It’s kind of an emergency—he’s still in preschool.” I winked at Mikey’s
indignant face.
The lock release popped, and a resigned “Come in” followed.
“Just go with it, okay?” I coached Mikey as we hustled to the counter,
where the guardian of the front office, Mrs. Jackson, peered down at us
suspiciously from behind thick glasses. Her pupils appeared owl-like and
wizened, and I wondered if that’s how mine looked all the time.
“’Scuse me, ma’am,” Mikey hit his mark perfectly, “where’s the bathroom?”
“Down the hall and to the right.” She pointed us in the right direction
before getting back to the serious business of running the front office.
“Thank you!” we chorused before rushing out like we were both dying
to go. We tore down the hall, heading left, before skidding to a stop outside
Mrs. Woodward’s room. I was slapping my little coconspirator five, when I
heard the soothing tone of a low male voice. Oh no. High-pitched laughter
• 233 •
reverberated through the door. Oh yes . . . He’d got to her first. Felt like ripping the door right off the hinges. Instead, I did the customary knock thing
so hard my knuckles were bound to turn black and blue. My staccato rapping
must’ve signaled both my arrival, and the mood I’d arrived in, because the
musical tinkle in the room instantly muted to murmuring.
A put-upon Mrs. Woodward poked her head through the door. “Why
Kate Connelly!” She conspicuously exchanged a backward glance with the
unfazed cadet. “Your ears must be burnin’ . . . we were just talkin’ about you!”
I bet. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Woodward. I hope I’m not interruptin’
anything,” I said, hoping the opposite. No actual response was forthcoming,
just a lot of hemming and hawing, so I continued: “I need to speak with you,
if I may, for a few minutes.” She turned as if to ask his permission while I
prayed I could keep my hands glued to my sides.
“It’s fine, Mrs. Woodward,” he said.
“Peggy, please—I insist.”
He chuckled a little. Big fat faker. “Okay—Peggy. I was just leaving
anyway. Duty calls.”
“Oh.” Her face drooped disappointment. “I guess come in then.” This
was directed at me like I was an IRS agent.
I remained resolutely polite. “Thank you.”
“Pete!” Mikey hurled himself at him.
I grit my teeth as the cadet—formerly-known-as-Pete—swooped him
up in his arms like nothing untoward had happened. Now I wanted to rip his arms right off and beat him with them! How dare he hug us from the front while
stabbing us in the back!
Mrs. Woodward chin-clasped her hands together. “Well, it certainly looks
like y’all are still gettin’ along!”
“Like a house on a fire,” I said, manufacturing a cardboard smile.
His lips twitched, but I had nothing on my face but malice for him. The
shady cadet shifted his eyes back to Mikey before setting him down. “I really
should be going. Andy and Mr. Connelly will be waiting for me.” He said this
like he wasn’t referencing two people directly related to me.
Steam must’ve been coming out my ears by now.
Mikey tugged on my arm. “Can we go to The Learwning Center
today, too?”
“’fraid not, buddy.”
“Nobody wants to take me anywhere,” Mikey said dejectedly.
“That’s not true!” The cadet and I chorused together.
I glared at him so hard a lesser man would’ve melted. “We’ll go next week,
• 234 •
hon. Right now, I need you to wait out in the hall while I speak to Andrew’s teacher.” I retrieved a weathered Batman book from his backpack and cut off
Mikey’s protest with a meaningful look. “It’s important.”
Mikey snatched the book from my hand, still mutinously stalling, until
the cadet offered his hand to escort him out. I heard Mikey trying to work
him over as they walked to the door. And then I heard the cadet say, “It’s
Why do I always end up looking like the bad guy . . . when it’s real y him?
Like a crawfish in the pot, I was really boiling now. Cadet Davenport shot
me a look of concern, which only succeeded in shooting flames up my face.
I clenched my jaw against the urge to scream at him.
He paused at the door. “Goodbye, er . . . Peggy. It was a pleasure talking
to you as always.” He acknowledged me with a curt nod. “Kate.” Then he left
with a smile that left Mrs. Woodward beaming at the open door.
I felt all the energy from my amped up anger fizzle. This meeting was
likely pointless now. Score another one for Team IEA. But I had to try.
Mrs. Woodward faced me, a good portion of her glow fading along with
her eager attitude. “What can I do for you, Katie?” She actually had the
nerve to pull out a stack of graded papers and begin entering them into the
computer.
“I, uh . . . wanted to ask a few questions about the tests Cadet Davenport
has been givin’ to Andrew after school.”
“I’m sorry, dear. I’ve been instructed that you are no longer to be involved
in meetings involving Andrew—academic or otherwise.”
“Did he tell you that?” I practically snarled.
Mrs. Woodward sighed and stopped typing to face me from her rolly
chair. I was still standing, because she hadn’t bothered with the courtesy
of offering me a seat. I’d now been relegated to the status of mere sibling, a
meddling one at that.
