Deadly First Day, page 3
part #1 of Embassy Academy Series
“Uh, thanks.”
“Thank you, Mikhail. We’ll be back for our suitcases,” Charlotte calls in a sing-song voice before grabbing my hand and practically dragging me up the steps. “Come on, we’ve got to get you to Headmistress Morgan’s office before we go up to our rooms.”
I’m barely able to register all of the teenagers and adults hustling through the cobblestone courtyard carrying boxes and wheeling suitcases before Charlotte propels me inside. We’ve stepped into a foyer with black and white marble tile and walls paneled in a dark wood with a carved vine pattern along the ceiling. All around, there are paintings and sculptures in different styles and from many different cultures. It’s overwhelming.
“Come on,” Charlotte says, tugging on my hand again. She pulls me through the throng of people, many of whom are staring at me. One girl whispers behind her hand to another, and both start laughing as their eyes flit back to me.
I try to tamp down the heat creeping up my neck, but it’s no use. I’ll be as red as a stop sign in a minute.
Charlotte pulls me down a hallway filled with students wearing so many different styles of clothing I can scarcely take them in.
My hand balls into a fist, clutching a bit of my skirt to keep it from dragging along the floor.
“In here.” My stepsister pulls me through a narrow, wooden door with gold lettering that identifies it as the Administration Office. “Here you are. Heidi, this is Adrienne Lewis. She’s here to see the headmistress. I’ll be in the hall when you’re done.” She says all of this in a whirlwind, and then whooshes out the door into the hallway, leaving me alone in the office, facing a young woman sitting behind a large wooden desk.
“Have a seat, Miss Lewis. Headmistress Morgan will be with you in a minute.”
I back into one of the wooden chairs against the wall and look around. Behind the desk, there’s a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf holding hundreds of leather-bound books. They’re a far cry from the mass-market paperbacks I get from the library. A single door holds a plaque that reads Headmistress Morgan.
My stomach starts to revolt, making me wish I hadn’t eaten the onion and tomato omelet the cook made for me this morning. Despite the fact that I don’t like eggs, I didn’t know how to tell her, so I forced it down, and now it’s threatening to make a reappearance. I close my eyes, willing myself to remain calm. Then the yelling starts.
Behind the door, a man starts shouting in what I think is Chinese. Another man adds his angry tones to the ruckus, this time in a language I can’t name.
“Gentlemen!” A firm female voice cuts through the commotion, and the office falls silent. I can’t make out the murmuring that follows.
“Ahem.” Heidi is eyeing me suspiciously, so I sit back in my seat and pretend to look for something in my bag.
Finally, the office door opens and two gentlemen come striding out, giving each other a wide berth. The first is a Chinese man with a wiry, narrow body and a glare of disdain. The other is tall with a heavy, solid-looking frame. He crosses his arms and glares.
“Ambassadors Li and Sibale. I trust you will behave yourselves as you leave our grounds?”
My heart pounds as I catch sight of the woman who must be Headmistress Morgan. She’s probably only five foot five, but that doesn’t stop her from commanding the attention of both men. They look down at her as she speaks, and nod their heads in acquiescence, although Ambassador Sibale clenches his fists.
“I’ll have my secretary call you and we’ll reconvene next week, when both of you have had a chance to rein in your tempers.”
The men give curt nods and stride out of the office, leaving in separate directions.
My heart starts pounding. Headmistress Morgan is scary. Suddenly I’m wishing my father was here, or even my stepmom. If I’d been smarter, I would have waited until after lunch to come here, when I’d have backup. The taste of bile stings in my throat.
Headmistress Morgan levies a penetrating stare at me. “Miss Adrienne Lewis, I presume?”
I nod, unable to force my mouth to form a polite greeting of its own.
“Step into my office.” She stands to one side, waiting for me.
I force my body to cooperate, clutching the strap of my bag over my shoulder and sitting carefully on the edge of one of the wooden chairs facing the woman’s desk.
She closes the door behind me and sits in her tall, tufted leather seat. Pulling open a drawer, she takes out a file folder and sets it on the desk.
