by CJ Daly
away from him the second he released me.
“Let’s eat shall we?” he said, a little too brightly.
Eating in front of him was the last thing I wanted to do now. While he
unpacked food I wasn’t gonna eat, I bent down to retrieve my glasses. Dang
it! They had gotten broken, somehow, in our mishap of a make-out. That was
the second pair in a week because of him. Pete must’ve felt the heat from my glare burning a hole through his T-shirt, because he looked up to see them
dangling from my fingers like a wiry spider.
• 198 •
“Oops,” he said cheerfully. “No big deal, right? They can be replaced.”
His flippant attitude ruffled my feathers even more. “Right,” I bit out.
“No big deal . . . if you have twenty-twenty vision.” It really wasn’t a big deal
because I could see just fine. But for all he knew, I actually needed those glasses to see with.
Pete’s hands stopped arranging a gourmet’s selection of snack items. He
cocked his head sideways, reminding me of a golden retriever trying to make
sense of what his master said. “Uh . . . right. I guess you do need those for
class,” he said in an odd-sounding voice, then quickly brightened again. “It
looks like we’ll be running a little late anyway, so we may as well run by an
optometrist—give us a solid excuse for that tardy.”
“I don’t have my checkbook with me, and I don’t have enough cash to
pay for new glasses and buy groceries,” I pointed out, which was a big mistake because I immediately knew what he was going to say next. And grit my teeth
against it.
“Kate, of course I’ll pay for them—no big deal.”
“No big deal,” I said cuttingly, suddenly wanting him to feel as bad as
me. “Everything’s ‘no big deal’ to you, isn’t it?” He looked at me patiently,
like I was a toddler pitching a fit over a dropped lollipop. “But what if it is a big deal? Because I need those glasses . . . and I’m not takin’ your money!”
“I don’t see why not,” he responded reasonably (which really chapped my
hide). “After all—it’s my fault they’re broken.”
“Because I’m not, that’s why!” I furiously pushed his hand away when he
tried to hand me some fancy trail mix. Somehow, that really got under another
layer of my skin—the nerve of him feeding me his dang gourmet foods,
driving me around in his over-the-top vehicle, giving me $ 100 dollar tips .
Real y, who does he think I am— freakin’ Cinderel a? I didn’t need or want his charity . . . in any form. Kissing me because he felt sorry for me. How dare he!
Pete sighed and rubbed at the back of his head. “Why are you being so
unreasonable?” He glanced at my untouched lunch selections. “And why aren’t
you eating?”
“I’m not bein’ unreasonable.” I leaned back on my hands and crossed my
ankles. “. . . And I’m not hungry.”
A storm cloud darkened Pete’s face. He took a moment and a deep breath.
I thought, with grim satisfaction, how much I enjoyed seeing him struggle
for calm. I would love to see him lose it completely. Be a dadgum normal, feeling human being for once instead of so controlled all the time. So I tried
my hand at pushing him over the edge—by pushing the plate of delicious
looking cheese, fruit, and assorted crackers back at him.
• 199 •
He pushed it back. “You need to eat something.”
“I’ll eat somethin’ later on.”
He expelled some aggravation. “Listen, Kate, I wasn’t going to say
anything, but I don’t think you’re taking very good care of yourself. You have
a lot of weight on your shoulders. You need more sleep. And you need to eat
to keep up your strength.”
I shot him a withering look. “I can take care of myself just fine, thank you
very much for your concern.” Who was he now— my mentor? And what did he know about it anyway? My foot started shaking furiously.
He rubbed at his jaw for a moment.
Gah! Why does he have to be so friggin’ gorgeous? . . . It was like trying to piss off an angel. But I resolutely held on to my righteous indignation, refusing
to meet his eye.
“Goddammit, Kate! I said I was sorry, and I am. Okay?”
I flinched at his anger, yet kept my voice cool. “Would you please refrain from using the Lord’s name in vain around me?”
Pete huffed out some more air, ran another hand through his already
ruffled hair. “Sorry. But I thought you said you were fine.”
“I am,” I replied in a tone that indicated the opposite. “However, what I
am not is hungry.” I shoved the plate away so that the crackers spread out like a deck of cards, and cubes of cheese tumbled across his lap like thrown dice.
A murderous look crossed his face, causing a sliver of fear to ice my spine.
Have I pushed it too far?
Pete got himself under control with great difficulty. “I thought we were
friends again, remember? . . . We even shook on it.” He tried infusing his voice
with humor, but it didn’t quite make it there.
I sorta snuffled out a little outrage, averting my eyes to the spiny foliage
decorating the entrance.
“Okay fine—have it your way.” His patience came crashing to an end
along with our cozy picnic. I looked over to see him rapid-packing up uneaten
food then chunking the containers back into the cooler. I was slightly worried
he would shatter the glass from the force of his throws.
“What are you doin’?”
“Packing.”