“Listen, Katie. I do feel sympathetic. However, I’ve been informed you
strongly oppose Andrew joining The International Elite Academy.” She said
this as though I opposed the Clean Air Act. “You are too young and immature
to understand the long-lasting impact this will have on your brother’s life.”
Are you friggin’ kidding me? It felt like someone just thrust a red-hot
branding iron at my face, and I had to just take the heat without flinching.
“. . . This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance for Andrew. The Academy will
pave the way for a golden future for him the likes of which your family could
only dream of.” Peggy sounded like she’d drunk the Kool-Aid. “I understand
• 235 •
you have been workin’ against the greater good . . . for your own reasons. We believe these reasons are selfish in nature and are hinder—”
“Selfish!” I advanced forward. “Who said that?” One hand flew to her chest in fright. I did probably look like someone who was about to stab her with her own scarlet grading-pen. “Who is we?”
“Cadet Davenport, your father, and I,” she said in the tone reserved for
putting one in their place.
Who are they? — the Holy Trinity of Andrew’s life all of a sudden? None of them really cared about him like I did. To them, my brother was just another
feather in their cap.
“Since when?” I demanded.
“Since now,” Mrs. Woodward stated flatly. “Pete informed me of your
father’s decision this afternoon.” Seeing the animosity come to life on my
face, she took up for him at once. “Actually, he was really quite sympathetic
towards you, and didn’t want to meddle in a family quarr
el, but agreed it was
in Andrew’s best interests if you remain out of it.”
My face crumpled, and I collapsed onto a mini chair.
Her face softened so that her better nature shone through for a moment. “I
know this must be hard for you, Katie. You have done a good job with Andrew up until now. However, a prodigy needs more guidance in life than a teenage
sister and an . . . absent father. Andrew has so much untapped potential, and
it shouldn’t go to waste. That would be a travesty for him, for them . . . for
the world!” she added dramatically. “You don’t want to be the one to hold him
back from the life he deserves.”
She was waiting for me to see the light, or drink the Kool-Aid, or whatever.
So far, I had refrained. Maybe it was time to take a sip? See how it tasted . . .
at least outwardly. I fabricated another smile, took a breath, and tried out my
acting chops. “Well then, I guess I should be thankin’ you for hookin’ Andrew
up with such a prestigious and generous school.”
She stuttered and turned pink. “Good gracious! I wish I could accept the
honor. To tell you the truth, we thought for a long time it was your father who did it. Come to his senses about Andrew needin’ a special school. Then he
came thunderin’ up here that day.” She actually shuddered from the memory.
“Created quite a scene about it, sayin’ he was completely against sendin’ his
son away to any boarding school and that we should mind our own business.
A few months later, he came back in singin’ a different tune. He informed us
he’d had a change of heart and even had forms for us to fill out.”
The disgust on my face must’ve registered because she quickly explained,
“Feeling it was in Andrew’s best interests, we immediately complied. Though
• 236 •
we were quite sorry to think of him leaving us—he’s been such a bright presence here at our school,” she digressed, beaming like a proud mother hen.
Oh please. Like she had anything to do with it. I continued the effort of
my Miss America smile. Amazing how much this woman wanted to talk all
of a sudden.
“It was only later on when your father thanked us for helpin’ his son find
The International Elite Academy that we knew it wasn’t him. We assumed
one of the other boarding schools turned his application over to them. It was
bound to stand out—a youngster with scores like that. To this day, it’s still a mystery how Andrew ended up on their radar.”
The look on my face changed to one of horror.
“Don’t worry, dear,” she hastened to reassure me. “We all care for Andrew
as if he were our own. We would never have filled out the paperwork without
doing our due diligence. We spent a couple of days researching what we could
find about the school. And found out, it was indeed . . . the ‘World’s Most
Elite Military Academy.’” A lot of pride went into her smile.
I wanted to hurl.
“When we were completely satisfied of the legitimacy of the institution,
we reached out to them to identify ourselves and our purpose, and we were
put right through. They were super cooperative from the start. Sendin’ us their
very impressive brochures and their . . . even more impressive representatives.”
Mrs. Woodward colored at the memory, her garish blush turning an alarming
shade of salmon. “We’ve been more than a little honored we have an IEA
candidate right here in our hometown! Were you aware they only accept the
top one percent of the top one percent in the world?” She said this as though it were tantamount to earning a golden ticket to heaven from Saint Peter
himself. And then as if to prove my point she said, “A gift from an angel is
what it is. This whole experience!”
All my self-control seemed to be leaching from my pores; I mopped some
from my forehead with the back of my hand.
“. . . A gift from your mother to take care of her gifted son properly,” she
went on, placing a hand on mine.
