Deadly First Day, page 11
part #1 of Embassy Academy Series
A strong urge to champion Mikhail hits me, but I ignore it. Still, I’m glad he’s over by the door and unable to hear Charlotte gushing about her boyfriend. “I did see that.”
My stepsister’s eyes narrow. “You’re not as enthusiastic as I expected you to be. What’s the problem? You think he’s too old for me? Spit it out. You can tell me.”
But the sharp look in her eyes stays my tongue. Something tells me it is not a good idea to tell Charlotte what I really think of her boyfriend. “It’s nothing like that. I just didn’t sleep well, is all.”
“Well, maybe you should take something for that instead of being grumpy at breakfast.” With a haughty expression, she turns to Dali. “You liked Kenneth didn’t you? Isn’t he cute?”
Dali nods in agreement, shoveling another bite of oatmeal into her mouth so she doesn’t have to respond verbally. Instead, she gives an enthusiastic, “Mmhm.”
“How old is he, anyway? He didn’t seem that old.”
Charlotte smiles. “He’s only 23. And pre-med. That’s only a five year difference, so barely anything.”
“Right. Sure.”
“Have your parents met him yet?” Dali asks, finally finding her voice.
Charlotte shakes her head. “Don’t be absurd. Daddy would freak if he knew I was dating a college guy. Kenneth agreed that we don’t need to tell them, anyway. It’s not like we’re getting married, or anything.” Her eyes fall to her egg white omelet, and I get the distinct impression that this last sentiment is something that came from Kenneth and not my stepsister.
I turn to where my stepbrother is sitting next to Asif. “Hey, Callahan, do you want to study diplomacy together tomorrow tonight? I could use the help.”
“Sorry, I can’t. Busy tomorrow. Maybe Wednesday?”
“What are you so busy doing, Cal?” Charlotte asks, leaning forward to look at him past Genevieve. She likes to know where we are at all times. It’s sweet and also sort of condescending.
He shrugs. “Stuff.”
“Ugh. You’re impossible.” She shakes her head, turning back to us. “You’d think that since we’re only eleven months apart, we’d be closer. But no.” She slices into her omelet and takes a bite.
“Wednesday works for me. Thanks.”
“Hey, can I borrow your pen again? I keep forgetting to put one in my bag.” Dali asks, holding out a hand toward me.
“Sure. Let me find it.” I dig around in my backpack, but come up empty.
Asif offers his, which Dali accepts. She scrawls a note on the back of her hand, then returns it.
I watch Callahan surreptitiously, taking a bite of my buttered toast. I should probably tell Charlotte about my suspicion that he’s the one who broke into the Chinese consulate, but I don’t have any evidence. Just the fact that I saw him arguing with Ambassador Li at the convention, and that I saw him sneaking off campus that Friday night.
I quash the thoughts. I won’t tell her. It’s quite the mental leap I’m making. It probably wasn’t even him.
But he did sneak out, which makes me wonder where he went. And if he’s busy tomorrow night, does that mean he’s sneaking out again? And if so, where is he going? Taking another bite, I make a decision. If Callahan does sneak out tomorrow night, I’m going to find out where he’s going. I’m going to follow him.
Charlotte said it’s a little weird that I want to spend my evening studying for my diplomacy quiz in the hallway, amidst all the noise of our fellow students, rather than in the quiet of my room, but mercifully, she doesn’t force me inside. Instead, she shuts herself in her own room. It’s a relief. She’s been short with me since the dreaded Ken conversation, and even though she insists she’s not mad, I’m pretty sure she’s lying. Charlotte is normally brusque and a little intense, but today she crossed the border into mean territory. Heck, Dali didn’t even show up to eat lunch with us.
A trio of girls walk past me, laughing and talking. One of them looks back at me before whispering in her friend’s ear. Then all three of them look in my direction. The ice in their gazes makes my skin prickle.
I try to ignore it, but I wish I could go back to before I found Na’s body. Being the inconsequential new girl would be infinitely better than the curiosity I am now.
