Deadly First Day, page 21
part #1 of Embassy Academy Series
“Thanks.” She fans herself with a hand, probably trying to combat the flush that has crept up her neck and into her cheeks.
I duck into the doorway behind the desk and find a short hallway with three doors. Doors number one and two lead to small, pale blue rooms that look like miniature hospital rooms. The third leads to a narrow room filled with filing cabinets.
“Can I help you?”
I jump and spin around to face Doctor Paloma. Her black curls are up in a high puff on top of her head, which is tilted to one side as she looks down at me.
“Oh, yeah. My stepsister, Charlotte, tweaked her knee when we were swing dancing Saturday night, and she’s having trouble walking. She’s in the waiting area.”
The doctor’s smile tightens. “Why didn’t you ring the bell? Someone would have come right out.” She doesn’t wait for my answer, but hustles out to the waiting area and kneels in front of Charlotte. She asks several quick questions before gently examining Charlotte’s knee with both hands. “You’re going to need an x-ray. Let’s take you back.”
“No, I don’t need an x-ray. It’s not that bad. Really.” But Charlotte’s attempt to argue is belied by the waver in her balance when she tries to stand on both feet.
“Sit down, Miss Cavendish-Holt. A knee injury is not to be taken lightly. Let me just get one of the techs. Do you need a wheelchair?”
Charlotte sags into the chair, scowling. “No. Adrienne can help me.”
I stick my head out into the hallway, and Mikhail springs away from the wall, ready for anything.
“They’re going to take an x-ray, so it might be a while.”
“I will be here if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Mikhail.”
An x-ray tech comes out with a wheelchair, which Charlotte refuses. Instead, she grips my arm with both hands. I’ll help her get to the x-ray room.
“I’m going to have to call your parents,” Doctor Paloma says. “How did you say you hurt your knee?”
“Swing dancing. And that isn’t necessary. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m obligated to inform them that I’ve given you care. I’m sorry.” Doctor Paloma’s lips purse as she motions to Nurse Karen, who types something into the computer at the reception desk. “I’ll make the call, as soon as I finish my report on your examination.”
Nurse Karen is giving us a few minutes of lead time before she calls the senator and his wife.
27
Ripples of excitement charge the air as I leave my dorm room the next morning. A pack of girls is chattering as they walk by, their eyes passing through me as if I’m not even here. It’s the first time in weeks I’ve felt invisible instead of infamous, and it’s a welcome relief. “Charlotte? Is there something going on I don’t know about?” I almost stumble over her as I go in her room, throwing out my hands to regain my balance.
Charlotte looks up at me from her spot on the rug, where she’s doing a one-footed plank with side twists. A black brace is wrapped around her knee, and there’s a bottle of Ibuprofen open on her desk. Instead of her signature headband, her hair is pulled back in a slick ponytail at the base of her neck. She’s exchanged her perfectly ironed uniform for a black sports bra and leggings.
“Watch it, will you?” she snaps. “I’m training.”
I cock my head to one side, and my red curls bounce. “Training for what? And you’re not supposed to be doing that. The doctor yesterday said no physical activity for a month. ”
“Tennis. I’ve let myself go the past few months, and Coach Brown will kill me if she sees the shape my core is in. And I’m not putting any weight on my knee, so drop it.”
I sigh, aware that I won’t be able to stop her. “I didn’t know you played tennis.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Adrienne.” She flips onto her back and starts doing one-legged bicycles with her good leg while crunching with her arms tucked behind her head.
I stifle a laugh at how silly she looks trying not to move her bum knee, because I’d rather not be on the receiving end of one of Charlotte’s glares this early in the morning. She’s been extra irritable since she stopped taking the uppers.
“I guess so. Hey, why is everyone ignoring me now? I’ve gone from pariah to invisible overnight. Did I miss something?”
“Not everything is about you, you know. But no, nothing’s happened. They’re announcing the host country for the Winter Summit in first period today. That’s what everyone’s excited about.” She isn’t even breathing heavily as she moves.
