Deadly First Day, page 8
part #1 of Embassy Academy Series
She whisks me toward the dessert table, unmindful of the full plate of food I’m leaving behind.
My stepsister grabs a couple of desserts on a plate and waits while I select a few more. There are so many delicious-looking goodies here that I want to try each and every one of them.
I’m finally getting a chance to eat, but catch sight of Cal on the other side of the room. He’s talking to someone, but I can’t make out who past the mass of jabbering people.
I wave to let him know where we are, but he doesn’t see me.
“Who’s Callahan talking to?” I lean toward Charlotte so she can hear me over the din.
She glances up and her expression catches for a second. “That’s Ambassador Li. Na’s father.”
My heart squeezes. Should I go over there and talk to him? What would I say? Sorry for your loss is so inadequate, but I can’t apologize for finding his daughter’s body, can I? I shake my head to clear my swarming thoughts. It doesn’t matter what I say, really. I just want to give him a bit of comfort, if possible.
Forcing down my shyness, I make my feet step toward where Callahan and the ambassador are standing. It takes concentration to move through this many people without bumping anyone or drawing attention, but I manage. Finally, I step around a woman wearing a truly loud red pantsuit and find myself a few feet away from my stepbrother and the older man. But when I focus on the two of them, I stop.
Something isn’t right with them.
The way they’re hunched toward each other. Ambassador Li’s finger poking at Callahan’s chest. Callahan’s angry frown in response.
They’re arguing.
11
At breakfast the next morning, when I try to ask Callahan why he was arguing with Ambassador Li last night, I can’t find a good way to begin. Simply asking him if he was fighting with the Chinese representative to the U.S. is too blunt. I probably couldn’t even get the words out without turning fire engine red.
Callahan finishes his coffee in a long drag and buries himself in a graphic novel. There’s a pregnant superhero on the front, surrounded by exclamation points. It looks interesting.
I eye it for a moment, hoping if I ask him about something basic first, maybe it’ll warm him up so I can ask him what I really want to know. “What’s that? Is it good?”
Callahan meets my eyes over his book. “Yeah.” Then he keeps reading.
Beside him, Asif’s eyes flick toward me, and his mouth quirks as he continues to read his own graphic novel.
I squirm in my seat, turning back toward Dali and Charlotte, who are sitting on my other side. “You’ve got to give me some tips on the diplomacy paper Ms. Martin assigned. I don’t even know where to start.”
Charlotte straightens her headband. “Are you talking about cheating? Because if they catch you, you’ll get kicked out.”
“No!” I yelp, horrified. My cheeks are blazing hot. “I would never do that. But if you could tell me if there are any websites or books I can use as resources, that would really help.” Headmistress Morgan’s veiled threats regarding my performance at the academy are always at the back of my mind. And the paper our teacher assigned is worth a quarter of our grade. This early in the semester. Is she insane?
My paper needs to be fantastic.
“Oh, in that case, I’ll get you my notes.”
Dali leans toward me. “I might be able to give you some direction, too.” She winks.
Relief floods me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Someone lets out a squeal so gleeful and high-pitched I almost fall out of my chair.
The squealer? Charlotte. She jumps up and click clacks toward the door with arms outstretched. Standing there is a tall, tanned girl with what I’d best describe as mermaid hair: long, wavy locks that cascade down her back in a way that looks effortless, but is probably the result of hours spent with a curling wand.
The two girls hug each other tightly and start chattering. In French.
Dali must see the confused look on my face. “That’s Charlotte’s best friend, Genevieve.” Instead of saying it the American way, she pronounces the girl’s name in a way I’ve never heard—closer to John-vee-evv.
Genevieve is also wearing a headband, I notice as the two of them stride toward our table, and Emily Allison heels. I tuck my feet further under my seat. Suddenly my vintage black booties don’t seem so chic.
“Is this her?” Genevieve says when they reach us.
