The Academy (The Academy Saga Book 1)

by CJ Daly

  pure joy and, and . . . love. “What was the question?”

  His face fell a little before he rearranged it. He glanced over at Nurse

  Gloria. Nervous. Even if I couldn’t remember his last name, I could still read him like a book. He was nervous and wanted reassurance from the nurse.

  That touched me, it really did. I frowned, not being able to give him what

  he wanted.

  “That’s okay, sweetheart. It’ll come to you in a minute,” said the kindly

  nurse, writing something down in her chart again. She wrapped my arm with

  a Velcro cuff and began pumping what looked like a black rubber balloon.

  The pressure built up tighter and tighter before releasing in a whoosh of air. I

  • 366 •

  hadn’t minded the squeezing sensation of the device, because it momentarily took my mind away from the squeezing in my head.

  It was fascinating to be here. I’d only visited the doctor once before, for

  a physical in sixth grade. I recalled enjoying the same sensation of pressure

  building up before the relief of release, and the annoying mini-hammer

  knocking into my knee, and peeing into a plastic cup while giggling hysterically

  with Ashley-Leigh as we switched pee cups, for no good reason but to laugh.

  And most of all: the pleasure of feeling like a normal twelve-year-old.

  Nurse Gloria made more notations in her chart. I tried to read what she

  wrote, but couldn’t turn my head. “Excuse me? Can I take this . . . thing off

  my neck now?”

  “Your boyfriend was kind enough to put it on there for you, so I b’lieve

  we should just let it sit a while longer till the good doctor gets a gander at that CT and gives the okay to remove it.”

  I kinda stopped following her after the B-word. “Boyfriend,” I said it

  aloud, trying it out in relation to Pete, who was still smiling at me, like, since

  that was the only thing he could do, he was bound and determined to do a

  bang-up job of it.

  “That’s right. You heard me— boyfriend. Cuz the way you two youngsters

  is lookin’ at each another, don’t fool me a bit . . . Friend of the family, my foot,”

  she declared as definitively as she’d said I’d be back to bossing my brothers in

  no time. I liked her, I really did.

  After a series of tests, seemingly designed just to drive me crazy, the doctor

  finally came in, looking sturdy and capable as a doctor should. He shook hands

  with Pete and introduced himself. (I’m ashamed to say I couldn’t remember

  his name two seconds afterward.) Then he commenced to probing around

  my head till I was swimming through stars and felt compelled to puke—

  again—right over the railing. It splattered onto the floor before ricocheting

  in a sickly-green arc, adding a charming backsplash to the curtain partition

  behind where Pete was standing.

  The word mortified suddenly sprang to mind. “Sorry!” I gasp-groaned.

  “That’s quite alright, darlin’,” Nurse Gloria said. She held up a plastic

  boomerang-shaped bowl hanging out beside me on the bed. “That’s what this

  is for . . . just in case it happens again.”

  Oh God. Didn’t think it was possible to be more mortified. And didn’t dare look up at Pete as I profusely apologized again. I had no idea what that thing was to tell you the truth.

  “No worries. We had to get you outta those wet, dirty clothes anyhow

  and into a dressin’ gown.”

  • 367 •

  “Dr. Shaw,” Pete interrupted, “is there any way we can get her started on some pain meds?”

  “I think we might be able to do that, Cadet Davenport,” he said jovial

  enough to be at a picnic in the park. His tone didn’t have much of a chance

  to rankle my nerves because the moment he ordered up some pain meds from

  good ole Gloria, I wanted to kiss him, although he vaguely looked like Santa

  Clause’s slimmer, better-looking cousin. (And not mentioning the fact that

  nobody wanted me to kiss them right now.)

  “And some water please,” I croaked, feeling parched even though I’d

  almost drowned earlier.

  Nurse Gloria and the good doctor left the room.

  “Thanks, Pete . . . Davenport.” My grin turned into a grimace. I just

  noticed the antiseptic hospital smell was quickly being swallowed up by my

  vomit.