“Winter Summit?”
“Don’t be fooled by the fancy name. It’s the academy’s winter dance, except that all of the parents are invited, and a lot of them come. The students from the host country plan the food and decorations, and usually they do a dance in their traditional style, too, if they have one. Last year Scotland hosted, and watching them try to teach everyone a Scottish dance was hilarious. I laughed so hard my face hurt. You should have seen it.”
“That sounds pretty cool,” I say. I actually really like to dance, even though I don’t have a lot of chances to indulge. The dances at our school in Wood View were epically terrible, from their tribute band music to dollar store decorations strung across the gym. My friends and I used to go for a little while before blowing it off and spending the rest of the evening in the local diner drinking milkshakes and flicking French fries at each other.
But this Winter Summit sounds legit.
“So, are you going to breakfast?”
Charlotte starts doing push-ups. “No, I have a protein shake in my fridge. I’ll drink that on the way to first period. Go ahead.”
I grimace. “I’ll stick to my breakfast pastries.”
“Eat one for me.”
“Will do.”
Mikhail is at the top of the stairs, waiting to escort me to breakfast. He’s been doing that lately, which is really nice. A constant presence with a protective vibe that makes my insides melt. In these moments, I can almost pretend he’s simply a boy I like, walking me to school, instead of a bodyguard paid for by my father.
Energy is rippling through the air as we coast into the eatery. I snag two raspberry Danish—one for me and one for Mikhail, whom I’ve caught eating them regularly—and a cup of coffee. It reminds me of when they announce the prom theme back home in Wood View, bringing a smile to my lips. These diplomats’ kids may be far more stylish than I am, but they’re still teenagers. It’s a nice reminder, since most of the time they all look like fashion models while I’m decidedly average.
Everyone but Charlotte is already at our table when I drop my bag to the floor and slide into my chair next to Ricardo. Honestly, between him and Mikhail, I feel like I’ve got a bodyguard with me all the time. Sometimes two. I thought it would bother me, but my timid side finds it comforting.
Ricardo is working on a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, and when he finds my eyes on him he grins. “Morning.”
“Morning.” I smile back.
Glancing past him, my eyes fall on Mikhail, who is in his usual spot at the end of the table, his gaze focused elsewhere. I bite my lip. It took a lot of cajoling to get him to promise he wouldn’t tell my father about what we found in Professor Rook’s desk, but I managed it somehow. Actually, I think it’s the most persuasive I’ve been in my life, and that’s saying something.
I tuck my chin to my chest and focus on my breakfast, listening to the swirls of conversation all around me. Most of it is about the Winter Summit, and guesses about who the host country will be.
Beside me, Dali puts down her spoon. “Did someone fill you in about the Winter Summit?” she asks, eyes sparkling.
“Charlotte did. It’s a pretty big deal, huh?”
“You have no idea. Only seniors are allowed to apply to host, and they have to put together a proposal detailing how they’d run the event. It has to include music, tables and seating, vendors, everything. Pretty much everyone who’s eligible applies.”
“Did you apply?”
“Of course I did. My country has never gotten to host, and with the talks going on right now, it would be an excellent way to bring attention to Malawi and the other African countries in the oil block.”
I nod. I’d forgotten that her dad was involved in the talks with the senator. I wonder how all of that is going.
“So, what are we supposed to wear to something like that?”
“A lot of the diplomats wear traditional clothes from their home country, but most of us go formal. It’s a good excuse to get dressed up, right? I just hope I can get all of this silt out from under my fingernails.” She holds out her hands, palms down, and squints at them.
She’s been working on a miniature water desalination plant model for several weeks for a class project. When she tried to explain it to me it sounded super complicated. Kind of like making a tower of cream puffs called a croquembouche. Those things can be temperamental.
“How’s your model coming?”