“I can see that. But why? You haven’t had anything to eat yet.” And why
is my voice so smal ?
He stopped to look me in the eye, arched a brow. “If you’re not eating, then
neither am I.” He clamped the last lid on, effectively ending the conversation.
• 200 •
I watched him for a second, outraged he was turning the tables on me.
Harrumphed. “Your obvious attempt at reverse psychology won’t work on me.”
One sharp, angry zip and the nylon cooler was closed. He stood up,
looking down on me with what could only be described as disappointment.
“I’m not playing games here, Kate. If you’re bound and determined to make
me pay for hurting your feelings by going on a hunger strike, then you leave
me no choice but to join you. I refuse to sit by and watch you carelessly abuse
your beautiful body to one up me.”
I gulped, feeling the stinging truth of his words.
“You’re already on the verge of collapse,” he finished, continuing to stare
me down while I felt myself shrinking in size by the second.
He was right: it was petty of me. I just felt so small and put in my place,
I was unable to admit it—stubborn pride, plain and simple.
“You ready to go?” He didn’t offer me a hand up this time, and I realized
that I would rather just be friends with him than nothing at all. I also realized, with a sick hollow feeling in my stomach that I couldn’t attribute to hunger,
how much effort he put into packing things he knew I would eat. I assumed
he was not also a vegetarian.
I jerked myself to my feet, two bright spots of shame coloring my cheeks
in lieu of blush. Truth was: I probably couldn’t choke down any food right
now, no matter how delectable. I was teetering back on the edge of tears, sick
with worry I’d ruined everything. Trying to do something helpful to make
up for my misstep, I bent to retrieve the blanket, but it was snatched away
before I could get my hands on it. I had no choice but to follow him empty
handed, my head hung low.
We traveled in silence the short ride back. He didn’t bother turning back
on the rap compilation he’d downloaded for me. Gah! No wonder he felt “all wrong” about kissing me—I’d behaved like a child, and conversely, he was
the most mature guy I’d ever met.
I braved a quick side-glance, saw only the rigid line of his jaw, and my
stomach heaved. I realized I’d been taking all my fears and hatred of his school
out on him, like it was his fault they were recruiting Andrew. Clearly, he was
just following his superior’s orders . . . cause that’s what they do in military
school. Duh. He’d been nothing but a slice-of-nice from the very beginning.
He even went so far as to warn me about Ranger. And all I’d done to repay
him was give him a hard time and a black eye. Now it was drops of remorse
that started rolling down my cheeks. I faced out the passenger window for
the duration of the drive.
We screeched to a halt in the parking lot, prompting me to hastily blot
• 201 •
my eyes on my shirt. Only stragglers littered the sidewalks, which meant the bell had already rung. We would be tardy anyway, so I took a deep breath and
turned to face the lion. He was still staring out the front window.
I cleared my throat. “Uh . . . thanks for a lovely time?” Got nothing for
that one but crickets. My heart plummeted. “Pete, I’m sorry—you’re right.”
My voice had an unapologetic edge of desperation. “I’m gonna eat between
classes, okay? I think I have a crumbled up granola bar in my bag somewhere.”
I was just about to hop down when I heard him breathe in deeply through
his nose. Turned in time to watch his nostrils flare. Wow. I’d thoroughly
pissed him off, and I don’t know if I’d ever felt sorrier for anything.
“Are you gonna park and come in?” It sounded like I was doing a Minnie
Mouse impersonation.
He slowly expelled that pent up air and faced me. After an agonizing
moment of pinning me to my seat with his eyes, he extended his hand. But
instead of reaching for me, he reached past me to open the glove compartment.
Some kind of nutrition bar I’d never seen before came out in his hand. He
tossed it to me, and I caught it to my chest. I thought he might say “nice catch”
or something like that, but he didn’t. He simply faced forward again. I took
this as my cue to get out, so me and my sorry butt hopped out of his vehicle.
“If you really want to make it up to me, eat that instead.” His voice came
low and modulated.
I swallowed and nodded my head. “You’re not comin’?”
Pete flicked his eyes at me. “Nah . . . you go on. I’m going with my gut
on this one.” I thought I saw his lips twitch a little before he said, “I still need to cool off.”
He threw the truck into gear and sped out of the parking lot, leaving a
trail of dusty gravel in his path . . . and an ache in my chest.
• 202 •
19
TRUCE
Sitting through Spanish without Pete’s magnetic force field running
interference with my brain function, should’ve enabled me to concentrate
better. Not the case. I sat, shivering and miserable, with his desk lying
cold and empty as a tomb behind me. Even the sweater I pulled from my
backpack didn’t help—I was bone cold.
Somehow Pete’s mere presence in my world warmed me in parts of my
body I didn’t even realize were cold, like my heart. It had been like a dying
battery inside my chest, slowly draining of life, until Pete jump-started it
again. With every brilliant smile, he lit me up from within. It was a gift, his
presence, in this small town, in my life. Every moment with him was like
Christmas morning. But I’d pushed him away like yesterday’s leftovers. Had
I been so focused on hating Ranger, his organization, and my total lack of
options in life that I’d been staring too hard at the gift horse in my life?
