Murmuring from the bystanders was going on as they weighed in with their opinions. I was up . . .
“Like you know anything about my family or what’s best for my brother . . . or even care!” My voice cracked as though on a sour note—it still hurt that he’d been faking this whole time. “You’re such a phony and a liar! All you really care about is gettin’ results. And that equates to acquirin’ more innocent, gifted kids to pack into your stupid elite academy.”
Pete’s eyes hardened, although his body remained casually loose. I was rigid as a cane.
“It doesn’t matter to you who you’ve ripped them away from or how immature the child is,” I raged. “Andrew’s eight-years-old for God’s sake! Much too young to know what he wants or what’s good for him!”
The burgeoning crowd closed in around us, but I was focused on the cadet in front of me who was trying not to flinch at my words.
Backed into a corner, Pete came out swinging. “You are much too young and immature to know what’s good for him. A boy’s father is a better source of guidance than you, big sister. . . . Especially in this case—you’ve been biased against The Academy from the beginning.”
I huffed an incredulous snort. “Have you met my father?”
“I have. Several times. And found him to be both supportive and accommodating.”
“I just bet he’s been supportive and accommodatin’ . . . especially with a little palm greasin’ from your dirty organization!”
A swell of buzzing followed that one. Pete straightened his shoulders, but otherwise ignored the hit. “He’s doing what’s in Andrew’s best interests, not yours,” he finished.
“How dare you question my intentions!” I lunged forward, trigger finger pointed. “How dare you minimize my role in my brother’s life! And then Jerry-rig my car yesterday, so you could beat me to Mrs. Woodward!” I threw my arm out like it was exhibit A. “That was a new low by the way.”
Pete openly scoffed, rolling his eyes to a couple of his fans like my accusation was ludicrous. Our audience was following along with rapt attention.
I didn’t care. And didn’t slow my roll. “It’s you who doesn’t care about Andrew’s well-bein’; all you really care about is signin’ him up and then gettin’ the heck out of Dodge. Honestly, Cadet Davenport . . .”—my eyes lashed him—“how do you live with yourself?”
I could see up close that my words were affecting him: the marble smoothness of his face was cracking, his body now rigid as mine. But when he spoke, it was in a level voice.
“You know what, Katherine Connelly? I’ve had just about enough of your baseless accusations. I’ve been tolerant of your little tirades up until now because your father has apprised me of your situation . . .”
“Oh, yeah? And what situation would that be?” I sneered, thinking he would allude to our social-economic status.
Pete sighed and removed his glasses. “Your emotional imbalance,” he let drop as though it pained him. I felt like punching him in his pretty mouth, but that would only prove his point. “I know it’s not your fault. I realize you lost your mother a couple of years ago . . . and for that, I’m truly sorry.”
I flushed blood at his intimation. My jaw creaked from the force of my clench. His followers were lapping up his words like dogs did kibble.
Allowing a brief moment of emotion to wash over them, he continued in a soothing voice. “What I’m also sorry for is not addressing your wild accusations about The Academy sooner. I felt sorry for you and let those feelings color my judgment. That was my mistake.”
I physically cringed. He felt sorry for me?
“You have been downright delusional in your accusations,” he shot and wounded me with his words, “and they’ve been proven false every time. If you persist in accusing me of shady conduct like rigging your car”—he guffawed and backed away from me—“then you’d better bring proof. Otherwise, I’m going to be forced to inform your father of your irrational behavior and false claims, and of the fact that you’ve been trying to sabotage Andrew’s testing. Because what I’m not sorry for, is offering your brother a golden opportunity to better his life.” His voice positively rang with sincerity.
“Prove it,” I challenged.
“I think the proof from his testing is pretty definitive . . . not to mention your own brother’s confession.”
I swallowed thickly, shocked Andrew had turned over so easily. The crowd was high on drama; probably taking bets on when I would finally crack. Not long—I was seconds from tears.
Cadet Cutthroat went for the jugular now. “I believe, if I’m not mistaken, you’ve been forbidden by your father to interfere in any way with the mentoring process. He’s already informed me how emotional and irrational you’ve been lately—almost paranoid—like your mother,” he said, planting a seed.
How dare he! Threatening to tell on me for Andrew’s sake. Making me sound like I needed to be put away for my sake. And then bringing my dead mama into it! That was below the belt (which was exactly where I wanted to kick him).
“You would rat me out to my father,” I said bitterly.
He shook his head, holding a hand out to me like I was a jumper on The Brooklyn Bridge. “That’s not what I want, Kate. All I want is for you to stop interfering with the process . . . and trust me,” he said so softly only I could hear.
I laughed in his face. “I don’t trust liars and con artists.”
Pete’s face went bone hard. “Kate, you need to stop interfering.”
“Over my dead body.”
Something scary flashed in his eyes. I took a step back from him. He shook his head and the scary fell away.
“Since you’re being so unreasonable, you leave me no choice but to inform your father,” he threatened.
I glared through the slit in my eyes. “Well I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, Cadet Davenport.” It’s like I had a big stick and couldn’t help rattling it against the fence—even though I knew he could bite my head off at any moment.
“You sure that’s the way you want it?”
Emboldened by the fact that I had a couple of arrows in my quiver now, I said, “If you take me down, I’m takin’ you with me!” I punctuated this with a finger poke to his chest.
My little threat elicited the requisite “oooh” from our gawkers. We stood there for a moment engaged in a glare-off. The bell rang,and I immediately took off for my corner. Pete caught up with me a few strides later and grabbed my arm.
“Kate, please—don’t do this. For your sake” he pleaded, dark eyes boring into mine. A threat? Or warning? It seemed like both, but it was so hard to tell. That’s what made this so much harder—I was getting mixed signals.
“I know.” I closed my eyes, not looking at him lest I get confused. “Cadet Davenport, the jig is up.”
“Where’s your proof, Kate?”
We were standing so close we’d become a crowd of two.
“Your little stunt with my car yesterday—”
“Ridiculous here-say,” he cut in.