Deadly First Day, page 4
part #1 of Embassy Academy Series
Charlotte herself is wearing large, shimmering pearl stud earrings, and Callahan’s tie hangs around his neck like he flung it on after getting dressed and couldn’t be bothered to tie it properly.
“Hold still,” Charlotte says, taking the tie and doing it up forcefully.
“Too tight,” Callahan whines, reaching up to tug at the intricate knot.
Different languages flow around me, some quick and staccato, others flowy and languid. I’ve never heard so many different languages in my life; it’s beautiful and overwhelming.
Absently, my fingers rise to the brooch I chose for today—a diamond shape with gold-toned filigree. I picked it because it felt fancy enough with my uniform, although now a wave of bashfulness makes me wish I hadn’t worn it. Maybe I would get fewer stares without it.
And people are staring. Everyone I pass seems to appraise me with a quick glance or a long, studied sweep of the eyes. I’ve never been the new kid before, having lived my entire life in Wood View. Being under this amount of scrutiny is making me want to hide in the bathroom like a character in a cheesy teen movie.
I glance at Charlotte, who is walking with head held high, like she owns the place. People move aside as Charlotte passes, giving her space to cut through the maze of bodies in the hallway. She moves like she knows deep in her bones that she is supposed to be here.
I know deep in my bones that I am not.
The girl comes out of nowhere, leaving me no time to course correct.
I run headlong into Na again, but this time, my coffee cup bursts, spewing the still-warm liquid all down the front of her blouse.
I freeze, eyes wide. This cannot be happening right now.
Around us, the chattering of voices dies. Motion stops. Na levels a molten-lava glare at me that makes me flush beet red. My heart hammers in my chest, wishing it could escape the embarrassment.
“What is wrong with you?” Na screeches. “Do you have something against China or something? You could have disfigured me. If this coffee was still hot, I’d sue you for everything you have, even those heinous white things you’ve got on your feet.”
“I, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I fall silent at Na’s livid scowl.
“Like hell you didn’t. This is the second time in two days you’ve plowed into me. Do I need to bring my own bodyguard to school now?”
My face flushes hot. My eyes dart around, looking for a friendly face, but everyone is staring in open curiosity at Na and me. Even Charlotte is transfixed.
Callahan, on the other hand, has inexplicably come alive. He disappears behind a heavy wooden door and reappears in a moment with fists full of paper towels, which he holds out to the furious girl fuming in front of me. “It was an accident, Na. Can’t you, I don’t know, calm down a little?”
This was the wrong thing to say.
Na seems to grow ten feet tall at this, but mercifully turns her devastating scowl from me to Callahan. “Calm down? Are you serious? That’s what you say to me, when I’m the one drenched in hot coffee?”
His mouth clamps shut as he holds up his hands in a gesture of supplication.
“And you. You stay away from me. I’d like to get through today without disfigurement. Got it?” She tosses the now sodden paper towels into a nearby garbage can and stomps down the hall, smelling of coffee with a hint of vanilla.
I blink rapidly, trying to bring my body down from the anxious heights to which it’s climbed in the last minute.
At the end of the hall, a male teacher steps out from behind a group of people and puts a hand on Na’s arm, speaking low in her ear. She jerks her head, but doesn’t pull away.
The girls nearest them stand up straighter, showing blatant interest in the man, but it cools as he puts an arm around Na’s shoulders. Together, the two of them step around the corner.
Callahan’s shoulders slump as he watches them go.
The girls start whispering to each other.
What’s that about? Are they whispering about the cute teacher, Na, or both?
Charlotte finally seems to find her tongue. “Sorry about her,” she says in a matter-of-fact voice. “She can be intense.” She laughs when my eyebrows rise to my hairline. “Okay, more like a little scary.”
“Who was that guy she went off with?”
“Nobody. Professor Rook. He teaches pre-calc and calculus. Come on, we’re going to be late for our first classes.” She brushes me off and starts down the hall.
I follow her, not sure what to make of her hasty dismissal of my question.
Now that the show is over, everyone around has resumed their usual activity. The hallway fills with jabbering as people walk to class.
My first day at Embassy Academy hasn’t even started, and I already have a possible crush, and a mortal enemy.
Charlotte isn’t in my first class of the day, World Diplomacy, but she helps me find the classroom before she goes to her own first period.
I stand in the doorway, uncertain where to sit. Callahan shuffles past me into the room. “Come on.”
I follow him to a table at the back, and we take two of the four seats.
He immediately gets out his tablet and starts doodling in an illustration program, making short, rough strokes over the screen with his stylus. When I lean toward him to watch, he angles the screen away from me and hunches his shoulders.
Okay, then. Callahan sure is touchy about his privacy.
“Chouchou.” My eyes fly up to where Ricardo is standing over me. “Do try to stay away from Li Na, will you? It will be much easier to make you fall in love with me if you’re still in one piece.” He grins, tapping the tabletop in front of me with two fingers, and then moves to sit at a table near the front.
I stare after him, wide-eyed. Despite Charlotte’s warning that he’s only interested in me because I’m the new girl, I have to admit his confidence is appealing.
