Weston stared me down again before clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder, lightly massaging it. “I know it goes without saying . . . everything that goes on in a Mission Meeting is strictly confidential. Even with the clearance your parents have acquired, sometimes missions are strictly off-limits to anyone not directly involved. This is one of those times.”
I worked to mask my surprise. “Yes, sir.” That was weird. My mother used to be the lead scientist in the Gifted Program, and my father was one of the on-staff doctors who performed the physicals on all PGCs. They were privy to everything Academy, as far as I knew. It had always been them keeping secrets from me. It was discombobulating to be the other way around.
“Alrighty then. I’ll let you go say hi to your parents, maybe spend a little R&R with Cadet Caruthers, hey?” Weston lightly jabbed at me like we were old buddies.
I tried infusing my voice with enthusiasm. “That sounds great, sir.”
“And don’t feel too bad about the Connelly girl. Those civilian girls never make it to the altar intact . . . better you then some hick with a can of chewing tobacco in his back pocket. Am I right?”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said, actually meaning it.
Weston clapped me on the shoulder again. “You’re a good man, Davenport. You’re doing the right thing. The Connelly boy deserves better in life than the neglectful home environment he has now. You can feel good about helping him find his rightful place—living with us, among the elite.”
I was quiet. Not the response he was hoping for. “Am I right?” he prompted with another hardier than necessary clap on the back.
“I couldn’t agree more” got coughed up. Weston at last seemed satisfied enough to let me leave.
What I’d really wanted to say was: I couldn’t disagree more. Because the way I saw it, Andrew Connelly was already living among the elite— especially when you accounted for the fact that his father was almost never home.
26
GRUDGE MATCH
It had been more than a week since we’d so much as acknowledged each other’s presence. Oh, he’d tried a couple of times to get back into my good graces. His overtures had been in vain. Since my last rebuff, he was sub-zero cold whenever he so much as glanced in my direction.
People had taken sides. We were like two boxing opponents set to participate in a grudge match—with the sudden uncanny ability to polarize most of the student body. The divide was an almost even split between the sexes. Every line on my dance card was suddenly filled with knights-in-shining-armor, offering to carry my backpack or take me to lunch.
The girls flocked around Pete like a pack of hungry dogs chasing down raw meat. And the claws were coming out now that he was finally showing a modicum of interest. He was nothing short of a phenom in our small town, creating pandemonium wherever he went. Several near breakdowns had occurred in classrooms, parking lots, and bathrooms around campus all week. A couple of girls were even sent home due to hysteria.
I rolled my eyes at their total lack of self-respect. But a part of me could totally identify with falling apart from the littlest thing going awry in his presence—a hardening of his eyes, a dismissive turn of the head, for instance. It was a cold, cold world after living in his bright spotlight.
As it was, I felt like I was barely holding it together using bailing wire, steely pride, and a prayer. If it weren’t for my total conviction that their organization was evil and the indisputable proof that Pete had lied to me, then I would have had a hard time not throwing myself at his mercy, along with the rest of the pack.
It had been a narcotic-like pleasure being in his company. I was still suffering from withdrawals. Too bad I had neither the time nor the money for rehab. Weaning myself from him was almost killing me. Going cold turkey was the only way I’d make it, so I’d been having Daddy pick up Andrew in my stead. And I’d been walking a different route to class lately, hoping to avoid him. And Ron Tillman. I grimaced. He’d been dropping hints about homecoming all week. I figured avoid, avoid, avoid was the best way to deal with him and everybody else these days.
I was walking back from lunch, from the unpopular west side of the gym, when a compact but loud gathering caught my eye—unusual activity over here. It was his Hummer, practically straddling the sidewalk. Hip-hop thumped from open doors, and a gaggle of scantily clad females were vying for his attention. It was more like a scene from a flashy music video than real life. I tried not to look, but really had no choice—it was either keep on walking, or else turn tail and run like a dog with its tail between its legs.
Guess I was walking right by then.
Surprisey!—Ashley-Leigh was there, brightly standing in the driver’s side door, hanging halfway out of the truck . . . and her shirt, I noted with a stab of pain. I couldn’t help but watch furtively behind my sunglasses. The tilt of my head must’ve given me away because he looked right at me. Busted! I flushed, but raised my chin a fraction.
Slummin’ much?
Ashley’s eyes followed to where his had wandered. Suddenly, a wild, gushy scream erupted from her throat followed by her literally pouncing on him from her predator’s perch. He caught her easily, if somewhat stiffly, as she wrapped her filthy paws around him, shrieking with laughter while her blown-out hair spilled over his face in a daisy-yellow curtain. He clutched her waist with his hands, and bile rose to my throat. It apparently was to remove her from his body. But still. I clenched my jaw to keep my face from shattering as I whisked past them.
Anger flared up and ignited inside me. I hated her. I hated him. I hated me. And mostly . . . I hated my whole dang life! I stomped off to class trying to smother the flames before they engulfed me and everyone in my path. Of all the girls in school! Really? And here I thought I was the immature one.
First in class (last in life), I hurled down my backpack and slumped into my seat, the very picture of misery. So that’s the way he’s gonna play it? Well, fine—two could play that game.
Miguel came trucking in after me. We were partners again now that I’d moved seats and moved on from Pete Davenport. He took one look at my face and said, “What’s wrong?”
I just shook my head, smoldering in my seat.
He sighed and dropped his backpack. “Well, somethin’s wrong cause you were walking faster than most people run.” A long beat of silence. “Davenport again?” His mouth crunched on his name like glass.
“No.”
“Liar, liar, pants-on-fire . . .”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.” And I didn’t. Where was the future anyway?
As if reading my mind Miguel said, “He’s not worth it, Katie . . .‘sides, isn’t he leaving, like, any day now?”
I sighed, not believing I could be even more miserable than I was before. “I dunno. Maybe. I think it depends on if Daddy signs the paperwork or not. And Drew has some kind of big physical he has to pass first in San Francisco. I think it’s scheduled for the end of September.”
Miguel perked up immediately. “That’s only a week away.”
“I know.” Misery drooped my mouth.
He gave me a sidelong glance. “You know what you need?”
A new life. “What?”