Charlotte grins. “Yep. Genevieve, this is Adrienne, my stepsister. Adrienne, meet Genevieve.”
Genevieve does a half curtsey and pulls out the chair next to Asif, who sits up a bit straighter and puts down his book, making sure it’s parallel to the table’s edge before smiling at her.
“Genevieve, welcome back.”
“Merci, Asif. It’s pleasant to be back.”
“So, uh, why the late arrival?”
“We were visiting my grandmère in Belgium. It was so beautiful there, we didn’t want to leave. Mon père called the headmistress and told her we were on a diplomatic mission.” She adjusts the shiny copper headband that’s partially hidden in her hair. It’s exactly like the ones Charlotte wears, thin and metallic. But although the headbands make Charlotte appear all sharp edges and severity, the way the headband pushes Genevieve’s cinnamon waves off her face makes her appear more approachable and friendly.
She looks at me, and her eyes catch on my brooch.
I touch it softly, wanting her to like it, but sure she won’t.
“That is a beautiful pin, Adrienne,” Genevieve says. “Where did you find it?”
I smile, pleased. “It was my grandma’s favorite.”
“She had good taste,” the girl says, pushing out of her chair. “Be right back.”
“Gen, don’t,” Charlotte cautions, trying to grab for her friend’s arm, but Genevieve is too quick. Before Charlotte can lay a finger on her, she’s strutting over to where Ricardo is standing at a table crowded with guys. Their frenetic movement slows as she draws close, their attention flicking back and forth from the girl’s easy smile to Ricardo’s face. He’s turned away from us, so I can’t see his reaction. Only the back of his strawberry brown head.
Genevieve is leaning toward him, invading his personal space with an ease that I could never possess, and he’s not backing away.
Charlotte watches the scene with rapt attention, her face pinched with repugnance. A piece of roasted sweet potato falls off her fork onto the table top, and I’m surprised she doesn’t whisk it onto her plate immediately.
My eyes swing back to Genevieve, whose hand is perched lightly on Ricardo’s arm as he looks at her. She’s taller than him. Huh.
Ricardo shakes his head, dropping his arm so her fingers slide off. Smirks spread on his friends’ faces as they look up at her, waiting to see what she’ll do.
The entire room has gone quiet, and Genevieve’s voice starts to carry.
“I thought you said we’d pick up where we left off once we returned from summer vacation.”
Ricardo shakes his head. “I never meant to imply that we would get back together this year. I’m sorry I wasn’t clear about my intentions.”
“Your intentions?” Genevieve’s voice goes flat. She steels herself, her entire body going rigid. Closing her eyes, she flinches. “Au revoir, Ricardo.”
Ricardo’s shoulders loosen as Genevieve spins on her heel and leaves, swiping her bag off our table as she passes by. I think I see a glimmer of wetness in her eyes as she draws past, but then it’s gone.
“Wow,” Dali whispers, still twisted to watch Genevieve’s retreat down the hall. Then she rights herself, taking a bite of her eggs benedict and chewing absently.
Charlotte is practically steaming as she wipes her face with her white linen napkin. Then her eyes pin me in place. “This is exactly why I told you to stay away from that jerk. Genevieve was his flavor last year, and you see how that ended.” She stands, jabbing a finger toward me. “Stay away from him, Adrienne.” With that, she stomps after her friend.
I exhale in relief once my stepsister is gone, not relishing having her sparking eyes on me. She’s only trying to protect me from a guy whom she clearly doesn’t like, but that was intense. I lean into Dali’s shoulder, picking my words carefully. “Can you tell me about the convoluted relationships in this school? I’m only a few weeks in, and I’m so confused about everyone... my head is spinning.”
Dali is quiet for the moment, listening to the babble of the people around her. She must not feel safe talking in such close proximity to anyone else, because she nods and mouths, “Later.”
Ricardo sits at his table, and conversation resumes around the room.
After that intensely unpleasant conversation, I’m glad he doesn’t look my way.