The room slowly fills with students. Some turn to get a good look at me, but others ignore me completely. It’s a weird feeling, being both a curiosity and a nobody.
My eyes find their way to where Ricardo is sitting, typing on his tablet. I stare at the back of his neck where his hair comes to a point, deciding that Charlotte must be right: he’s flirting with me because I’m the new girl, and I’m all mysterious and quiet.
A girl with gorgeous coppery brown skin plops down beside me, rests her sable bag on the tabletop, and gives me a shy smile. “Adrienne? Charlotte asked me to watch out for you. I’m Dalitso Sibale. You can call me Dali. My dad is the ambassador from Malawi.”
“Hi. And thanks?” I laugh awkwardly, not sure what else to do.
“You’re welcome.” She takes out a pen and starts trying to write something on the palm of her hand, but it’s not working. “Do either of you have a pen?”
Callahan shakes his head. “Nope. I don’t even carry any. We never write anything by hand.”
“I do,” I pipe up, unzipping my bag and digging around inside for the pen I brought from home. I find it at the bottom and hand it to Dali, who turns it to read the writing on the side. “Wood View Laboratories.”
“My mom works there,” I volunteer.
Dali bobs her head in acknowledgement. Quickly, she scribbles something on her skin and sets the pen down on the desk in front of me. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. What are you…” The question dies on my tongue as Na stalks into the classroom wearing a bright and clean blouse. She shoots daggers at me before whipping around and taking a chair at the front table. She whispers to the girl sitting next to her, and together they peer over their shoulders at me with shark-like expressions. I sink down in my seat, wishing I could make myself invisible. The last thing I need is to get entangled with her again.
“Don’t worry about her,” Dali whispers, her expression dark. “She’s been in a terrible mood all summer, since—”
“Shh,” Callahan hisses, gesturing toward the front of the room.
“Sorry,” Dali mouths before turning her attention to the front.
A middle-aged woman comes into the room just as the bell rings, sets her briefcase down on the desk, and leans against it. “Good morning, class. I recognize most of you from my World History course last year, but I do see one new face.” She walks down the aisle toward me with a faint smile. “You must be Adrienne Lewis. I’m Professor Martin. It’s nice to have you in my class. I’m curious, what do you know about diplomacy? I’d like to assess your knowledge of the subject before we begin, so that I can focus on areas where you need catching up.” She tilts her head to one side as she waits for my answer.
My mind goes completely blank.
Diplomacy? Do I know anything about it? “Isn’t that where you negotiate with people, and you know, compromise?”
“Largely, yes.” She nods, satisfied with my answer, and walks up to the front of the room.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Na rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “The types of people they let into this school these days.”
To my chagrin, several of my classmates snicker, glancing my way with obvious amusement on their faces.
This day just keeps getting worse.
“That’s enough,” Professor Martin says, her words cool. “Now, can someone list a few different forms of diplomacy?”
Of course, Na’s hand shoots into the air, and she rattles off four or five. Six? I get lost after the first three.
“See? Americans know nothing about diplomacy.” The girl who says this sneers at me before turning around to face the front.
“Ignore them,” Dali whispers. “Her dad is part of the African coalition attempting to strike a trade deal for some new oil wells they just found.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Your dad’s on the negotiation committee, and some people around here are incapable of separating their parents’ political aspirations from their own.”
My mouth forms a small O. Not only am I a target because I’m new, I’m also disliked because of the senator’s work? Perfect. Just perfect.
All of the other students are taking out slim tablets and laptops, and I’m grateful for the school-issued tablet I got during orientation yesterday. I make a mental note never to bring my crusty old laptop out of my dorm room. I’m not giving Na more ammunition to use against me.
6
My next class is pre-calculus, which makes a lot more sense to me than diplomacy. Numbers and equations have always come easy. It’s part of why I like baking so much. Baking, unlike cooking, is an exact science. If I want to tweak a recipe, it’s all about experimenting with the formula. I don’t have to factor in the wants and needs of a foreign entity when I’m baking cookies. All that matters is the ingredients, the oven temperature and bake time, and me. I settle in to my seat and prepare for an easier class.
Unfortunately, neither Callahan or Dali appears to be in this class, so I’ll have to sit alone. The only person I know is Ricardo, and I’m way too shy to sit next to him.
Professor Rook comes in. One sleeve is rolled up to his elbow, but he gives up on the other one. When his eyes fall on me, he smiles. “Miss Lewis, would you care to introduce yourself to your classmates?”
I shake my head. “Please, no.”
“Don’t be shy. Stand up. Go ahead.”
Not daring to look up into the mocking face of the girl who made that crack about Americans in my diplomacy class, I pull myself out of my chair, fixing my eyes on the desktop. “I’m Adrienne Lewis. My dad is Senator Holt.” I sit back down quickly, but Professor Brook isn’t done with me yet.
He laughs. “That was a really short introduction. Why don’t you tell us what you want to do after high school? Go into politics, perhaps?”
Again I shake my head. I open my mouth to speak, but my throat goes dry. I swallow and try again. “I want to go to culinary school.”