I wanted to slap the earnestness right off her face. It was a true testament
to how much I didn’t want them to get their claws into my brother that I
didn’t move a muscle in that moment. I reached for sincere gratitude. “I hadn’t
ever thought of it that way, Mrs. Woodward. I can see better what’s really
going on now . . . thank you.”
She patted my hand. “No thanks necessary, dear. I’m just glad you’re
• 237 •
beginnin’ to understand the importance of not standin’ in the way of something so wonderful happenin’ to your brother.”
I removed her hand like I did one of the creepy crawlies the boys put in
my palm. “Well, thank you anyway for sharin’ your insight with me and for
bein’ such a great teacher to Andrew.” I finished with a smile so fake I shoulda
taken home the crown.
Now that she was convinced she had convinced me to see the light, she
got up to come hug me. “You’re so very welcome, Katie. He’s lucky to have
a sister like you; I want you to know that. It’s simply time to hand the reins
over to someone with more experience in dealing with his level of giftedness.”
“Maybe you’re right . . . thanks again for the talk, Mrs. Woodward. I
better go and get started on my homework. I’ll see ya later.”
As I was making my way back to the door, I noticed it was cracked
open a fraction—a peephole for a peep-eye . Mikey was staring over at
Mrs. Woodward like it was his mission not to break eye contact. When I
approached, he hung his head like a naughty puppy. I smiled down at him,
rubbing my palm across his bristle. How could I be mad when I would’ve
done the same thing? I helped Mikey up, thinking, she’d helped me see the light all right. Unfortunately, I still didn’t have any proof—yet. I whirled around.
“Oh, one more thing . . .” Mrs. Woodward looked up from her desk
warily. “Did Cadet Davenport ever ask any questions about—” I faltered and
turned red, “me? I-I mean our family, in general?”
She gave me a condescending smile. “No dear. I’m afraid not. Just tutoring
stuff—strictly professional. Cadet Davenport really is so good with him, a
natural . . . it’s been an absolute pleasure to watch!” The pink glow was back.
I’m sure it was a pleasure to watch. “Well, thanks again for everything,” I called, practically running out the door with my little brother in tow.
I sped back to school, my mind twisting and spinning like a Tilt-a-Whirl.
After dropping off Miguel’s truck, I had the maddening task of borrowing the
office phone to call Daddy. His cell just rang and rang as I ground and ground
my molars together. Of course he wouldn’t break up his precious meeting with
Cadet Davenport to pick up the dadgum phone for his stranded daughter and
four-year-old son! I punched in the number for The Learning Center like I
was jabbing eyes out of sockets. At last someone obligingly tracked down my
father (only after I insisted it was, indeed, an emergency). About ninety-nine
minutes (while the secretary pointedly looked at the clock) later, he finally
came on the line.
• 238 •
“Katie, what on God’s green earth could be so pressin’ that you had to in’errupt my very important meetin’ with Cadet Da
venport?”
Instead of snapping back at him, I found myself with two uneven pieces
of chewed-up pencil in my hands. “Sorry Daddy, but my car wouldn’t start
this afternoon, so Mikey and I are stranded in the high school parkin’ lot.”
“If yer car wouldn’t start, then how’d you come by Mikey?”
“Because I borrowed Miguel’s truck to pick him up.”
“Can’t he just give you a ride home then? We’re pretty busy right now
with IEA business,” he said importantly.
I gripped the phone so tightly those blue knuckles turned white. While
inhaling some germ-infected phone-receiver air, I heard a smooth voice in
the background say, “It’s fine, Mr. Connelly . . . we’re almost finished here.”
I actually had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.
I’m sure he thought he really was almost finished here . . . and would be
headed back to Cali any day now. Triumphantly. With my gifted brother.
Like a knight presenting a head on a platter before his king.
“He can’t drive me home,” I hissed. “He’s at football practice. So can you
please come and get us?” Real y? I had to beg?
Daddy acquiesced, with poor humor, seeing as how he had no other
option. In the meantime, I ran to the bathroom to put on my bell skirt. Then
Mikey and I slurped some water from the fountain and headed out the door,
splitting a bag of chips I’d bought from a vending machine.
After about twenty minutes of sweltering out in the sun and regretting my
salty snack choice, my father pulled in. With an entourage. Following behind
him, in a cloud of heavy exhaust, was none other than Cadet Davenport. I
noticed there was now a respectable enough amount of dust coating his truck
to peg him as a local . . . and that my little brother was riding shotgun. I
wondered how often he’d had to visit the car wash to keep the dang thing
looking so shiny then mentally kicked myself for wondering.
“Look, Kadee! It’s Pete,” Mikey pointed out. “No fayer that Drewy gets
to wide in the Hummer twice!”
I squeezed his shoulder as they arrived, pulling one mammoth truck on
each side of my puny little hatchback. My father walked to the back to gather
the licorice-colored jumper cables from his toolbox, without even coming over