My eyes widen as I see my name written on the tab. Oh my gosh, it’s my permanent file. I honestly thought teachers made those up to threaten students. I wish I had the guts to lean forward and pick it up. I’m aching to see what’s inside, but I don’t dare. So instead I try to adopt a disinterested look and meet Headmistress Morgan’s appraising gaze.
“Miss Lewis,” the woman begins, “as I’m sure you have been informed by Charlotte, this school prides itself on academic excellence. Our students come to us from all over the world, and it is our privilege to prepare them for jobs in positions of responsibility, either here in the United States, or in their home countries. Many of our students do go on to careers in politics, or to found large companies that impact the lives of hundreds of employees and their families. In short, this is an incredibly rigorous program.” She pauses, flipping open my file. My report card from the second semester of my sophomore year is on top. Frowning, she looks up at me. “I’m concerned that you will not be able to keep up with your classmates here at Embassy Academy. Of course, we do offer support services, should you need them to fill in any educational gaps left by your previous classes at your former school.”
Wait, what? My face really is red now. She doesn’t think I’m smart enough to be here? Is that what she’s saying? “Ms. Morgan. Headmistress,” I fumble over the words.
Headmistress Morgan shakes her head to stop me. “Miss Lewis, I wasn’t finished. I expect you to work hard here, harder than it appears you worked previously. If you wish to catch up to your peers, you will have to spend more time on your studies than you ever have before. If I find that you are not thriving in our junior year classes, I may have to find an alternative solution for you. Do I make myself clear?”
Crystal clear. If I don’t get better grades than I got at my old high school, she’ll kick me out of the academy. I nod, feeling my tightly coiled hair bounce on my shoulders.
“One more thing. Here is a copy of our student handbook. Inside you will find our codes of conduct, which I expect you to follow to the letter. You’re dismissed, but keep in mind that I’ll have my eye on you, Miss Lewis.”
My heart is pounding in my throat as I practically run from the office, clutching the thick, spiral-bound book to my chest.
“Steely-eyed, isn’t she?” Charlotte looks up from her phone, sees my face, and drops the device into her bag. “Good grief, what is it? You look like you’ve just run a marathon. Do you always get all red like that?”
“Yes,” I grind out.
Charlotte appraises me with keen blue eyes. “Let’s get you a drink of water, and then we’ll go out to the car for our things.” She buys me an expensive water bottle from a vending machine tucked into an alcove in the hallway, and then bustles outside, expecting me to keep up.
The sunlight is almost blinding. I blink to allow my eyes to adjust. Or maybe it’s to quell the sting of Headmistress Morgan’s words of warning.
I follow Charlotte through the teeming lot to where Mikhail is leaning against the car, arms crossed over his broad chest. The corners of his mouth turn up when he sees us, and he straightens. “Are you ready to take your things up to your rooms?” he asks.
“We most certainly are. You’ll help us, won’t you?” Charlotte’s tone is brisk, as if she’s already assumed he would help, and asking is a mere formality.
“Yes, Miss Cavendish-Holt.”
She rolls her eyes. “How many times do I have to ask you to call me Charlotte? This isn’t Victorian England.”
“Your father would not approve, Miss Cavendish-Holt.”
“Whatever,” she sighs, the toes of one foot tapping indignantly. “Drive us around the corner to the dormitory, please.”
“Yes, Miss—”
“Mikhail. You’re impossible.”
He opens the car door for her, and she slides in, oblivious to the faint smile that crept onto his face.
4
The dormitory building is behind the academy building, and it’s unlike any dormitory I’ve ever seen. A grand wooden staircase leads from the first floor up to the second floor, where the doors look down over the open foyer. People are bustling up and down the stairs carrying boxes, suitcases, and lamps, and my eyebrows rise at the sight of one man carrying a massively large flat screen television.
“I would like to know where that is going,” Mikhail intones from behind us, where he’s carrying Charlotte’s bulky suitcases.
“Probably Kristoff’s room,” Charlotte says, unimpressed. Turning to glance at me, she says, “He’s the son of the ambassador from Norway, and he’s obsessed with gaming.”
“Okay,” I say, hoping that’s a sufficient answer.
