I grimaced when she mentioned “other cadets,” conjuring up a haughty face and hateful eyes.
“I know high-society and dressin’ up and all that isn’t really your thing,” she said, misreading me, “but this is a chance for your brother to step it up in the world. Plus, you won’t have to babysit all the time anymore.”
People kept saying that. Did no one remember I had two little brothers? Maybe not living in big brother’s very big, very bright shadow for a while might not be such a bad thing for Mikey. My stomach immediately lurched at the errant thought.
Was I already allowing that this academy might not be such a bad idea for Andrew? Were my defenses so easily chipped away, that I was already questioning my own judgment? It’d been like a domino effect ever since we received Andrew’s first recruiting letter: first his principal and teachers, then Daddy, Andrew himself was next, and now Ashley-Leigh was on board? Even Reese had suggested this boarding school was the right choice for Andrew. Am I the last man standing here? No. I definitely had my shadow brother on my side.
. . . And what about the mentor cadet? Does he think his academy is a good place for my little brother? Does it matter?
The tardy bell rang, rousing me out of my reverie. Ashley-Leigh wasn’t worried because the cheerleading sponsor always cut them some slack. Coach Sams wouldn’t be so accommodating, so I had to get a move on. Plus, I was done with our chat. I was getting pretty steamed up at Ashley-Leigh’s know-it-all attitude—you could write volumes about what she didn’t know about me, and a haiku about what she actually did.
Coach Sams blew the whistle, and I made to line up when Ashley caught my arm to whisper a spur-of-the-moment plan in my ear. “If Drewy gets accepted, you can visit him all the time and hook up with all those rich, classy cadets. You gotta promise to take me along, okay? Remember—we’re besties forevuh!” Cue face smasher. She ran off to her color-coordinated friends though Ashley-Leigh was about as transparent as glass.
I made it through another riveting round of Phys Ed, where I spent the entire time passing the ball between two lines fading into the yellow grass. I tried (without success) not to check the boys’ side for Pete. When I didn’t find him out there setting the field on fire, I heaved a huge sigh. I imagined my life the way it was before he showed up; it now seemed dull and repetitive as a day in jail.
No matter what the future held, Pete had awakened something in me that had lain dormant for years. (Not entirely sure that was a good thing.) It was the need for more in life. I’d tried so hard to suppress it, trying to be okay with my lot in life, get behind that notion to “Bloom Where You’re Planted” like that stupid poster with wildflowers pushing up desert clay in the front office said. But it didn’t work. Now the idea of going back to the way things were: chores-childcare-church repeat. Well, just the thought of living like that made my eye tick now. I’d have to think of some way around it before hopelessness became entrenched any further into my normal psyche.
The whistle blew, and I jogged off the field more sprightly than usual without my glasses bumping up and down on my nose. A hand gripped my elbow, and I gasped, my heart swelling like someone just pumped air into my chest. I whipped around to see Miguel, bulky in pads, standing there sweating with a scratched helmet tucked under his arm. Disappointment hit me like a two-hundred-pound linebacker. I tried to mask it with a friendly smile.
“Oh, hey Miguel . . . you startled me.”
Must not have been my best performance because he said, “Expecting someone else?”
“No, not really.” My pitch went off-key.
“Where’s Davenport?”
“How would I know?”
“You two looked pretty cozy walking off to lunch together. But I noticed he didn’t make the trip back.” A tad bit jealous for someone who had a girlfriend.
“Oh. Well, uh . . .” I stumbled, “I think he had an appointment or somethin’.”
“An appointment?” he sneered. “For what? More teeth whitening?”
“What’s your problem, Miguel?”
“I don’t got no problem, Katie.” I shook my head and turned to go when I heard, “You’re the one with the problem.”
I whirled back around. “Whatd’ya mean by that exactly?”
“Nothin’.” He stuffed his helmet back on. “Forget about it . . . none of my business anyway.”
I stepped in front of him. “No, don’t just walk away. You said it . . . now tell me what you meant by it.”
Miguel faced me like we were opponents on the line of scrimmage. “That dude Davenport,” he spat.
“What about him?” I already knew where this was going; I just didn’t know where it was coming from.
“I—” he faltered, peering down at the scraggly grass and kicking up a tuff of the stuff with his cleat. It looked like he was red, but it was hard to tell in this heat. “I just don’t like the guy.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“I don’t have to know him to know his type.”
“His type?” I said, now using a note out of my range. “I didn’t take you for a guy with a whole lotta prejudices, Miguel.”
There was a trio of bored seniors standing around watching our little exchange, so in silent communication we toned it down. He placed a hand on my arm. “I just hate to see you make a fool of yourself, Katie.”
“Well, thanks so much for your concern.” I jerked my arm away. “It’s real heart-warmin’.” If there were daisies on the field, I would’ve trampled over them on my way back in.
Gah! What’s with everyone today?
My hands were posed to hit gym doors when my head turned. It was that shimmery feeling up my spine that gave him away. Pete was leaning —casual and cool in loose navy shorts and fitted white tee—against the fence surrounded by a small crowd of admirers. But his face was anything but casual. His jaw was set, his arms folded in front of him. He seemed to hardly be paying attention to the lively banter going on around him. Instead, he was staring directly at me.
I froze, hands midair. He gave a little wave, and my heart gave a little leap. Then I colored, realizing that he’d probably been watching Miguel and I’s little scene. I wondered what he made of it. In any case, he didn’t look too happy at the moment. I hoped he wasn’t still mad at me . . . shoot! I just remembered I hadn’t gotten around to eating that nutrition bar he’d pushed on me. So I returned a little wave and ran into the building to follow up on that.
I’d taken a little longer than usual inside, so was unprepared to find him waiting for me when I pushed out the door into carefree sunshine and a duty-filled afternoon. He approached me, shades on, so I couldn’t read his expression.
I tested the waters with “Hey.”
Pete looked at me for a drawn-out moment. In a very contained voice he said, “What was that earlier on the field?”
“It was nothin’—just a misunderstandin’.” I decided to switch rivers mid-stream. “What are you still doin’ here? I thought you’d be with Drews by now.”
“Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Yes. No . . . it’s not that. Of course, I am. I just thought you had to be there at a set time everyday,” I explained.