“Kate . . .” Pete looked down on me with a serious enough expression my heart arrested in my chest. “You should prepare yourself for the idea that Andrew will most likely be going to The Academy come January.”
“Why? Did you find somethin’ out?”
He shook his head. “I just don’t want you to be crushed . . . if things end up not going your way.”
“I’m very accustomed to things not goin’ my way.” I yanked my hand back. “However, this will not be one of those times.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Just am.” I could hardly explain my intuition.
“I want you to prepare yourself—just in case.”
His pity face flared my skin into further irritation. “I ain’t gonna stand by and watch while your thievin’ superiors snatch my brother away!”
“Kate . . .” he started, then screwed his mouth shut for a moment. “You need to stay out of it—for your sake. And Mikey’s.”
A sinking feeling, like my stomach just got coated in cast iron, nearly took me down, but I put steely resolve in my voice. “I think you should prepare yourself: I’ll take the boys and run if I have to.”
“You need to give up, Kate.” He took hold of my hand again and squeezed. “Please.”
“If you think I’m just gonna give up, then you don’t know me at all, Pete Davenport!” Sadness, madness, and fear were all clashing up against each other producing tears—a weakness I didn’t want him to see. I averted my gaze.
He grasped my jaw, lifting my face to his. “That’s where you’re dead wrong, Kate Connelly—I know you’re strong-willed but sweet natured, fiercely loyal, and one of the best mothers I’ve ever met. I also know that you’re smarter than is for your own good, appreciate Impressionist art, and play soccer better than half the girls’ Olympic team.” A few tears escaped, but he didn’t let me go. “And I know for a double-throw-down fact, that you’re way, way too good for Ronald Tillman!”
My mouth flew open. “I—” was speechless. And no longer able to work up the energy to be mad at him after his little speech. To tell you the truth, I was more than a little touched but couldn’t afford to get mired up in sentimentality. “Well then, you should know that I’m not givin’ up! I’m sorry if you’re gonna get in trouble over it . . . more than you know. But I just can’t let them get their claws on my brother!”
Pete sighed and dropped my hand. “I actually think—knowing everything I do—that the best-case scenario, for everyone involved, would be if Andrew does go to The Academy next year.” I gasped and retreated back a couple of paces. “You have to trust me on that one, Kate . . . and I don’t give a damn about me getting into trouble.” He gave me a meaningful look.
A sliver of fear paused me. Is he trying to scare me? That was one tactic they hadn’t explored much. But what might’ve been more worrisome was that I felt like he was just strictly worrying about me.
“I think I’m beginnin’ to understand the ruthless lengths y’all will go to get what you want, Pete. But since bribery didn’t work, what makes you think scare tactics will?”
Pete didn’t get a chance to respond because Daddy’s Bronco came roaring up the road like some kind of smoke monster, billowing up clouds of dust. “Looks like the only thing worse than his parenting skills is his timing,” he said, reluctantly stepping away from me to go greet my father.
I knew he’d be early today.
32
PETE WHAT’S-HIS-NAME?
We both missed homecoming. Pete didn’t return all week. Nor did he make an appearance the following Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. It had been more than a full week now without a word, other than the registered letter, delivering two first-class tickets to San Francisco—for my father and his prodigy.
Finally, finally everyone at school stopped pestering me with questions about his whereabouts, finally believing me when I said I didn’t know anything. It seemed Pete had disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as he’d arrived. And after the hysterical mourning abated, everyone went back to normal. Almost. Ashley-Leigh and the no-longer-bolstered-motley-crew-P.E.-class being the most obvious exceptions. I didn’t count, because I knew I’d never go back to normal (not that I ever was).
It was a benign Friday morning, and I was slumped over in Pre-Cal, trying and failing to look alive, when a knock on the door caused me to bolt upright. Almost as if someone had called my name. Hmmmm. Why was I so fascinated by the office-aid handing over a note?Boredom. I was getting ready to settle back into my slump when my name was called.
My heart gave a jolt. My feet found floor. And then I was standing in front of the class with my hand out. I almost tripped over a couple of backpacks in my rush back to tear into the note. It said: Your father called. You don’t need to pick up Andrew from school this afternoon. That’s it? He couldn’t’ve said anything else? The lack of information was galling.
Better not get my hopes up. Most likely Daddy was going to take Andrew clothes shopping after school for the big bad trip to San Francisco on Monday. But I couldn’t help feel a niggle of hope nudge into my chest . . . only to be crushed each time Pete’s golden presence failed to manifest throughout the day. I kept visualizing him, as though I could will him into the empty desk behind me in Spanish, or on the dismal-feeling soccer field. By the end of the day, I’d given up, dejectedly picking up Mikey from preschool before heading straight home for a predictable round of chores. Or so I thought . . .
The last thing I remembered, as we headed into lonely pasture, was thinking I hadn’t seen Pete’s glistening eyes for more than a week. But they were the first thing I saw when my eyes fluttered open . . . some time later. I found myself being brought round from blissful, cave-like oblivion by sure hands methodically probing my body. I closed my eyes, groaning against the blinding light.
“Andrew, get my first-aid kit from the truck,” a familiar voice ordered in an urgent, clipped tone.
Ow. I wanted to protest the probing going on around my head, but only a groan came out, until he found the cartoon-like knot protruding from the back of my skull. And then I gasped in agony. So that’s why my neck was turned at such an odd angle. Oh, please, please don’t do that again! I heard the heavy clunk of metal being dumped on the ground. Urgent rummaging was going on, along with some kind of wailing noise that made me want to cry.
“Kadeeee!” crested over the sound of sobs. “I didn’t m-m-make her m-move!” More sobs followed this bizarre announcement that nobody replied to.
Maybe I’m hallucinating? Ow. Something tight and unyielding clamped around my throat. Is he going to strangle me? That’s okay—I sought the darkness now, not fighting it. It closed over me again, blissfully catching my fall with waiting, tar-like wings.
“Kate?” Tense arm stroking. “Can you hear me?”
Quit screaming in my ear, so I can go back to sleep.
“Andrew, go back to the truck and get my phone . . . I better call 911.”
911? No! He can’t do that! I groaned again, trying to fight my way out of sticky tar to find the words that were sloshing around my brain. Pete. Thought I formed sound, but it seemed like no one could hear me through the wailing. Mikey. Those cries were coming from Mikey. Why is nobody comforting him? Oh. Because of me . . . How hurt am I? I couldn’t move my head; it felt bowling ball heavy on my neck. I tried moving my mouth instead.