Thankfully, Na isn’t here, or she’d probably come up with another snarky one-liner to use against me. Ricardo grins from his seat at the next table. “Aha. Finally, someone who can do justice to my favorite dessert, blancmange.”
My cheeks flush with both pleasure and embarrassment. I probably could make blancmange, though I’ve never tried. I meet Ricardo’s eyes for a split second before looking up at Professor Rook.
“Culinary school? Then you’re in the right place, because cooking requires math.” He rubs his hands together. “Everyone take out your tablets and open your math app. There’s a practice test waiting for you, so I can assess if you remember anything from last year.” He waves off the groans we all give at this, smiling. “It’s not so bad. It’s only a practice test. It won’t count toward your grade. Now go on.” He sits on the edge of his desk, his sandy brown hair falling over his forehead, and I can see why he’s the resident hot teacher. He’s young, attractive, and charismatic. But for me personally? He’s way too old. He’s probably thirty. Gross.
Callahan strolls into class, mumbling an apology and slipping a pink piece of paper to Professor Rook, who barely glances at it before crumbling it up with one hand and dropping it into the woven waste basket beside his desk.
I’m halfway through taking the practice test on my brand-spanking-new tablet when the coffee I had after breakfast catches up with me. I squirm in my seat, not sure if I should raise my hand or tiptoe up to Mr. Rook’s desk to ask for a hall pass. Do they even use hall passes here? I should have asked Charlotte this question. It would have been a good bit of information to know.
“Can I help you with something, chouchou?”
Ricardo is leaning out of his chair toward me, his amber brown eyes level with mine.
My stomach dips. Taking a breath, I whisper. “Do I need a hall pass to, you know?” I can’t believe I’m asking Ricardo about this.
“Go to the ladies’ room? You see that gold spray-painted calculator on Professor Rook’s desk? It’s the hall pass. All he requires is that you take it on your way out. And hurry back.”
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” His eyes are heavy on my back as I swipe the golden calculator off the professor’s desk and push out of the solid wooden door into the hallway.
I look up and down the corridor, not sure I remember where the bathroom is. Charlotte pointed it out to me before class, but all of the doors are exactly the same: dark, solid wood with inset panels. I strike off in one direction, not sure if I'm right, but I’d better hurry. My bladder is screaming.
Relief hits as I see a door up ahead with a discrete placard marking the women’s restroom. The door swings inward slowly as I press with both hands. These solid wood doors are heavy.
A foreign smell hits my nose as I step inside, like the tang of rusted metal. The harsh bluish tint of the overhead lighting hits my face as the door swings shut with a low thud behind me. The hairs on my arms stand up at the unnerving feeling that I’m not alone in here. “Hello?” I say in a timid voice, but there’s no response.
Shaking off the disconcerting twinge, I step farther into the room. The weird smell grows stronger. What is that? It almost smells like—
My shoe squelches in something wet and sticky, and my eyes fall toward the tile floor. I squeak at the sight of it. Red blood is seeping out of one of the bathroom stalls in a wide, slow ebb.
My heart hammers in my chest. Did the toilet overflow from someone putting too many tampons down it or something? My nose wrinkles in disgust. I am so throwing away these shoes.
I’m turning to leave the bathroom when something catches my eye. The tip of a designer heel is just visible below the door to the middle stall, from where the bloody river is coming. The toilet-clogging culprit left their shoes here? Eww. I shudder.
Wait. That doesn’t seem right. Maybe they couldn’t unclog the toilet and they’re afraid to come out. But a sickening feeling is tugging at my instincts. Something is very wrong in here. Trembling, I reach out to knock on the door. “Hello? Are you okay in there?”
The door swings open in an inward arch, revealing the inside of the stall.
A scream tears from my throat, freezing me in place.
My shoes are glued to the ground by the stream of blood coming from the girl’s neck, trickling down her arm and dripping onto the floor. Her eyes are glassy and frozen in terror.
Na has bled out in the second bathroom stall, and I’m standing in a pool of her blood.
7
My entire body is locked in place as I stare at Na’s lifeless form. My legs won’t budge. I try to call for help, but all that comes out is a keening whine.
I have to get out of here. What if whoever did this comes back?
What if someone sees me in here and blames me for it? This thought makes my blood run cold and my body shake with fear. I’ve seen how all of the other students are looking at me: with curiosity, yes, but also with disdain. How will they see me once they hear I’ve been found in a bathroom with a dead girl? I can’t seem to convince my feet to move. It’s like Na’s blood has adhered them to the floor. I’m chewing on my lip, considering abandoning my shoes, when footsteps approach outside the bathroom door.
It’s too late; someone is going to catch me in here, standing in a crimson stream.
My heart starts to pound. This day has gone from awkward to worst-case scenario in less than a minute.
The bathroom door swings open, and a girl comes inside.
“No,” I scream, finding my voice. “Don’t come in. We need help.” Panic edges my every word, making the girl’s face contort in confusion.
“What are you talking about?” she says, her voice dying away as she sees the slick of red under my feet. Eyes wide, she inches closer. “What’s going on in here?”
I’m shaking my head frantically, begging her to halt her steps, to not come any closer, but she can’t hear the screaming in my mind, doesn’t register the white pallor of my face.
