Deadly First Day, page 25
part #1 of Embassy Academy Series
Satisfied with the dough, I plop it out onto the floured surface with a low thump. A long sigh escapes as I roll with my marble pin. I haven’t felt like myself in weeks, but here, in the academy’s darkened kitchen, the pieces of me start to pull back together. Remembrances of baking sessions past flow through my mind and out to my fingers, my muscle memory revving as I settle into the movements.
In a half hour, I’ll have my first batch of perfect little gingerbread figures. And unlike everything about Embassy Academy, I know exactly what to expect from them. It’s a huge relief.
I’m concerned that you will not be able to keep up with your classmates.
Headmistress Morgan’s words to me the day I moved in press heavily down on me now that our semester exams are looming. So far, I’ve managed to keep my grades to B’s with a couple of hard-earned A’s thrown in, but the frenzied way everyone has been acting as they begin studying has me freaked out. If Charlotte’s words are any indication, exams here at the academy are the intellectual equivalent of a gauntlet. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than a little concerned.
My eyes rest on the flashcards sitting on the steel countertop of the island. Disappointment coils in my chest. Bringing them was wishful thinking. I had hoped that if I came down here and did some baking, it would make Ricardo magically appear in front of me and explain why he’s been acting like a stranger. But I haven’t seen a single soul the whole time I’ve been down here, and the glowing oven clock indicates it’s near midnight.
I also wish Mikhail were here, but I couldn’t summon the courage to ask him this time.
I’m placing the final gingerbread man on the cookie sheet when a door opens nearby in the building. My pulse speeds. Mikhail?
Sliding the sheet into the oven and starting the timer, I don’t even bother to rinse off my hands before I jog to the door and peek out into the hall. It appears deserted, but there’s a faint shuffling, like someone is tiptoeing somewhere out of sight. Sucking in a breath, I wait.
A hooded figure slinks around the corner, pausing to make sure the coast is clear. Whoever it is, they’re too skinny to be Mikhail.
I slump and tuck myself behind the door so they don’t see me.
The footsteps draw nearer and pause right outside the kitchen door.
Don’t look in here. Don’t look. My heart is pounding as I will the figure to keep going. Darn it. I should have turned off the light over the stove. There’s no way the person outside hasn’t seen it now that they’re so close.
A weight presses lightly against the other side of the heavy wood panel, meeting my resistance.
“Adrienne?” It’s barely a whisper.
“Callahan?” I pull the door wider to find my stepbrother looking at me, his face pale and clammy, like he’s been running. “What’s wrong? Come on.” Taking a fistful of his sleeve in hand, I tug him into the kitchen and ease the door shut behind him.
He’s panting softly as he moves farther into the room, toward where I’ve been working. “Charlotte mentioned you came down here sometimes. I wanted to see what you do in here.”
I shrug. “Nothing exciting. Just some baking.”
Callahan shakes his head as he turns to meet my eyes. “Hey, I tasted the crème brûlée you made last week. It was delicious.”
“Don’t be too impressed. Crème brûlée is one of those things that seems tricky, but isn’t actually hard to make.” I can’t help but smile, anyway.
He walks around the island and bends to look in the oven. “It smells amazing in here. Oh, gingerbread people. Yum. Can I have one?”
“They’re not ready yet. That’s my first batch.”
Callahan nods as he leans back against the counter, tucking his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “I can wait.”
I roll out the next ball of dough, eyeing my cookie cutters as I work. Somehow over the past four months I’ve grown comfortable with Callahan, despite the fact that we haven’t talked nearly as much as Charlotte and I have. It’s nice, having a sort of brother.
Callahan stands there watching, not saying anything, but the way he shifts his weight, his eyes moving around the room, belies his feigned calm. There’s something bugging him.
Drawing on what courage I have, I force myself to speak. “Something’s bothering you. What is it?”
“Is it that obvious?”
My eyebrows arch. “Callahan. I’ve been coming down here to bake off and on for months, and you’ve never come by. Just tell me what’s up.”
“I need help. You know how I’m taking a night class at the Art Institute downtown?”
“Yeah. And you’re really good. I knew exactly who Na was when I saw the painting. But why do you sneak out? What’s the big deal? Can’t you get permission to go off campus for something like that?”
Callahan’s eyes go dark. “If anyone found out, they’d stop me from going back. My dad, I mean our dad believes studying art is a waste of time, at least for me. He wants me to go into politics like him. He pictures us as the new Kennedy family.”
“Well, Charlotte is definitely fashionable enough to be a Kennedy, but you and me? Plus, doesn’t he know that several of them were murdered?”
Callahan shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. That’s why I need help.”
My brow draws down in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“The Winter Summit. My mom and dad are coming, and he’s made it clear to me that I should use the event to make contacts with some of the other diplomats who will be there. He’s even had one of his aides make me a list of people to talk to, with personal facts and tips for conversation starters. And he keeps asking if I’m prepared. It’s suffocating.”
“That sounds intense.” My thoughts turn to Charlotte, who follows every political move the senator makes and bids for his attention each time we’re all together. “Why doesn’t he have Charlotte do that? She’d love it.”