“The girls’ rooms are on the third and fourth floors. Guys are on the fifth floor.”
“We’re completely outnumbered,” says a mocking male voice from behind me. He catches up to me and grins, turning his eyes to my stepsister. “Charlotte, who is this fascinating creature? Do tell.”
“Back off, Ricardo. Adrienne is off limits. Son of the Haitian ambassador,” she adds, to me.
Ricardo has ruddy terra cotta skin and closely shorn curly hair that I can only describe as strawberry brown. It looks a lot like mine, actually.
He keeps up with me easily as I huff up the stairs, dragging my large heavy suitcase in one hand and hefting my box of baking tools in the other.
“Adrienne. Allow me,” Ricardo says, scooping the cardboard box out of my hands without waiting for my response.
“Thank you?” I murmur, heat gathering under my skin.
Charlotte rolls her eyes. “Who died and knighted you?”
He simply winks at me.
“Ugh. Fine. Third floor. Rhiannon’s old room.”
“Lead the way.”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Charlotte’s tone is exasperated as she hikes up the stairs in her heels.
I could swear I hear Mikhail laugh under his breath, but when I turn around to meet his eyes, his face is stoic.
The boy next to me leans over and whispers so Charlotte can’t hear him. “Most people call me Ricardo, but you can call me Ricky.”
“Is that what your friends call you?” I ask, thankful that my mouth seems to be cooperating.
“No, my girlfriends.” He raises his eyebrows in a flirty way that makes me laugh.
I’m trying to come up with a clever retort when I slam into someone’s back.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” I stammer as the petite girl turns around.
My face pales at the scathing look she’s giving me. “Are you blind?” she spits, her shiny black hair practically bristling. “Can’t a girl stand in the hallway without being rammed by a clueless newbie? Hello, Charlotte.”
Beside me, Charlotte has gone stiff. “Li Na. It’s been a while. Daughter of the Chinese ambassador,” she adds for my benefit.
Mikhail doesn’t move from where he stands at my elbow, but I can see the tense lines of his shoulders as he waits to see what’s going to happen. I’m touched at his protectiveness of Charlotte and me. It occurs to me that he’s being paid to defend both of us, and the tender feeling in my chest dissipates. I’m sure the senator is making this babysitting gig well worth Mikhail’s time.
Na’s lips purse. “Yes, well… Keep your stepsister on a tighter leash, will you?” She finishes with an exclamation in Chinese that I’m pretty sure is a curse word, and then stomps past us, shooting another prickly look my way.
Ricardo whistles low.
“I’m not clueless,” I call once I’ve snapped out of my mortified stupor, but Na is almost to the bottom of the stairs, and doesn’t hear me. My forehead wrinkles in confusion. How did she know I was Charlotte’s stepsister?
“Anyway,” Charlotte says, her shoulders relaxing, “here we are. I’ll be right next door if you need anything. Thank you, Ricardo. You can go now.” She levels a stare at him and waits until he concedes, setting the box on the floor in the doorway of my new dorm room.
“I’ll be seeing you, chouchou.” Ricardo tips an invisible hat and gives me a cocky smile I feel down to my toes, before jogging toward the stairs.
Charlotte shakes her head, and her glossy hair, slicked back with a pert headband, swishes back and forth. “Ignore him. He’s our resident playboy. His MO is to go after the new girls, since they’re the only ones who will give him the time of day, but once he gets bored, he’s on to the next shiny new thing.”
I’m still gawking after him, so she pulls on my arm. “Focus. We have to get our rooms squared away before lunch. You don’t want to miss it. The catering staff go all out on moving-in day, because a lot of the parents are here. Last year, they served wagyu beef with truffle oil, oysters, and creamed potatoes with saffron. It was delicious. Not that the food in our eatery is bad, normally. It’s all pretty good, actually. Mikhail, you can put my suitcases by the closet. Thanks.”
He complies, and then moves to stand with his back against the wall between our two rooms, watching any passersby casually with his hands clasped in front of him.
These dorm rooms are nice. Instead of the standard cinder block walls painted white, these dorm rooms have dark wood paneling on the bottom half, and top half is a warm, sugary white that reminds me of marshmallows. Mine does have the basic pine bed and desk, however.
