“It was really down to a T-shirt contest?” It sounded more like a spring break game for frat guys than something an elite military academy would participate in.
“They wanted someone who would appeal to both you and Andrew,” he explained. “Ranger argued his case all the way up the ranks to Weston himself that he could and should do it because—” Pete stopped short, shook his head, and looked off into the black wasteland
“Because . . . ”
He hit me with a look then hit me with: “Because he was T-shirt number two.”
“No!” My hands flew to my mouth, where they stayed a while.
No way!—The Terminator?
“That’s right.” Pete barked out a humorless laugh. “Ranger came in second place. And nothing makes him madder than that . . . except for losing to me.”
My hands fell to my lap, causing my mouth to cave open. But no words came out.
“That’s likely another reason he hated on you,” Pete said. “I told you, don’t take it personally. Ranger should’ve just chalked it up to pheromones. But I’m sure on some level he blames you for not choosing him—he’s an egotist and a sore loser. And he’s going to do everything in his power to make you pay if he loses. That’s just who he is. That’s probably why he gave you such a hard time at the diner . . . and to give me a harder time on my mission.”
My face contorted. “Well, I would never have fallen for him!”
Pete had nothing to say to that bold declaration. His eyes penetrated mine as if searching . . . Something flickered there for an instant.Doubt?
“Never!”
“That’s something my mother would refer to as ‘famous last words,’” he remarked in a way that sounded like a warning.
“Not if he was the last man on earth!” I added dramatically.
He pursed his lips. “Well, it’s a specious argument anyway.”
“And nobody would’ve believed he was in high school,” I added an addendum before switching to a less touchy topic. “I still don’t quite understand why y’all went to such great lengths for me if nobody but you knows about my, er . . . gifts.”
“Prior to the camp set-up, we approached your father about signing Andrew. He turned us down flat, citing you as the reason. Said his daughter would never allow it, seeing as how you had your mind set on raising the boys. I believe his exact words were . . .” Pete looked up, as though to scroll through his brain, “’you’d promised your mother, before she was made an angel, and that you’d fight like the devil to see it through’,” he finished with a fond smile.
I was also taken aback by this bit of news. Not the meeting Daddy never mentioned, the turning them down flat part. Thought he was Team IEA all the way.
Pete continued: “We were unsurprised by this, already privy to the fact your father had turned down several exclusive schools that offered scholarships. So we set about sweetening the deal. We felt your father would cave with bribes, some ego-stroking, and by emphasizing the military portion of The Academy. But we knew you had the most influence over your brother.
“This made you our target. You and Andrew. Andy, it turned out, was the easy target.” Pete said this in a way that made me want to slap him. “He was smitten with the whole idea from day one. You—not so much.”
“The easy target,” I repeated in a wooden voice.
Pete’s eyes slanted down at the corners. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound calloused. I really like Andrew; he’s a great kid. I’m just trying to be as forthright as possible.”
I slowly nodded. “Go on.”
“So they followed you, finding very little from their surveillance because all you do is work, go to church, and take care of the boys. Then wake up and do it all over again,” he summed up my life, and I cringed at how accurately and succinctly he did that. “Finally, they got a break: you were going to that church camp for a week. The Mission Team thought you needed to be thrown into the midst of a teen romance.”
I shook my head in disbelief; it felt like evil gamers were playing with my life.
After my disgruntled growl, Pete continued: “So they sent Reese and Ryan on a field trip to Oklahoma. She was to friend you, gather new intel, get you warmed up. Then Ryan was supposed to swoop in and—as you so aptly put it—‘razzle-dazzle’ you. Didn’t quite work out that way. It was pretty obvious you were only going through the motions, so they initiated the T-shirt contest to see if they could get you more motivated. And . . . voila!” He indicated himself. “I found myself recruited for a mission I was never slated for.”
I felt myself go iron-bar cold. A set up the whole time.
“The mission was to loosen the maternal bonds with your brother by making you fall—” My face began to crumple, so he deftly rephrased, “For me. To win you over . . . you and your family.”
Fresh tears stung my eyes. No better. Any way you wanted to look at it, it was sickening. I felt violated and humiliated. Pete looked distraught, pained, chagrined—all the things he should be feeling. He tried to hug me, but I scrabbled away. I should’ve been less mad since he was being so forthright, but I wasn’t. My female pride and tender heart were taking a beating.
“Kate, honey. I’m sorry. I’ve been so torn up about it.”
There he went again being a good guy. But you know what? I didn’t care whether he was good or bad, or purple with pink spots. I was way too mad to see anything but red.
“A con,” I spat. “Everything was a dadgum con!” We didn’t have anything real. He’d been faking—acting like he liked me, pretending to find me pretty. My intuition was spotty as the rainfall round here.
I was the kind of sick that twisted intestines. I wanted to retch in the brushy bushes. Wished I would’ve thrown-up on him in the hospital—big, fat faker he was! The smoldering eyes and heart-breaking smiles, the concern, going the extra mile . . . all for the friggin’ mission.
“Well congratulations, Cadet Davenport . . . job well done!” I heaved myself away from him, into the bitter cold. “Really—they should give you an armload of Oscars for your performance!” I declared, using my own arms as a tourniquet to hold myself together. I couldn’t stop myself from crying, quite like the baby I was, I guess.
But really, how much could one girl take?
“I told you you would hate me,” he said, sounding almost as miserable as he should.
“You were right,” I sniffled out, trying hard not to fall apart over something I’d suspected the whole time. However, it was hard being reasonable about matters of the heart. He reached for me, and I recoiled back as violently as a girl who’d just had buckets of pig’s blood dumped on her by all the cool kids. Waving away his second attempt at contact, I choked out, “I sh-shoulda h-hit you h-h-harder!”
It was just . . . after being so elated to see him again, sharing that wildly-passionate “interlude,” and then having it confirmed, it made my stomach burn with shame as much as my heart break.
“Kate, listen to me. You have it wrong. It’s not entirely like that.”
“Yes, Pete. It’s exactly like that . . . you just confirmed it.” I swiped hard at my tears. “Anyhow, I guess I should be thankin’ you for tellin’ me the truth.”