He shrugs. “I guess because I’m the oldest? I don’t really know.”
“That sucks.”
“So, you want me to help you talk to them or something?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
Callahan picks up one of the gingerbread cookies and bites off its arm. He chews slowly, savoring it.
I decide I need one, too, and break the nearest one in half, nibbling on a gingerbread foot.
“The thing is, my final art critique is the same night as the Winter Summit. They’re basically at the same time.”
“And you can’t be in two places at once.”
“No. Which is why I need you to run interference for me. My plan is to make an appearance, talk to our dad, then slip out. Hopefully it won’t take long to complete the critique and get back before he notices I’m not here.”
“That’s going to be tricky.”
“Yeah.”
My stepbrother looks so dejected as he takes another bite, it tugs at my heartstrings. He’s like a sad puppy standing there hunched over like that. I have to help him.
“Can I ask you something first?”
He lifts his chin, prompting me.
“Why did you break into the Chinese embassy that time? What were you looking for?”
A deep sigh escapes as he runs a yanks a hand through his hair. “I’m writing and illustrating a graphic novel. I’ve spent hundreds of hours working on it, and I let Li Na borrow it when we were dating. It’s about her as a vampire queen, and I admit it’s a little… provocative. After she died, I was afraid her parents would find it and give it to our dad.”
“Oh. I get it.”
“Adrienne, if he finds out…”
“He’d put an end to it.”
“Yeah.” He sounds utterly defeated.
“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can, okay?”
His mouth widens into a smile. “You’re the best.” As if it’s an afterthought, he flings his arm around me and smothers me into the front of his hoodie. “Don’t tell Charlotte I said that,” he murmurs conspiratorially as he draws away.
“And suffer her attempts to one up me to get back on top? No thanks.”
We both snicker at this, well aware of how true it is.
Charlotte is more competitive than, well, than anyone I’ve ever met.
Callahan gave me the idea to pass out cookies, suggesting that maybe if I put something yummy in my classmates’ stomachs, it’ll take the rumors about me off their tongues. As I move through the day, I’m thrilled to discover that the cookies are going over like a snow day with my classmates.
Last night, once the cookies were baked and cooled, I packed them into a pastry box so I could pass them out in class this morning. A girl in my literature class actually gets my name right, and I give her the last cookie. I should have made more. She smiles at me as she returns to her seat cradling the figure in her hand. Satisfaction burgeons in my chest. This was so worth it. More people have talked to me today than the rest of the school year so far, combined. I know I’m buying their good will with sugary treats, but honestly? I’m okay with that. Plus, once people start talking to me, I’m hoping they’ll realize I’m not a homicidal killer. I’m just a regular teenage girl, with strengths, weaknesses, wants, and needs of my own.
Beside me, Mikhail is munching on a cookie, making appreciative noises. “These remind me of cookies my mother makes. Priyanki. Thank you.”
“I’m so glad. You’re welcome.”
Mikhail licks his fingers, his eyes sliding up to mine sheepishly. “Will you make those again, very soon?”
I grin. “Yep.”
Ricardo strolls in and takes his usual seat, kitty corner to mine. He turns toward me as soon as he’s seated. “I heard you were handing out cookies.” His eyes fall to the brown box in my hands.
“Sorry, I just gave away the last one.” Shrugging, I sink into my seat and tuck the empty box under my chair.
“Seriously? Aww. They smell really good.”
The girl who got the last cookie turns in her seat and looks at Ricardo. “This is the best gingerbread cookie I’ve ever had. You’re missing out.”
Professor Rook walks in, and I sink down in my chair. “Enough chitchat, everyone. We have a lot of ground to cover before the final exam next week. Bradley, hand out these study guides, please.” He taps a large stack of papers on his desk.
The professor stands casually at the front as if he isn’t holding something over one of his students. I’ve been considering sneaking down to his classroom again to find my earring, but if Professor Rook caught me, I’d be screwed.
“Psst. Can we talk later?” Ricardo leans toward me, but the professor scowls in our direction.
“Miss Lewis, Mr. Laguerre, save the flirting for after class.”
Ricardo grins, and I roll my eyes. Anger unfurls and I have to fight back a glare of my own. He ignores me for weeks, and now he wants to talk? I don’t think so. I have more self-respect than that. I can feel his eyes on me, so I shake my head, refusing to look at him.
33
The dorm has never been so dead on a Saturday night. There’s no one around. No laughter or Christmas music. Finals begin Monday morning, and everyone is cramming, even Charlotte, who probably would have been prepared to start cold last week, without any weekend studying.
My eyes are so tired of reading my textbooks on my tablet, they’re starting to cross. I desperately need a break, and consider going next door to see if Charlotte could use one too. I listen for sounds from her room, but there’s nothing. I’d better not bother her. I’m sure she’ll come over to us when she’s ready. Hopefully any minute now.
“This is unreal,” I say in a low voice. “I’ve never studied this hard in my life.”
Dali huffs in agreement without looking up from her own tablet. She’s sprawled on the ground on her back, holding the tablet up in front of her face.