  “You remembered!” Pete beamed at me.

  “No, I cheated,” I confessed with a frown. “Heard Dr. What’s-His-Name

  call you Cadet Davenport.”

  He chuckled. “I’m a little hurt, Kate—I thought I was unforgettable.”

  “You are,” I sighed. “That’s the problem: even a big knock on my head

  can’t make me forget you.”

  Pete brooded for a moment, and I took the moment to decide it was a

  good look on him. “You want to forget me?”

  “Yes. No. . . . I dunno. I’m all mixed up and my head hurts.” He made a

  face. “Pete, the smell. It’s so bad. I’m really sorry . . . and your poor Hummer.”

  “So you can remember the name of my truck, but not my last name?”

  “Yeah. You know me. I’m real-real . . .” I struggled for the word to make

  the joke work.

  “Materialistic,” he supplied, reading my fuzzy mind.

  “Right.” I smiled up at him until another waft of throw-up brought to

  my attention the fact that he was most likely standing in it. “Pete, why don’t

  you wait out in the waitin’ room?”

  “Not a chance, Kate.”

  As if on cue, a bustling Gloria came back in with a mop-wielding orderly,

  a pale-blue dressing gown, a scary-looking syringe, and a Big-gulp medical

  cup that she plopped onto an overbed tray—just like on TV. “Okay, we’re

  gonna get this mess cleaned up, get the pretty lady into some clean duds, then

  get her into X-ray,” Gloria directed.

  Pete stepped around to my other side, brushing his hand from my shoulder

  • 368 •

  to my fingertips. All kinds of tingling sensations momentarily confused my pain.“But first,” she said, bending the accordian straw for me, “let’s do

  somethin’ about that headache and thirst.”

  When I gratefully leaned forward to gulp down the water, Pete snatched

  it away before I could do much more than swallow a sip. Feeling gypped, I

  looked up for answers.

  “Boyfriend’s got trainin’,” Nurse Gloria approved, thumping the side

  of the syringe. I scowled. “Sorry sweetheart . . . don’t want you throwin’ up

  again, do we?” I grimaced. “Here.” She slipped me a package of Saltines.

  “Nibble on these—should help with the nausea. Okay, looks like Mr. Jameson

  here is all finished workin’ his magic. Boyfriend, you gots to leave, so I can

  get Girlfriend feelin’ better.”

  Boy, were they efficient. Everything was back to antiseptic hospital smell,

  only times a thousand. While I was busy nibbling on a cracker, Pete pressed

  his lips to my temple and then withdrew from me. Panic seized me.

  “Pete! Don’t leave!” I was afraid he was going to disappear on me again.

  “I’m only stepping into the hall while you change and get your . . . er,

  happy shot.” He grinned his way out the door.

  What’s a happy shot?

  Two minutes later, I found out. When Pete came back in, I was feelin’ no

  pain. “Heeeey!” I chirped as though he’d b
een gone on a tour of duty.

  “Hey, yourself.” Pete gave a conspiratorial smile to Gloria. “Looks like

  someone’s feeling better.”

  “I got a shot in the butt,” I explained with a loopy grin.

  “Fo sho . . . Girlfriend ain’t feelin’ no pain now,” Gloria asserted. While

  they chuckled together, I focused hard on wiping the smile off my face. “Okay,

  Miss Connelly, it’s time to wheel you down to X-ray . . . see how hard that

  head of your is.”

  “They don’t come no harder,” Pete quipped, and the two of them laughed

  it up again.

  “Hey!” I protested, yet couldn’t seem to work up any real feelings of

  irritation. Weird. And wonderful. Despite the lump on my head, a perma-grin seemed to be fixed to my face like the Joker. I rose to my feet—with the

  aid of Boyfriend—realizing, a moment too late, my assets were bared for the

  world. I knew I should be embarrassed, but, like irritation, the feeling was

  mysteriously absent.