Mama said to trust my instincts because they’d never lead me wrong. But
in this case, my gut was giving me mixed signals. I felt completely safe, cared
for even, around Pete. The picnics were proven benign, as well as thoughtful,
by my conversation with Andrew. And I sensed that he truly did like me and
didn’t want to see any harm come to my family.
Could it be he was in the dark about the sinister intentions of his own
organization? Anything was possible, I decided. I sighed, feeling confused and
frustrated by my lack of clarity. The bell did its thing, and I shuffled along
after my classmates.
Ashley-Leigh came sidling up, chirping in my ear. “Hey! Where’s Pete? . . .
And where’s your glasses?”
“He opted out of class this afternoon,” I said, deflated, “and I broke
them.”
• 203 •
Immediate suspicion paused her. “How?”
My blush and pained look must’ve been answer enough because she said,
“Lover’s quarrel already?”
I just shrugged my shoulders, remaining tight-lipped.
“You poor thing.” This was followed by one of her famous face-smashers.
“You know you can talk about it with me, right?”
“Right.” Wrong! No way was I gonna admit that I threw myself at him
only to be rebuffed—she’d only gobble it up and ask for seconds.
“. . . And I’ve always got your back, Katie-Kat.”
“I know. Thanks.” I smiled thinly at her bold overstatement of loyalty.
I tried cutting her some slack because she probably at least halfway meant it
in the moment.
“I mean it. You can tell me anything . . .”
“There’s really nothing to tell.” I scrounged for an exit. “Look, I gotta
bolt. I’ll see you in gym, okay?” I made a hard right at the next corner and
left her behind. It’s just, I was so bad at lying, and Ashley-Leigh was so good
at weaseling her way into getting what she wanted.
I sleepwalked my way through Chemistry, dully writing notes and
avoiding so much as a glance at Miguel’s sulking face. As soon as the bell
rang, I darted out the door, hustling to P.E. with my head down, wondering
if it was my imagination, or if everyone was starting to look at me differently.
My question was soon answered because upon my appearance in the
dressing room, everyone’s heads whipped around like I was famous . . . or like
I’d just been the topic of conversation. Sure enough, Ashley-Leigh decided
to migrate to the Siberia side of the room to chat with her old buddy today.
“Hey there. Feelin’ any better?” Now I was the recipient of a weird back pat.
I mumbled something about being tired, then started changing from
my discount-denim into my sale-shorts. She hovered around my personal
space, watching me undress, hoping I’d drop some more gossip crumbs for
her to gobble. I’m sure she was also sizing me up to see what a guy like Pete
Davenport could possibly see in me. That’s most likely why everyone was
starting to stare
now. My face grew pink as she ogled my figure, looking for
flaws. She caught my awareness that she was checking me out so blinked her
eyes away to focus on unstrapping her ridiculous wedge sneakers.
“You know . . . I think I like you better with glasses—they give character
to your face,” she said. Like her opinion was the last word.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied as I knotted my sneakers. They of course
reminded me of the one responsible for paying for them. I grunted to myself.
“So . . . why didn’t you mention that Pete was Andrew’s mentor?”
• 204 •
I smiled darkly, shook my head. I should’ve known that little secret would spread like wildfire. If Ashley-Leigh knew, that meant everybody knew. “How did you hear that? Did Miguel tell you?”
“No.” She waved her hand airily. “You know how it is—Marie Walter’s
son is in class with Andrew. Drew told him, he told his mom, who told my
mom. What can I say?” She shrugged her shoulders. “We barely have two
degrees of separation in this town.”
I huffed out a laugh. True dat.
“Why the big secret anyway? And why would you tell Miguel and not
me?” She infused her voice with hurt but ended up sounding self-centered to
my wizened ears.
I did the shrug thing. “He asked me in English today.” Ashley-Leigh stuck
out her gloppy lip like a two-year-old, so I added, “I would’ve told you, too. I
just happened to talk to him first. And it’s not a big secret . . . we just like to keep quiet about Andrew’s giftedness.”
While we wrapped our hair into practiced ponytails, I had a vivid
flashback to when we were kids. So much had changed my life was almost
unrecognizable. “And you know our family well enough to know Daddy
wasn’t exactly keen on the school sending his aptitude tests to all those
boardin’ schools.”
“Why’s he thinkin’ about this one then?” she asked.
“Dunno,” I admitted. “I guess cause it’s supposed to be the best military
academy in the world.”
“Wow!” Ashley’s eyes popped out of their sockets. “So does that mean
Andrew might go to the same school as Pete?” She sounded as excited as if it
were happening to her.
I slammed my locker, hoping to shut down this little convo, too. “Well