“What are you working on?”
“Shh.”
Closing the cover on my device, I lean back in my chair and stare up at the white ceiling. I have to take a break. Now. Or everything in my brain is going to evaporate into thin air, and then I’ll be screwed.
My gaze falls to the plain corkboard hung on the wall above my desk, where I’ve been collecting tidbits from the last few months. A napkin from Coco. Zelda. Gloria. Louise. A printout of the recipe for blancmange. Photos of Charlotte, Dali, Genevieve, and me that my stepsister took with her mini instant camera that she uses without prejudice even though the film is butt expensive. In the bottom corner, there’s a newer sheet of paper, torn in half horizontally. It’s the most recent email from my mom.
How are your classes going? I know you’re doing your best, and I’m proud of you.
Love you, Mom
I miss her, and I can’t wait to see her when she gets back the week after New Years for a short furlough. I’m even excited to see all of her photos of penguins, and I’m sure there are hundreds, if not thousands, of them.
“I’m taking a break.” I shove back from my desk and stand, stretching my arms and legs to get the blood that has pooled in my butt to start flowing to assuage the needles stabbing my sleepy feet.
Dali doesn’t respond, instead swiping with her finger to turn a page.
I look up and down the hall for any signs of life, but even the glittering snowflakes that Ms. Poppin hung from the ceiling float, unmoving above my head.
Leaning over the banister reveals that the foyer is similarly bereft. Even the security guard at the door looks completely focused on his task, his eyes scanning back and forth over the open space.
Leaning against the wall, I take several deep, cleansing breaths. My mind turns to Ricardo. I wonder what he wanted to talk about before class yesterday? Probably the fact that he’s treated me like a leper every day since the last time I was taken to the police station?
I go still. That can’t be it, can it? Could Ricardo be ducking me because that third session with the police made him wonder if I was actually involved in Na’s death? My pulse skips. We never really talked about it, but I always assumed that since he was voluntarily spending time with me he didn’t think I was responsible. But what if that last time changed his mind? Everything slides into place. Of course he thought I was responsible. It explains everything he’s done since that day. The short conversations ended by flimsy excuses as he retreated down the hall. His relocation to his old table in the eatery. The conspicuous absence of his pet name for me the few times we’ve exchanged more than a “Hello, goodbye.”
He was trying to break me down into manageable parts so he could levy his own judgment of my supposed involvement in the murder.
My throat constricts as pain cuts through me. I can handle the ire from everyone else here at the academy, but not from him. I thought he knew me well enough, trusted me. I trusted him. Clenching my fists, I make for the stairs, stomping up each one.
By the time I reach the fifth floor, I’m practically steaming, and I know my face is crimson. Marching down the hall, I knock too hard on Ricardo’s door, then shove my arms over my chest.
The door opens a slit, and Ricardo’s eyes widen when he sees me. “Adrienne? What’s up?” Without opening the door wider, he squeezes through, closing it behind him.
“You wanted to talk,” I grind out.
His eyes narrow as he studies me. “Are you mad about something?”
“You could say that. Yeah.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”
The concern in his voice makes me falter, leaning back on my heels. But I can’t back down. I have to be upfront about my feelings, no matter what. I can’t act like a doormat again. Dali said I was brave; I have to prove her right.
“I know why you stopped hanging out with me. It was that day I got taken to the police station again.”
He swallows, as if hesitant to confirm my suspicions. Finally, he speaks, the words slow. “Yeah, it was. Why?”
“You don’t have to pretend anymore. I know you think I’m involved in Li Na’s death somehow. That’s why you aren’t talking to me anymore. It all makes sense. That third time, something switched in your head, didn’t it? Made you wonder if I had done something?”
Ricardo’s expression morphs from concern to something harder. “That’s what you think of me? That I’d assume you were guilty based on a talk with the police? You don’t know me at all.”
“And whose fault is that?” I spit at him, remembering all of the times he used flirty words to deflect questions I asked, to keep our conversations light. Except for the few times he opened up about his mom. “You act so cool and confident, but you never let me in. You kept me at arm’s-length right up until you decided I was a murderer. Well, you can stop. I’m done. It’s time to find your next girl flavor, because this is over.” This torrent of words feels good. It’s been a long time coming.
Ricardo is scowling now, his hands hanging rigid at his sides. He doesn’t deny any of it.
Not one word.
Agony wrenches me, and I take a step back. This whole time, I’ve been hoping he would deny it. That he’d give me an explanation for his behavior, but there’s nothing. He’s lain waste to any friendship we’d been building by choosing to ghost me, and he’s not going to take it back.
Gritting my teeth, I turn away, only stopping to lob one last parting shot. “Genevieve was right about you; I should have listened.”
Ricardo clenches his jaw.
Behind him, the door swings open and a cinnamon brown head peeks out. “Ricky, what’s going on out here?”
Genevieve.
Her face is flushed and her normally neat hair floats in unruly clouds. Have they been… kissing in there?
Oh.
The smug face Genevieve made when she’d hinted at having a mystery date for the Winter Summit hits me full force. Was my entire friendship with Ricardo a joke to them?