  A giggle tickled my throat as Pete set me carefully into the wheelchair. “I

  can walk yunno . . . my legs aren’t broken.”

  • 369 •

  “No you can’t!” Pete and Nurse Gloria chorused.

  I scowled up at them as best I could, but was simply feeling so good, my

  heart just wasn’t in it. “Can he come with us?” I asked plaintively.

  “Only if you can tell me who he is,” she challenged.

  “Why that’s easy!” I smiled smugly. “Pete Davenport.”

  “Very good.” Nurse Gloria nodded her approval, making me feel like the

  star patient. “Guess Boyfriend’s comin’ with.”

  “Yay!” I threw my hands in the air like I was doing the wave.

  Pete gave me his trademark crooked grin, knowing full well I’d cheated.

  “Think I like you better this way.”

  “Me too!” I emphatically seconded.

  A few minutes later, I was being wheeled out—sans neck collar—by

  Boyfriend while Nurse Gloria gave me post care instructions that included a

  bunch of stuff that wasn’t likely going to happen, like taking it easy for the

  next couple of days. Apparently, I was to have no physical or mental activities,

  which included screen time (the only thing on the list that would happen), no

  school, no chores, no anything except for bed rest.

  “But the doctor says he thinks I just have a simple concussion,” I argued.

  “I should be fine after a couple of days.”

  “Right,” she agreed, “if you follow doctor’s orders, and if there are no complications.”

  “What if I’m feelin’ better tomorrow?”

  “Kate . . .” Pete stopped wheeling to walk around and kneel to my level.

  He stared me straight. “There’s no such thing as a simple concussion. You hit your head pretty good. There’s swelling, and the levels of brain chemicals are

  altered. It takes about a week for those to stabilize again . . .” He waited for my sluggish brain to process this before going on. “Your normal level of activity

  is not conducive to healing your body. You simply have to stay in bed for the next forty-eight hours minimum. And then you can slowly add activities back,

  but only on a limited basis. You cannot afford to get another brain injury that

  could cause long-term damage.” He looked serious as a heart attack now.

  The smile finally left my face. Boy is he a buzz kil .

  “Your brain is who you are,” he continued. “I like who you are—the

  outside is just a pretty package you happen to come wrapped in.”

  I tried scowling at him even though I was very much touched.

  Unfortunately, I had a house to run. “Who’s gonna look after the boys and

  the animals?”

  “I see what you mean by the hard head,” Nurse Gloria said to Pete.

  “Someone besides you.” I started to protest, when he cut me off. “The

  • 370 •

  world will not stop revolving because you lay low for a couple of days.” I started to argue when he said something funny: “Your father can take over

  for the next few days.” I actually laughed. “Or I will.”

  “Aw, Pete.” I gazed at him with love-shining eyes. “You’ve already done

  enough for us already.”

  “Looks like Boyfriend’s a keeper,” Nurse Gloria said to me.

  “If only that were possible.” I sighed, feeling the first stirrings of reality

  set in. Pete looked at me, and if my intuition was correct, he was feeling the

  exact same way.

  After Pete tucked me back into my triage bed in the curtained off partition,

  he went to go check on the boys. A few pleasant moments of resting later,

  and my brothers came creeping in, stopping just shy of touching me. I smiled

  lovingly down on them—one light, one dark—marveling at their little-boy

  beauty as though seeing them for the first time.

  “You can come closer.” I beckoned. “I won’t break.”

  Andrew spoke up, because a forlorn Mikey looked like he might never

  speak again. “Pete warned us that you’re fragile right now. He said we had to

  treat you like a porcelain doll for the next week or two, so your brain won’t

  swell again.” I almost didn’t recognize his voice because it lacked its usual

  trumpet of self-confidence.

  “I bet a hug is permitted.” I reached out, but they were still resolutely

  standing a few feet away. “Come on,” I coaxed, and Andrew came up to hug

  me around the middle. I brushed my hand from the top of his head to the

  nape of his neck. “I love you, Drews,” I said, getting choked up.