She smiles. “It’s going great. My Global Environment professor will love it. Hopefully someday, once I’m done with school, I can use the same principals in my own country. We’ve made some great strides, but there’s still so much to do.”
“Isn’t there always?” Ricardo adds. “Back home in Haiti we still have a mess to clean up from the hurricane that hit our coast three years ago. It feels like we’ll never be finished.” He looks so passionate when he speaks. He clearly loves his home, and wants to go back there.
“Is that what your mother is doing, helping back home?”
Everyone around the table goes quiet, and I know I’ve asked a question I shouldn’t have.
Ricardo is stiff in his chair, his eyes paired to his plate.
Genevieve hides a wince behind a sip of coffee. Dali ducks her head. Asif’s lips thin and Callahan runs a hand roughly through his hair.
I have to say something. “I wish I could skip pre-calculus. But if I did, Headmistress Morgan would probably punish me personally. I swear she doesn’t like me.” I take a bite of my pastry and glance around. My abrupt subject change has done nothing to loosen the air around us.
“She doesn’t like anyone,” Charlotte says at my back. “And frankly, I see her point.”
“Where did you come from?” I ask, spinning around to take her in, relieved for the interruption. She’s changed into her uniform, and her hair is once again in its usual position behind a thin, sparkly metallic headband. A hint of her floral perfume hits my nostrils as I glance down from her face. A crutch is tucked under her arm. I’m glad she’s actually using it, because the way she complained about it yesterday had me convinced she’d keep white-knuckling it without it today. “How’d you get ready so fast?”
“Not everyone takes forty-five minute showers, loser.” Her tone is teasing as she reaches past me and picks up the remainder of my Danish, finishing it off. “Oh my gosh, that is so good.” Her eyes slide closed.
“You don’t have to cut them out during training, do…” Dali trails off at Charlotte’s look. “I guess you do.”
“What happened to your protein shake?” I ask.
“I already drank it. I just wanted a bite of sugar. Last one. Promise. Oh, and if my mom asks, I haven’t touched any sugar or carbs the whole time we’ve been at school.”
Callahan laughs. “Good luck selling her on that. Remember, she’s seen you eat before.”
Charlotte crumbles up the napkin in her hands and chucks it at him. “Shut up.”
“I don’t understand the American aversion to des patisseries,” Genevieve says. “Un très délicieux croissant is the perfect breakfast.”
“Tell that to my mother,” Charlotte says. “Anyway, since they’re announcing the host country of the Winter Summit today, I’ve been thinking it’s about time for a shopping trip. Don’t worry, Adrienne. Daddy will pay for your gown, too.” Charlotte’s hand on my shoulder makes my stomach clench. She doesn’t mean to sound so condescending, but she does.
“Parfait,” Genevieve coos. “When can we go?”
“I have training Saturday morning, so let’s go Sunday. Sound good to everyone?”
“Training, really?”
Charlotte shoots a glare at me. “I have to be there, even if I can’t run with this stupid brace.”
“Sunday works for me,” Dali says.
Genevieve agrees, too, just as the bell rings.
“Perfect. Sunday it is. Do you hear that, Mikhail?” Charlotte puts a hand on his arm as she passes him. “That works for you, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, Charlotte. I can escort you on Sunday.”
“Great!” Charlotte swings out of the eatery surprisingly quickly on her crutch, swallowed by the crowd as they make their way toward their first period classes.
Heavy knots tighten my stomach. I am dreading going to Professor Rook’s class. I have no idea how he’ll treat me in class today. Will he act indifferent, or will he become my own personal Snape? I must look terrified because Dali’s fingers wrap around my jacket sleeve.
“Hey, what’s wrong? You look awful.”
“It’s nothing.”
Dali gives my arm a tug. “Come on. You can tell me.”
I glance around to make sure our friends aren’t close enough to hear anything, but they’ve all moved away from the table and are hidden in the throng of students as they swirl and eddy through the doorway out into the hallway that leads to the classrooms.