Charlotte’s room has thick ivory curtains that frame a large, leaded glass window and dark wood pieces that she must have brought herself.
“You can order better furniture, if you want,” Charlotte says at my shoulder. “I’m sure Daddy would pay for them.”
I shake my head. “No, these are fine.” I don’t want the senator to buy me anything else. Sending me to this school is enough. I looked up the tuition online, and Mom and I would never be able to afford it on her salary and the money I earned at my part-time job at our town’s bakery.
“Suit yourself,” Charlotte says. “I’ll swing by for you in an hour, and we’ll go to lunch. Deal?”
“Deal.”
A tall, spindly woman with skin even more fair than mine and white-blond hair introduces herself as Ms. Poppin, the school’s head chef and our resident director. “If you need anything at all, please let me know.” The woman leaves, smiling at everyone she passes.
“Get moving,” Charlotte prompts, and then marches out of my room, too.
Turning to my suitcase, I start unpacking. But my mind can’t stop replaying the encounter I had with Na, and I wonder if I’m doomed to be an outsider at the academy before I’ve even started.
5
The morning of the first day of school, Charlotte scoops me up from my dorm room and leads me down the stairs. We pass through the foyer and down a hall to the eatery.
I try not to stare open-mouthed. It looks like the great hall at Hogwarts. The walls are lined with various food stations. One offers breads, pastries, and toppings. Another is an omelet bar, again with oodles of toppings, and a third is piled high with fresh fruits and juices. In the corner, a coffee station boasts several different brews, along with jugs of creamers and sweeteners.
Callahan waves feebly from a table near the middle of the room, and we go over to put down our school bags.
“Morning,” he groans, and takes another long drink from the large mug of coffee he has cupped in his hands.
“Where’s Asif?” Charlotte asks, scanning the cafeteria.
“Not here yet,” Callahan says, yawning wide. “Why does school have to start so early?”
“It’s nearly 8,” Charlotte retorts. “If you would go to bed at a decent hour, you wouldn’t be so exhausted.”
“Hmmph.” He blinks into his coffee mug.
“Meet back here in five,” Charlotte says, and leaves the table.
I spin slowly, surveying my options, but really, I already know where I’m going. I’m back in only a couple of minutes with a tray of breakfast breads that would make even the judges of my favorite baking show jealous: pain au chocolat, a raspberry croissant, a perfectly toasted slice of wheat bread and apricot jam, and a cup of yogurt. I bite into the croissant, savoring the sweet filling and wondering if I could make them myself. I’ve never tried my hand at croissants, but I have made cream horns, and they can’t be that different.
Charlotte returns carrying an egg-white omelet with tomato and basil and a glass of deep red juice. “You look like you want to marry that pastry,” she says.
I gulp down the large bite I just took. “I might.” I go to take another bite, but pause. My skin prickles as if I’m being watched. I take a hurried sip of cool water and look up.
Ricardo is leaning against the eatery’s doorframe, arms slung over his chest, and his eyes are pinned on me. When our gazes meet, one corner of his mouth curves upward in a self-assured smile. He puts one hand to his heart, winks, and saunters off toward the fruit station.
It gives me a case of the giggles. Mercifully, Charlotte misses this exchange.
After a leisurely breakfast, we get travel cups of steaming hot coffee, and join the tide of crimson and navy that moves to the end of the hall. Stepping through the door, Charlotte holds it open for me with a flourish. I walk through, gaping at the clear glass that separates us from the vivid green of the courtyard. We’re in a glass hallway that cuts through the open space, connecting us to the main building, where the classrooms and administration office are located. Above us, leaves from the oak tree dot the glass ceiling, making me feel as if I’m passing through an arbor.
All around, people are in the same uniforms Charlotte, Callahan, and I are wearing, but little differences start to creep into my awareness. One girl is wearing a wide, patent leather belt over her jacket. Another has donned sky-high beige heels that match her skin tone, making her look barefoot. A tall boy with fawn-brown skin is wearing a navy blue turban wrapped neatly over his hair, and next to him is a girl wearing a scarf over her head.