Laying my flash cards out in rows on the nubby carpet, I scan my notes. I never worked this hard at my old school, and it’s probably why I got Bs and Cs. I’ve been busting my butt since I got to the academy, and my grades are significantly better. Hopefully my B+ and A- scores are enough to keep Headmistress Morgan off my back.
“Good evening, chouchou. What are we studying?” Ricardo plops down beside me and picks up a flash card. “Ah, diplomacy. The art of kissing the butts of other people so they don’t start a nuclear war.”
“Wow, that’s pretty dark. I liked it better when Callahan referred to it as a pointless etiquette class.”
“That, too.” Putting the card back in its spot, he looks at me with a wry grin. “Want to take a study break? I thought we could go down to the kitchen and you could make me some more of your delectable blancmange.”
I laugh at his compliment. “I can’t make you blancmange whenever you crave it, although I do miss being in the kitchen. I haven’t had a chance to cook anything in a while.”
“It could be I’m hungry for something else.”
The look he’s giving me makes me roll my eyes. “Oh, please.” I focus on my flash cards. I can’t give in to his flirtation. I remember what Charlotte said, and everything Ricardo did to Genevieve. He’s a shameless flirt, and he’s only interested in me because I’m the new girl.
“Please, chouchou. I promise I don’t bite. Usually.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
He laughs, and then leans forward to pull my flash cards into a pile. Standing, he deposits them in the pocket of his jeans. “I’ll even help you study. What do you say?”
I look at his extended hand. Up the stairs toward Callahan’s room. I should not go down to the kitchen with Ricardo. I know he’s merely messing with me. Winding me up just to let me go spinning into the oblivion of disappointment. But then again, it wouldn’t hurt to take my study session down to the kitchen, would it? I’ll still be studying, just in a different place. My favorite place. Ricardo will just happen to be there. And it’s not like Callahan can sneak out of the academy without passing by the kitchen.
Underneath all of that is a niggling truth: I want to go with Ricardo. He’s fun, unlike everything else at the academy. I know it’s not the best idea, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Great. Allow me to carry that for you.” He plucks my computer out of my lap and lifts me up with his free hand, making me feel light and small, two adjectives that I don’t normally apply to myself.
“Thanks.”
“How about you cook while I read your flash cards out loud?”
“How about you cook, under my instruction, while I also study my flash cards?”
His smile is wide. “Oh, so you like to be the one giving the orders? You will be unimpressed with my culinary ability, but I accept.”
A group of students passes us on the stairs, and I can sense their eyes on our backs as we descend. Then the whispering starts. I can only imagine what they’re saying about me now, but I won’t let them ruin my evening, or my plans.
I will never admit this to Charlotte, but I enjoy spending time with Ricardo. He’s standing at the counter, using my scuffed up, handheld pale blue mixer to whip egg whites. I already knew from watching my favorite baking competition that watching cute guys cook was my kryptonite, but the way he keeps looking over his shoulder at me with that cocky grin, his features edged with shadows cast by the under-cabinet lighting, is making me want to laugh out loud.
I push it down. Remember what he did to Genevieve. I am not special, or his exception. I’m merely the new girl. A new challenge. His flavor of the year. The semester, even.
But he is so fun.
Ricardo must see me staring at him, because his grin widens. “Want me to turn this thing off and come over there to help you study?” His thumb moves over the hand mixer’s off button.
“No! You can’t stop beating the egg whites. You’re almost to soft peaks.”
“As you wish, chouchou, but you’ll have to stop with that look you’re giving me. It’s making me think there are all sorts of naughty thoughts in your pretty head.”
I shake my pretty head vigorously, willing my fair skin not to bloom pink. “No, no naughty thoughts. Just dreaming about how delicious this angel food cake is going to taste once we put the maple glaze on top. Did you know that the contestants in the show had a heck of a time making this stuff? A lot of them didn’t even know what angel food cake was. I was surprised, because it’s so easy to make. You know?”