In each of my classes, the professors pile on the homework until I’m so stressed out by everything I have to do this week, it’s affecting my already not great sleep. By Friday night, I’ve done so much homework my brain is melting, and at any moment it’ll start leaking out of my ears. Yet here I am, hunched over my laptop in my room, reading over the websites on diplomacy that Dali sent me. My paper is due on Monday, and I haven’t even started.
It’s almost midnight, and there’s still talking out in the hallway. When do these people do their homework? Or even more important, when do they sleep?
I spent much of the evening in Charlotte’s room, she and Genevieve and Dali and I hunched over her laptop streaming a teen show. It was about vampires at an academy not unlike ours, but much steamier. We munched on popcorn and giggled when the hot guy vampire took a love bite out of the female lead’s neck.
Voices, laughter, and music in languages I don’t know filter in from the hallway. Everyone is ready to unwind after a tense first few weeks of school, homework forgotten.
My eyes are so heavy I can barely focus. My paper will have to wait until tomorrow. Shutting my laptop with a snap, I shove away from the desk and change into my pajamas before I meander down the hall to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.
Much later, I shift in bed, still awake. I press my eyes closed, willing my body to stop worrying and go to sleep, but none of the usual methods work.
It’s 2:29 AM and I have yet to fall asleep.
At home, on a night like this I would be in the kitchen, watching my favorite baking show and whipping up something sugary and delicious. After hearing about my blancmanges, Ms. Poppin did say I could use the eatery kitchen whenever I wanted, as long as it wasn’t during meal prep times. She even gave me a key card and let me store my supplies in the pantry downstairs. Sighing, I crawl out of bed and slip on a sweatshirt over my jammies.
I peep over the railing to see that the security guard is not at the front door. He must be doing rounds. I frown. The thought of the front door being unmanned leaves me nervous and insecure, as if someone could burst into the building at any time and kill someone else. The police are running out of avenues to explore, according to the news this week, and it’s likely that the killer is lurking nearby.
It’s too scary to think about. No one is going to sneak into the school tonight. I hope.
I creep down the stairs to the kitchen. My fingers are just closing over the cool, brass doorknob when I hear a door open and close behind me. My heart leaps into my throat.
Is someone sneaking into the dormitory?
Opening the door as quietly as I can, I slip into the kitchen.
There’s an almost inaudible rustle of fabric in the hallway.
I go completely still, my pulse pounding in my ears as I listen.
Have I been spotted by the guard? Or someone worse?
Oh, please let it be the security guard. Or even Ricardo.
The footsteps sneak past the kitchen door, and I sag in relief. No one is coming for me.
Realistically, it’s probably the security guard, but I have to know. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I ease the door open and peek out, ever so slowly.
A tall, gangly figure draped in black is inching down the hallway toward the far end, every movement fluid and precise, as if he’s done this before. And it’s definitely a he. The only part of the shadow that isn’t pitch black is his hair, which appears pale in the dark. It almost looks like…
My eyes widen as Callahan looks over his shoulder, checking the hallway behind him.
I duck into the kitchen and wait, but my stepbrother doesn’t return. He must not have spotted me.
Slowly, I look again, but Callahan is gone.
I stand frozen in indecision, weighing my options. I could stay here and make something as planned. It’s what I should do.
Or, I could follow Callahan to see what he’s doing dressed like a cat burglar at this time of night.
Really, it’s no choice at all.
I slip off my bright yellow slippers and steal out of the kitchen, shutting the door behind me.
My socked feet are surprisingly quiet over the wood floor, and I reach the end of the hall. Taking in a quick breath, I peek around the corner.
Callahan is at the far end, walking toward an unfamiliar door. He opens it in silence and squeezes through, closing it with a soft click behind him.
Curiosity compels me forward. I have to see where he’s going.
A jingle behind me catches my attention. It’s the security guard, and he’s coming this way.