Mikhail is standing nearby, waiting for me, even though I bet he’d rather be trailing Charlotte right now.
Dali and I are basically alone. “I might know who killed Na.”
Dali’s face goes ashy as she stares at me. Her neck bobs as she swallows. When she speaks, her voice is breathy. “Who?”
We step out into the hall, and I look around, this time checking to make sure Gul and her cronies aren’t nearby. The last thing I need is for her to start another rumor at my expense.
“Professor Rook.”
Dali gasps, but I push ahead.
“You can’t tell anyone, but he’s been selling pills to people here at the academy. He was selling them to Na. I think they fought, and he killed her.”
“Wow. Are you going to do anything about it?”
I duck my head. “I can’t. He has one of my earrings, and he said if I told anyone he’d use it to ruin me. I’m sure Headmistress Morgan would expel me if she found out I was snooping around one of the classrooms in the middle of the night.”
Dali scratches at her arm. “No wonder you look like a deer in headlights. I wouldn’t want to go to class either.”
“Yeah.”
“Look, just keep your head down and stay quiet. He won’t bother you.”
“Right. And you can’t tell anyone, okay? I don’t want to say anything until I have proof I can take to the police. Or the headmistress, as terrifying as that sounds.”
“Of course not.”
As if he’s heard us talking about him, Mikhail steps closer. His muscled form moves along beside me in sure, easy strides.
“Thanks.”
We go into our Diplomacy classroom and take our seats. Mikhail leans against the cabinets in the back.
One more hour until I find out how Professor Rook is going to treat me, now that he knows I know about his shady relationship with some of my classmates. And my stepsister. The question is, what will he do once he finds out that I’ve cost him another customer?
28
All anyone can talk about is the Winter Summit, which is being hosted by the students from India. Apparently that has never happened before. I’m relieved, because there are so many interruptions during pre-calculus that Professor Rook has to spend the entire period pacing the room, making sure we’re all focused on our work. It leaves him no time to harass me.
I try to focus on the practice questions in my e-textbook, but I can’t. Instead, I google Indian cuisine and scroll through recipes on a popular online recipe storage site. I’ve never had Indian food before, but it looks amazing. Their flat bread, naan, doesn’t look that difficult to make. I don’t have a tandoori oven, of course, but I might be able to pull it off using a cast iron skillet.
A giggle comes from behind me, and I stiffen, trying to look like I’m focused on my work.
Professor Rook’s eyes are cold as he looks up at me for a beat before his gaze shifts past me to the students at the back table. He must not see the culprit, because he rolls his shoulders, cupping one as it rotates, and then resumes his position hunched over his laptop.
I watch, weighing my chances of getting my phone out of my backpack without being seen. Moving painfully slowly, I manage to tuck it into my lap.
ME
Are you interested in another late night baking session?
If not, that’s cool, too.
I just thought about trying to make some Indian flat bread.
At the back of the classroom, Mikhail’s phone buzzes. He replies almost immediately.
MIKHAIL
Will there be cookies?
I have to hide my grin.
ME
Yes, I’m sure we can rustle up some cookies, too.
Nervous excitement grows in my chest. Despite my best efforts, I’m in deep like of Mikhail. He’s got me interested with his confident grace, his intensity, and the easy way he has around me, like he’s perfectly comfortable with me. His thick dark hair doesn’t hurt either. Since our waltz, I’ve often wondered what it would feel like to run my fingers through it.
I shake it off and try to focus on my work. There’s no way I’ll find out tonight, so there’s no reason to dwell on it. Even if Mikhail got that close to me again, I wouldn’t have the guts to actually touch his hair.
Still, I go to extra effort to look cute before I sneak out of my room after ten to meet Mikhail on the stairs. Instead of pajama pants and a loose tee, I’m wearing one of my vintage, floor-length skirts and a peasant blouse. Hopefully I look cute but casual. Not like I spent the last half hour trying to decide what to wear, even though that’s exactly what I did.