“I hate to tell you this, but I’m not sure what angel food cake is, either. But if it’s good enough for angels… Is this right?” He stops the blender, the hollow left by the absence of its buzzing making me acutely aware of the silence outside the kitchen. We should probably be quieter in here. I don’t want to miss Callahan or scare him off with our noise.
I peek around Ricardo, careful not to get too close. Inexperienced with guys, party of one. “It looks perfect,” I breathe. “You’re good at this.”
Ricardo cocks his head. “If by ‘this’ you mean following your directions, then you’re right. Now, what would you have me do next?” He leans an elbow on the counter, his weight sliding to that side. Is it my imagination, or did he just look at my mouth?
Okay, I am blushing now.
Willing my tongue to work properly, I speak. “Now all you have to do is fold the dry ingredients into the egg whites, a little at a time, and then it’s ready to be put in the pan and baked.”
“Fold them in? Like laundry?”
“No. Take this broad spatula, see? And fold them in. Gently. You don’t want to push out all of the glorious air bubbles you’ve spent the last ten minutes whipping in. That’s what makes angel food cake so light and fluffy.” Even though there isn’t any sound in the hallway, I keep my voice low.
“So, you cook a lot at home, I assume? With your mom?” He dips the spatula into the frothy substance, mimicking the technique I showed him.
“My mom isn’t much of a cook. Her idea of a well-rounded meal is one of those frozen dinners you get in the freezer section of the grocery store. So I do a lot of the cooking, yeah. And I’ve worked at our local bakery for two years now, and I love it. It’s what I want to do, actually. Go to pastry school and become a pastry chef.”
“Wow. That’s…”
“What? Boring? I know it’s not along the same lines of most of the people here at the academy. It’s not as worthy as world peace or the eradication of plastic waste, but it’s my dream.” My eyes meet his, taking in the inscrutable expression on his face. He probably thinks the idea of becoming a pastry chef is beneath him. Like Charlotte and Callahan, he’s probably used to his food appearing on a gilded plate from the hand of a quiet and efficient wait staff. Inadequacy rises up in me, making me clutch the counter’s edge. I never should have told him any of this. My goals only make the fact that I don’t belong here even more obvious. I am not destined for the world stage that is politics, like Charlotte, or the give-and-take of diplomatic talks, like Genevieve, or even an environmental engineering company with the goal of bringing more sustainable energy to Malawi, like Dali.
“Never mind. It’s stupid.” I swipe at my flashcards, forcing them into a messy pile. One flies off the edge, and I grasp for it. Picking it up, I hold it with trembling fingers. I never should have come down here with Ricardo. I should have waited for Callahan upstairs. Charlotte was right. Nothing good will come of spending time with this flirt, knowing that even if he were actually interested in me, our different social classes might as well be different species entirely.
His fingers are feather light as he lifts my chin. His tone soft, coaxing. “Chouchou, look at me.”
Taking a steadying breath, I force my gaze up to meet his, and I’m shocked at the warmth I see there. Where I thought I’d see pity, there’s something else. Care. Huh.
Once my gaze is steady on him, he drops his fingers.
“When I was a small boy, I had nightmares. When I went to my father, he would only tell me to toughen up and go back to sleep. But my mother, she would wrap me in her arms and take me down to our kitchen, and she’d make me fried plantains. Have you ever had them? No? They’re crisp and sweet, a taste of heaven. What I’m trying to say is, food is nourishment for the body, and the soul. Wishing to create something that ministers to the immaterial parts of us, that is not stupid. Not in the least.”
I give him a wobbly smile.
“Now, if I’m not mistaken, we have a cake to finish. Care to show me the way?”
We ease into a comfortable rhythm as we finish prepping the cake and he slides it into the oven.
After setting a timer, we move over to the island workstation, and he quizzes me with my flash cards. I keep having to shush him when his enthusiasm makes his voice rise, but I’m almost positive Callahan hasn’t come downstairs yet.