My pulse pounds as I jog up the hallway, trying not to slip on the slick floor. My hand closes over the knob, and I open it.
A gust of cold air hits me, and I gasp. I’m standing in the grassy courtyard between the dormitory and academy buildings. The school forms a U shape around the courtyard, but the back of the open space is lined by a tall, solid brick wall. Oak trees tower over the cobblestone pathway that winds through the courtyard, ending at a narrow gate that’s set into one corner of the brick wall. It must lead off campus. Callahan isn’t in the courtyard. He must have slipped out the gate. But wouldn’t it be locked at this time of night?
I scurry toward the gate. My instincts war within my chest. I’m deeply curious about what Callahan is doing sneaking off school grounds at this hour, but on the other hand I do not want to find out what would happen if I was caught sneaking away myself. I can’t imagine the headmistress would have much positive to say about it, given her speech on orientation day.
Still, my curiosity wins out. I take hold of the knob and twist. It’s locked tight. There’s no way Callahan got out through here.
Confusion furrows my brow as I spin to survey the area. If he didn’t get out this way, then how?
My eyes catch on the sills of the windows lining the ground floor of the academy. They aren’t deep, but maybe they’re enough for a foot to find purchase. I gauge the distance between the outer window and the brick wall. It’s about three feet. It’s conceivable that someone as tall as Callahan could stand on the windowsill, grab onto the top of the brick wall, and haul himself over. But could I do it?
I have to find out.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m heaving myself up onto the window ledge and hoping my socks don’t slip. Gripping the edges of the brick outlining the window, I force myself to stand up. The top of the wall is more than a foot over my head. There’s no way I’ll be able to reach it.
I let out a huff, watching as the resulting puff curls into the air. A shiver runs through me. It’s cold out here, even with my sweatshirt on.
As quietly as I can, I kneel down, sliding one foot off the ledge until it touches the dewy grass. Then the other.
I’ll have to find out what Callahan was doing off campus another way.
12
Between wondering how the murder investigation is going and where Callahan was sneaking off to Friday night, I didn’t sleep much all weekend. I haven’t seen him since then, either. We must be missing each other, or he’s ducking his sister and me. Even Asif has been absent from meals.
I’m drowsing against the glass wall of the walkway to the academy building when Charlotte launches into yet another conversation about how inspiring the convention was. It sounds more like a lecture than friendly chitchat, and I tune her out. I don’t really care about the party’s platform, since I’m not old enough to vote. I figure there will be time to pay attention to politics later.
Charlotte clearly doesn’t share my apathy. She has opinions on all of the party’s platform issues, from immigration reform to social security to environmental protection acts. Listening to her talk is exhausting. Or it might be the sleep deprivation.
Pushing off the wall, I stand upright. “I’m getting coffee. Anybody want any?”
My companions decline, Genevieve with a graceful shake of her head, and Charlotte with a quick, “No, thanks,” before returning to whatever she was saying when I interrupted. Often, Charlotte’s single-mindedness reminds me of Paris from Gilmore Girls. I already know Mikhail won’t accept anything.
I’m just entering the walkway, clutching a steaming cup of coffee with my cream when Callahan plods past me, his expression sullen, Asif at his side. My stepbrother’s normally perfectly gelled hair is messy, as if he didn’t even bother to comb it before coming down to breakfast. The wrinkled sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to his elbows and his hands are hidden away in the pockets of his slacks. But the thing that grabs my attention and holds it is the long, thin cut on his cheek.
Charlotte doesn’t miss it, either. She stops talking mid-sentence and rushes over to him. “Cal, that cut. What happened? Are you okay?”
He waves her off and leans against the wall. “Some of the guys were playing lacrosse in the hallway the other night. Asif whacked me with his stick.” But he won’t meet her eyes. Is he lying, or just embarrassed? When he does lift his face to greet Mikhail and me, his cheeks are flushed.
“I did not,” Asif says.
