The Academy (The Academy Saga Book 1)

by CJ Daly

  goal was made by me. The hollow sound of ball hitting net resonated with

  the hollow feeling in my stomach when I realized he wasn’t going to slap me

  five. Or shock me with a dazzling grin. Or throw his head back and laugh

  like my prowess on the soccer field was the punchline to a hilarious joke that

  only he got.

  I’d unconsciously turned his way—already knowing his exact geographical

  • 313 •

  location on the field like I had a GPS tracker on him. It’s like something didn’t really happen to me until I shared it with him. In the short span of time he’d

  been here, he’d become my person. But I just witnessed my person stare right

  through me before turning to stalk in the opposite direction.

  I tried not to feel hurt; it would be easier to unboil an egg. Lifting my

  lips, I accepted praise from Coach Sams and palm slaps from my supportive

  teammates. But the smile didn’t reach my eyes or lift my mood. I tried

  rationalizing. After all, my person was a known liar and con artist, whose

  sole purpose here was to get us to sign my little brother’s life away. I reminded

  myself of this over and over. But it was hard work to be at war with your own

  body . . . and everybody else.

  I felt like a beat-down, bloodied warrior, the battle switching from one

  combat zone to another these days. I was at it again with Andrew, because

  he’d overheard me yelling, then witnessed Pete bang out the door to go catch

  his ride. He accused me of chasing his favorite cadet away. I said it was a good

  thing to chase the bad guy away. Of course, Andrew didn’t believe that—

  which I was sick to death of—so I just let it all out on him, my eight-year-old,

  star-struck brother. I pulled out my facts and reason and whapped him over

  the head with it. Apprised him about eavesdropping on Pete’s little convo, that

  we were a mark to him and nothing more. I revealed how Pete had quizzed

  him about me the day after we’d already had our picnic, how he’d said that

  he was just a kid and probably got his days mixed up.

  Andrew saw the light all right. And I saw the light go right out of his

  eyes. It seemed he finally believed, which I thought would be a good thing.

  But he’d wanted to believe with his whole heart—like I did—that his mentor

  was one of the good guys. It was like I’d told him Batman was really the

  devil in disguise. He was disbelieving, then disappointed, disillusioned, and

  finally disgusted—mostly at me, the bearer of bad news, for telling him and

  blowing his perfect image of his hero. Not only was he mad at me, but he was

  more discontented with his life than ever, and willing to overlook everything

  anyway for a chance to go to “The Academy.” Pete or no Pete.

  Full disclosure was a wrong move. I thought maybe the truth would

  realign us back together. Instead it set us further apart. I realized now it was

  a selfish decision. Really, I’d just wanted someone to unburden myself to and had hurt my brother in the process.

  My chest felt tight. Trying to catch breath, I stopped loping after the herd.

  Looked up to seek guidance from the blazing sun, and a wave of dizziness

  overcame me. I heaved some carbon dioxide from my lungs. Man! I was flat

  out exhausted. Exhausted from lack of sleep. Exhausted from fighting. Why

  • 314 •

  am I even fighting so hard? All I wanted to do was close my eyes and go to sleep.

  I swear—I could’ve dropped on this very spot, in this itchy grass, even if it

  was located smack dab in the middle of a minefield. Overwhelmed, I leaned

  over, deep breathing in ozone and dust.

  Coach Sams noticed and jogged over. “Katie, you all right?”

  “I, uh . . . feel kinda dizzy, actually,” I admitted.

  “Can you walk?”

  I inhaled a deep breath through my nose, willing myself to hold it together.

  “Yes ma’am. . . . I think so. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. Here, let me get someone to assist you back to the

  gym.” Before I could think to stop her, Coach Sams called out, “Davenport,

  can I get some help over here?”

  I looked up, horrified, to where Pete was standing on the sidelines, yucking

  it up with good ole Ashley-Leigh and her purple posse. She rolled her eyes

  exaggeratedly and mouthed a snarky comment—no doubt about this being

  some lame ploy to get his attention. I saw him squint in our direction, creating

  a hand-visor so he could see better. The lively expression fled his face when he

  saw me crouched over with Coach Sam’s arm around my shoulders. A couple

  of teammates drifted over to see if I was all right. I tried to assure everyone I

  was fine, but my voice had no volume. I was actually mortified by the thought

  of an icy-cold Pete having to help me hobble to the gym like a little old lady.

  He came jogging over, a grim look on his face. Oh Gah! Not more sympathy.

  That was worse. I didn’t think I could take one more ounce of his pity. If I

  was feeling sick before, I was feeling positively faint with humiliation now. A

  few more players trailed after him to investigate. Oh Lord! I propped myself up as best I could, even as my head swam. I needed to lie down.

  “You know what, Coach Sams . . . I’m feelin’ much better,” I lied

  unconvincingly. “I-I think it was just a cramp in my side.” She looked

  doubtfully at my blanched face. “Really. I’m fine. I don’t need any help . . .”

  was just coming out of my mouth when Pete arrived.

