There was a chill in my bones this morning that had nothing to do with the outside temperature. And nerves were eating my stomach lining alive. But I forced down some cereal and did a second shot of forbidden coffee, then speedily washed the breakfast dishes before heading back to the bathroom with my brothers to brush my teeth.
We kind of stared at our own reflections in silence as we brushed—a departure from our usual morning high-jinx. This was usually a comical time of making faces and jostling for position in front of the mirror while trying to stifle our laughter so we wouldn’t wake up Daddy. This morning we were all unusually subdued. Andrew and Mikey were obviously feeding off my mood, glancing at each other and then at me warily.
I finally cracked a smile as we waited for Andrew to fix his hair. He always liked to brush it just so and end his morning ritual with a dab of unnecessary gel, added with a flourish. After which, he would smile back at his own reflection, admiring the effect, before heading out. Mikey didn’t have enough hair to bother fixing, and I didn’t care enough to bother. Today I would leave it a tangled mass of waves—kind of seemed befitting my mood.
I met Andrew’s eyes in the mirror. His were apologetic; mine had a fire in them I couldn’t quite extinguish. I gave him a tight-lipped smile, and placed an arm around each brother as if framing us for a picture. A lot was at stake here. Today, I would confront Cadet Davenport with the lies I knew he’d told. Today, I would get to school early to wait for him. Today, he would be unable to hide behind his glowing good looks and easy charm—he was busted, and we both knew it.
After whisking the boys away to school, I pulled into the near empty parking lot like I was on a stake out. Eventually the lot began to slowly fill, bringing in a cacophony of lively chatter intermingled with opposing music genres: rap, country, pop, all blurring and blaring from open windows of second-hand cars. Clumps of social groups posed for each other—those who knew they were being looked at, and those who were doing the looking. I felt so far removed from it all I may as well have been parked in the faculty lot.
A couple of chattering cheerleaders, who used to be my friends, caught my eye. What do they really have to worry about? What color bloomers to wear under their skirts Friday night? Who they’re going to homecoming with? Child’s play.
As the morning sun slowly warmed the car, I realized I’d arrived too early and with too many layers on. The waiting began to wear on my nerves and my confidence, so I mentally listed their transgressions. The slow burn of injustice started to boil my blood when I thought about how outmatched I was, the enticements they were using: money, alcohol . . . Pete. I thought back to all the encounters where he’d been a phony. Felt like I might need to unstick my jaw just to talk.
Miguel was right: What a little fool I’d been.
Feeling like The Hulk, I ripped off my sweater and looked up just in time to see a trio of curvy girls with straight hair elbow each other expectantly. He was here. I rammed out of the car and rushed over to where he was parking before anyone else could accost him. I had him in my sights—Pete was the bulls-eye, and I the arrow. When I was within target range, he looked up at me briefly before dropping his head to his chest. He let out a mighty sigh and grabbed his backpack but remained in the protected confines of the Hummer, I guess debating the merits of whether to hide or face the music.
Coward, I thought as I stood, obviously waiting him out.
I watched as he rubbed the heel of his hand in one eye as though the mere sight of me gave him a headache. And with a great shake of his golden head, he pushed the door open and stepped out slowly, as if putting off a particularly unpleasant chore. Backpack slung over his shoulder, he slammed the door behind him, walked a few steps forward, stopped to click the button that locked his precious Hummer. (I was really beginning to hate that obnoxious chirping sound.) Finally, he lifted his chin to face me squarely.
We stood about thirty paces from each other, looking as if we were about to engage in a western-style shootout. I was armed, cocked, and ready to go. But what he didn’t know was: I was also loaded.
Pete must’ve found our little standoff humorous, because his mouth quirked up at the corner. Another time I would’ve found it funny, too. Today, I just found it to be very apropos—I’d been fighting off the villains for what seemed like a very long time. At last the battle had come to a head, in the middle of the town square as it were.
Unsure how to begin, I chewed on my lip a little. Pete made the first move by ambling forward to greet me. He was wearing his aviators, and I now thought they made him look more like an automaton than a movie star—robotic-like in his perfection without the warming presence of his eyes sparking up in humor.
“Good morning, Kate,” he greeted in a neutral tone. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“I-I’d like to speak with you about a few things.” Dang it!—my voice quivered.
“Now?” He said this like I was a crazy person for suggesting a deep conversation first thing in the morning, with a crowd of bystanders as witnesses.
“Right now.”
Pete exhaled deeply, looked heavenward as if for guidance. I snorted, and he snapped his head back down, staring at me long and hard. So I’m gettin’ on his elite nerves, am I? Well, that’s just fine cause Elite Pete is gettin’ on mine!
“What is it, Kate?” he said briskly.
I drew in a deep breath and just went for it. “I wanna know why you took it upon yourself to call my father yesterday, then lie about it bein’ my father’s idea to ban me from the meetings, when he informed me last night . . . it was yours!”
Not a single muscle twitch.
“Then I wanna know why you’re trying to cut me out of my own brother’s life!” I hissed, the rage monster in me making this a must-see scene immediately. Our curious audience crept closer.
Pete was sea breeze cool under the heat of my vicious glare and the open ogling of the crowd. “That’s easy enough to explain,” he said in a reasonable voice. “I did it because you’ve been sabotaging your own brother’s academic achievements, putting his full-ride scholarship to the best military academy in the world in jeopardy in the process.”
Someone in the crowd jeered, followed by a couple of “oohs.”
“I—” faltered, unaware he was onto us. “That’s ridiculous.” I wasn’t expecting to be put on the defensive.
“Is it?” He arched a brow, a move I used to find so charming but now just seemed arrogant. “Then explain to me, why is it, that your brother just happens to miss exactly five percent of the questions on every single test—usually right in a row, either vertically or horizontally on the page. A couple of times he got more creative by going diagonally. Sometimes, he appears to get bored so skips every other question until he hits the target number of questions missed. But any which way he slices it—it’s always the exact same pattern of missing five percent on the dot. Do you have an explanation for that?”
Oh crap. Of course, Drews would do that; he was both creative and a perfectionist. And obviously wanted to create a not-so-secret code to let Pete know what was going on, without outright defying his sister’s wishes. Ingenious.
While I stewed in guilty silence, he went on, “I guessed, of course, that you’d put him up to it. You haven’t exactly hidden your negative feelings about The Academy—the one your little brother desperately wants to be accepted to. It’s the right place for him, Kate. And everyone knows it, but you.”