  “Me too, Katie . . . I love you, too.”

  I looked over to an almost comically miserable-looking Mikey. “Okay—

  your turn.” I threw my arms wide, and he creeped forward with his need for

  me warring with his need not to break me. At last, after he was sure I really

  wouldn’t break, he gingerly laid his head on my lap. Then started sobbing.

  “Shhhh . . . I’m fine. Everything’s okay,” I crooned to him while stroking his

  back.Nurse Gloria came in a few minutes later with Pete, who had quietly

  slipped out of the room. “Hey-hey. None of that cryin’ now,” she commanded

  sternly. “What’d I tell you? She’s fine. Just needs a little TLC for the next

  few days. You can help with that, right?” Serious head nods followed by “yes

  ma’ams” and shimmers of tears all around.

  “Okay, Miss Connelly, your father just arrived, so you’re officially

  discharged. Here is the instructions.” She handed me what looked like a

  master’s thesis amount of paperwork. “Make sure he reads it—not you—and

  • 371 •

  does everything he’s supposed to do tonight and tomorrow especially. As much as I’ve enjoyed your visit . . . we don’t wanna see you back in here.”

  “Yes ma’am.” I smiled. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now I have to wheel you on out now—rules is rules.

  But it don’t say nothin’ ‘bout helpers.” She eyed my brothers. “Which one of

  you strappin’ young men would like to help push?”

  Two hands shot up. “Me! Me!”

  Nurse Gloria chuckled. “That’s about what I thought. Come on . . . I

  guess we’ll do one on each side.”

  I was wheeled—slowly and carefully—out the swinging double doors

  and into the waiting room. That reminded me: I’d have to let Norma know I

&n
bsp; couldn’t work this weekend. A smile lit up my face at the thought of a whole

  week taking it easy. That smile lasted as long as it took my eyes to register

  Daddy, the lone stander in the waiting room. Arms folded, he glowered down

  at me like he’d been called in to pick me up from the principal’s office.

  “Hi Daddy,” I squeaked.

  He nodded at me, cleared his throat. “You alright, Katie-girl?”

  I nodded my head. (The first time I’d voluntarily moved it since the

  accident.) “Just a concussion.”

  “Well that’s somethin’ good I ‘spose.” Daddy’s lips pulled into line

  formation. One, two, three beats: “Do you have any idea how much this little stunt’s gonna cost me?” Unable to keep it in for all the tea in Texas.

  I drew in a shaky breath, aware of awareness from others of our situation.

  “I was only tryin’ to help” came out the same time Pete came striding through

  the double doors. He was carrying a plastic bag most likely containing my

  soiled clothes and a handful of paperwork.

  “Nothing,” he said, his timing so impeccable I had to wonder if he was

  hiding out behind the door eavesdropping. “It will cost you nothing, because

  it’s already been taken care of—compliments of The Academy.”

  “Oh, hey, Pete . . .” Daddy faltered. “I didn’t know you was still here.”

  He thrust a hand out for Pete to shake. It looked to me like Pete would rather

  shake hands with that dead rat I yanked from the tank, but he rallied quickly

  enough, coming forward to shake hands cordially, if stiffly.

  “I gotta say thanks, Cadet Davenport. You saved the day once again.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Pete dismissed.

  An awkward pause ensued that Daddy filled with some cringe-worthy

  babbling. “Boy!—kids.” He shook his head. “You gotta watch ‘em all the time,

  or they get into trouble ever’ minute.” This as though I’d been off breaking

  windows with stones in my spare time.

  • 372 •

  A thundercloud appeared on Pete’s face that he couldn’t quite seem to manage to stave off. Meanwhile, Daddy was going on, quite oblivious to the

  fact that, not only was he singing off key, but he was singing to the wrong

  choir entirely.

  “I told her I’d take care of the tank problem.” Daddy spared a glance at

  his injured daughter. “But you know young ladies . . . impetuous as the day