  He immediately snorted at my feeble words. “Why am I not surprised

  you would say that?”

  I tried to look indignant, but it was hard work when I was on the verge

  of collapse. My ears were ringing, and my face was fish-belly white, I’m sure.

  “Okay, everybody back away,” he said like he was king of the universe.

  Why was I not surprised when everyone instantly complied? And then, like a

  stick of gum, he bent me over and stuck my head between my legs. “Just deep

  breathe, in and out, Kate.”

  God almighty! Maybe I should try to pass out? It was a testament to how sick

  • 315 •

  I was that I couldn’t conjure up a single twinge of color anywhere on my face.

  I wanted to argue but knew if I opened my mouth at that moment, I would

  throw up all over the cheerfully bright sneakers he’d paid for.

  “Someone bring me a water bottle, quick,” he commanded again. About

  five seconds later, I felt the cooling rush of water pouring over the back of my

  neck. It dribbled onto my face, helping wash the sheen of sick off. I instantly

  felt a wee bit better and attempted to rise, but he didn’t allow it.

  “Keep breathing in and out slowly for a few more seconds.” Pete used the

  calm, neutral voice of a trained paramedic at the scene of an accident.

  I complied, too weak to do anything else. And was only grateful for his

  commanding presence when he made everyone leave. Despite the fact I felt

  like he despised me, I gradually started to feel better, at least like I wouldn’t

  faint in the upright position.

  “I think I’m okay now,” I murmured, trying to stand up again.

  “Come up nice and slow, Kate,” he said, rubbing my back gently.

  I nodded my head, feeling mortification catch up to, and sur
pass, sickness

  as I slowly unfolded myself. I kept my eyes closed, preferring the colored spots

  behind my eyelids to the cool distance in his eyes or worse—pity. Finally,

  I opened them to see Shelby and Jake staring at me like they were on a

  deathwatch. A few scattered claps began like I’d just emerged from the bottom

  of a particularly brutal football heap. Man was I ready to exit stage right!

  I was still too pale for the heated flush of embarrassment to take hold and

  still couldn’t meet his eyes, but felt like I ought to say something. “I, um . . .

  guess I should say thank you.” I hated so much that he’d been the one to have

  to help me. Right after I’d told him I didn’t need his help.

  Pete gave a snorty laugh. “Don’t over exert yourself—you already look

  like you could go down any second.”

  I moved to glare at him, but it didn’t have any force of energy behind it.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You are far from fine, Kate,” he said, the ice in his tone thawing slightly.

  “I’m just a little tired.”

  “Yeah, I guess carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders would

  get a little tiring.”

  “I wouldn’t have the weight of the world if you weren’t tryin’ to bust up

  my family!”

  Coach Sams took that opportune moment to trot back over. “Feelin’

  better, Katie?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answered, dodging her eyes.

  • 316 •

  She set a hand on each of our shoulders. “Pete, would you mind escorting Katie back to the gym now?”

  He nodded at her; she nodded back. Before I could argue, she’d taken

  back off to get the game going again. So Pete and I set off, silently, back to

  the gym. About halfway there, he took my arm to make me stop and rest.

  “I’m fine now. Really. I can take it from here.” A pretty unbelievable

  statement when I was winded just from the telling of it.

  He shook his head and unset his mouth to say, “I’m trying to be patient

  here, I really am. . . . Did you even eat lunch today?”

  I finally felt blood seep into my face. “Not that it’s any of your business . . .

  but yes, I did.” I thought of the protein bar I had in the library while I emailed

  Reese and typed up my English paper.

  “Are you getting sick? You don’t look well,” he informed me as my face

  changed colors again.

  “Of course, I’m not well!” I vented. “I’m practically worryin’ myself to

  death thanks to you and your shady organization!”

  “Right. And working yourself to the bone has nothing to do with this

  little episode.”

  “As a matter-of-fact, it doesn’t. I . . . just had a panic attack, if you must

  know. That’s it. Like I said— fine.” I thumped myself like a moron.

  “A panic attack? That’s how you’re going to spin this?”

  “Yup.” I popped my lips at him churlishly. “But I’m over it . . . and you,” I

  added, and watched as his nostrils flared in and out with each breath he took.

  Better than icy indifference. “So you can run on back to dazzlin’ everybody out there, cause your performance is wearin’ thin on me.”

  I thought that might make him turn around, but he simply screwed up

  his mouth and glanced heavenward. Then gripped my arm and frog-marched

  me the rest of the way in, pausing only to open the gym door for me. We filed

  past staring volleyball players to the girls’ locker room, where he deposited me.

  “I’ll be waiting for you,” he warned.

  Well that got my ire up. I stomped in to retrieve my gym bag and backpack

  and abruptly ran out of energy so I sprawled out on the bench to compose

  myself before trudging out. True to his word, he was waiting. I sighed. This

  wasn’t healthy—I might get used to it.

