  Ashley-Leigh was left standing there with a hangdog expression, which

  she rapid-recovered from. “Okay, you two have fun! . . . Don’t do nothin’ I

  wouldn’t do!” she called out for the benefit of anyone standing around to

  witness her dismissal.

  Pete didn’t acknowledge her in any way, so I threw a “We’ll see you in

  Spanish” over my shoulder as we walked away. “Wow. Remind me to never

  get on your bad side.”

  “Why?” He gave me a wicked grin. “You plannin’ on gettin’ on my bad

  side?”“You never know,” I murmured, squirming under the heat of his stare.

  We’d already arrived at his Hummer, on account of it being parked

  brazenly in front of the school, in the zone reserved for loading buses. I shook

  my head at him, laughing as he opened up the passenger door and helped

  me inside.

  “What?” he innocently dropped, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “No

  • 190 •

  one was using it, so I slipped in and took it—couldn’t let a prime spot like this go to waste because everyone around here is too scared or stupid to go

  for it.” His eyes twinkled. “It’s just not in my nature.”

  “Maybe nobody took it cause it’s against the rules,” I volleyed back.

  He laughed and shut the door, came around and returned with: “Well,

  you know what they say about rules . . .” then arched a brow poignantly at me

  before throwing his aviators on. Game over, he clicked in the key and fired

  up the engine. In no time, we were headed out west again while everyone else

  was going east. This time when he cut the engine, I was unsurprised by our

  lunch locale.

  “Is this going to be a regular thing now?” I said, then immediately

  regretted the presumptuous statement.

  No need because Pete immediately said, “I hope so. As much as I’ve

  enjoyed fighting with you, Kate, I sure would like to know what it’s like to

  do . . .”—his eyes fluttered my way—“other things.”

  My face caught fire in a nanosecond. Thankfully, he hopped out to come

  around and get me before I could spontaneously combust in his leather seat.

  “I’m guessing you spoke with your brother yesterday?”

  “I did.”

&
nbsp; “So—we good?”

  “We’re alright,” I allowed.

  “Oh I think we can manage an upgrade from that.” He gave me another

  smoldering look, and weird sensations migrated south of my belly. I felt

  distinctly tongue-tied as he helped me down and kept ahold of my hand. Pete,

  however, seemed unaffected by anything, whistling as we made our way to the

  same shady spot I was beginning to think of as “ours.” In no hurry to force a

  conversation, he allowed me time to find my voice.

  “You know, I’m startin’ to feel like I’m not really contributin’ much

  here,” I finally said, swiping the blanket from him and spreading it out on

  the ground.

  He stopped whistling and shook his head, eyes roving over my face

  appreciatively. “I beg to differ.”

  Man-oh-man is he turnin’ it on today! My insipid blush was back, and I

  lowered my eyes, suddenly anxious to help unpack the food. Pete reached out

  and captured my busy hands in his. “I don’t like it when you do that,” he said,

  releasing them to rub his thumb across my jawline.

  “D-do what?” My skin started tingling. I hoped water was in that thermos

  today, because it felt like I was catching fire.

  He slipped off my glasses then just stared at me until I got lost in his eyes.

  • 191 •

  I fumbled around gracelessly for my confiscated disguise, feeling as exposed as if I were lying in this park buck-naked. But Pete wasn’t having it—he tossed

  them out of reach before returning his hands to my face.

  I swallowed. “W-what are you doin?”

  His look was as hypnotizing as his touch. I was a deer in headlights.

  Unable to move. Completely at his mercy. He trailed his thumbs along the

  circles beneath my eyes. “You’re working too hard, Kate . . . not getting

  enough rest.”

  “More like workin’ my brain too hard,” I said, closing my eyes and

  swaying under his spell. It just felt so dang good—being in this quiet, shady

  spot on a warm afternoon, feeling the breeze stir the air, the intoxicating feel

  of his hands stroking my face. Heaven. I felt a magnetic pull toward him from

  parts of my body that weren’t even touching him . . . but wanted to with a

  force that was almost uncontrollable.

  “That too,” he said. “Mental stress is the worst kind. You’re putting

  yourself through things that haven’t even happened yet.”