Despite being nervous about following my stepbrother, I feel lighter than I have since I arrived at school. I had no idea how much I craved validation until Ricardo said those words to me. I showed him my dream, one of my greatest desires, and he pronounced it worthy. Of course, I should have known it was without him saying so, but among all of the ambitious types here at the academy, it’s hard not to compare. Even harder when my stepsister is constantly asking me about my grades and mentioning her own higher ones.
“You’re going to ace your test.” Ricardo shuffles my flashcards into a neat pile before moving to peer into the oven. “It’s rising. Look at that. I made a cake. Are you proud of me, chef?”
“So proud. You’d make a pretty good assistant.”
“Hey, I was just thinking you would make a good assistant, reading out instructions for the kids.”
My eyeballs screw up into my head and I start to splutter. “Kids? What kids? Don’t you think that’s a little…”
I trail off as Ricardo bursts into laughter. “The look on your face is priceless. I’m not propositioning you, Adrienne. I want to be a teacher, and they usually work with kids.”
“Oh. A teacher. That’s actually really nice. I think you’d be—” A muffled swish down the hall makes me go silent.
Ricardo tiptoes toward the door. Without thinking, I snag his hand. Then I reach up and tap the button that snuffs out the lights, cloaking us in darkness.
Ricardo’s fingers tighten around mine. “If you wanted to get me in a darkened room—”
I shush his teasing, and creep toward the hallway, still holding his hand. Peeking through the cracked door, I gasp and duck back into the kitchen.
“If you’re worried about the security guard, I can—”
“Shh.”
“We won’t get in trouble. Just let me—”
“Shh!” Over and over, my heart slams itself into my ribcage like a wild animal caught in a trap. My free hand presses against my chest, willing the organ to slow it’s frantic beating. I can barely think with the adrenaline coursing through me.
Callahan stalks past the kitchen, hands shoved into his pockets and a hoodie pulled down low over his face.
In the dim light, I can just make out Ricardo’s confused expression as he stares at me. “Why are we hiding from your stepbrother?” he mouths.
I give a jerky shake of my head, waiting until Callahan has rounded the corner out of sight, and hopefully out of earshot. Once his footsteps recede, I dare a whisper. “I don’t want him to see us here.”
“Because you don’t want him to catch us together?”
Did I imagine it, or did Ricardo’s amused smile falter just then?
“No, because I’m going to follow him.”
15
When I told Ricardo I was determined to follow Callahan, he suggested I get Mikhail to come with me. I refused to do that, so he insisted on coming himself. Good thing he remembered to take the cake out of the oven before we left, or I could have added fire-starter to my list of alleged crimes. And that, at least, would have been true.
I have to admit: I wouldn’t have been able to get over the brick wall without Ricardo. I drop to the sidewalk and straighten my bulky sweatshirt as he jumps down after me. We scan the street for Callahan. He’s several blocks ahead of us.
We set off after him, careful not to linger in the warm glow of the streetlights, in case Callahan’s spidey senses tingle and he looks back.
“As much as I love a good mysterious caper, why are we following your stepbrother?”
Looking up, I meet Ricardo’s questioning gaze in the shadow. A car zooms by, illuminating him for a brief second before its headlights move up the street. His dark jacket makes him look so effortlessly cool, I wish I was wearing something more fashionable than a Kelly green sweatshirt that says, “No Soggy Bottoms.”
Can I tell him without making him think I’m an overly suspicious freak? I lick my lips. I have to try. He’s followed me off school grounds, which, according to the school handbook, could get him suspended from classes for at least a day. I checked.
“It’s probably nothing, but, you know how someone broke into the Chinese embassy last weekend? Everyone said that the thief broke into Na’s room, but nothing was missing. I saw Callahan sneaking out last Friday night, and I think it might have been him.”
Ricardo’s mouth opens in surprise.
“It’s not as far-fetched as it sounds. I saw him arguing with Ambassador Li at the party convention last Tuesday.”
“So you’re following him now because you think he’s a burglar, and he might break into another embassy?” The look on his face is edging toward incredulity.
Sharp-winged butterflies churn in my gut, and I start to babble. I have to make him believe me.