  “You can go now,” I said in my most acid tone while he relieved me of

  my bags. “Please, Pete.” My voice cracked. “I’ve got it.” I reached for my bag.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but I’m escorting you to

  your car, then seeing that you get home safely.” Pete eyed the set of my jaw

  and let out a long sigh. “For once in your life, Kate, take the easy way . . . I’m

  • 317 •

  sure you’re already embarrassed enough without everyone watching me carry you across the parking lot like a bride.”

  “Fine!” I hissed then did my best imitation of stalking past; it felt like I

  was wading through water.

  We stopped to pick up Mikey, who requested a Hummer ride. I was way

  too tired to protest, and thought it wasn’t a bad idea anyway—just in case.

  But I made it back home without further incident, even managing to shove

  out of my car without the jaws-of-life prying me out.

  Pete stared at me leaning against my car, and his forehead creased.

  Feigning disinterest, I watched as he withdrew the first-aid kit from the

  backseat and shuffled through it looking for something. I had a funny feeling

  it was something for me. Sure enough, he glanced over at me again, looking

  miffed when he came up short. Then he rummaged around in the glove box

  before coming up both empty-handed and aggravated-looking. But he didn’t

  come away completely empty-handed—an exuberant four-year-old stuck his

  hand in there, yapping in his ear the whole walk over.

  “Okay bud, it’s the end of the road today.” Pete fist-bumped Mikey. “I

  gotta get back to your brother. You take care of your sister, okay?”

  “Okay, Pete, I will,” Mikey returned solemnly.

  “Go on into the house and turn on the air conditioner for her, so it’ll be

  nice and cool while she rests on the couch.”

  “Yes, sir!” Mikey hugged his leg and then ran to do his bidding.

  The boss-of-the-universe leveled me with a look. “Kate, you need to

  rest . . . and I’m not just talking about the present moment. You’re probably

  slightly anemic on top of exhausted. Since you don’t eat meat, you should take

  iron supplements for a while.

  I snorted. “Don’t tell me—you also have an MD I don’t know about. I

  told you, I’m fine. Just tired and stressed.”

  He ignored my excuses (which were as tired as me). “I’ll be taking Andrew

  home every day now.” I started a protest he cut off. “It’ll be better this way.

  Better for you. Better for me.” Words that hammered the fragile shell that

  was my chest. “. . . Easier all the way around. Don’t bother arguing, because

  I’m going to set it up with your father.”

  I folded my arms across my chest, mostly in an unconscious gesture to

  quell my breaking heart. “Who died and made you boss?”

  Bait not taken, he took another moment to stare at me with an expression

  I’d describe as the opposite of distant. “Take care of yourself, Kate.”

  I didn’t do anything but stare wordlessly as Pete walked away from me . . .

  again.

  • 318 •

  29

  BEST LAID PLANS

  The growl of the Hummer’s engine, and the flash of its shiny metal,

  were novel additions to our tedious, rural landscape. Pete came idling

  to a stop, waiting for Andrew to jump out. I heard the animated rise

  of my brother’s voice being carried away by the wind followed by the heavy


  thud of a well-built door shutting off the base of hip-hop.

  Again, true to his word, Pete had arranged with Daddy, much to the

  delight of Andrew, to drop him off every day after tutoring or mentoring . . .

  or whatever else they were calling it these days ( brainwashing came to my

  mind). I wondered how much this had to do with him not wanting to see

  me, and how much it had to do with him wanting to help lighten my load.

  It did give me a jumpstart on my chores, so I was no longer up half the night

  finishing everything.

  I held my breath for the driver’s door to open, ears straining, chest swelling

  with anticipation. I kept hoping Pete would come in, so we could kiss and

  make up. Stubborn pride prevented me from making the first move. The

  familiar band closed around my chest when the Hummer zoomed off, exiting

  at a faster pace than arriving. Who could blame him? I looked at our dismal little spread through his privileged eyes. All the things that were supposed

  to be colored were slowly turning gray: our house, pasture, fence posts. Even

  the twittering birds, pecking uselessly on the ground were a burnt-out ash.

  I bet Pete couldn’t wait to get back to his old life. He’d probably wash the

  dusty film off his Hummer—and his hands of us—the minute he walked

  away. I remembered him complaining to Ranger, because he’d made his job

  more difficult. Pete had made it clear he was aiming to wrap it up in one week,

  two tops. It had been the amount of time it takes for summer to meld into

  fall. And for me to warm to him, and for him to cool to me.

  • 319 •

  I harbored grim satisfaction in the way I’d thwarted their plans for us.

  Easy mission, my rear I thought, yanking a rope of wet clothes from the washer.

  So far, so good. We were holding steady, our little team. Andrew held up his

  end of the bargain—reluctantly. Daddy still hadn’t signed the paperwork,

  not liking the fine print once I pointed it out to him. Mikey . . . well Mikey

  was still shadowing Daddy every chance he got, insisting he not send Drewy away. I think that’s why Daddy was staying away so much—he couldn’t take

  the heat so was getting out of the kitchen.

  I watched, through the framed picture of our front window, my brother’s

  daily glow fade the minute he faced our house and felt a sharp pang for it.