I nod.
“Tate.” She offers her hand.
I was expecting Mrs. …. something. She’s fairly young for a teacher, probably in her early twenties. Her hair is blonde with a few pink highlights and styled into a shaggy pixie cut. On anyone else, it’d be horrendous, but she’s tiny with delicate features, and somehow it suits her.
“Hi.”
“Go ahead and have a seat. You’re going to like it here.” She smiles warmly. She heads back to the front of the room without explaining anything else or providing me with the course materials.
Tate’s lecture today is on fascism in emerging nations and the tactics for disabling this type of regime. I’m so far out of my league that I understand only every fourth word. Things like: the, was, if. This feels more like advanced military training than a high school class, but the students around me hang on her every word, offering bits of color to the conversation, talking concepts out together, and occasionally asking Tate for an explanation.
I’m too easily distracted by the large windows, through which bright afternoon sunshine pours through, warming up the room. At home, I’d be counting down the days until summer break. But here, school runs year round, with just a two-week summer break in July, two months from now.
I see a body fall past the window and leap from my chair. All eyes in the room dart to me, like I’m the crazy one. Didn’t they see that? Logan leans toward me, placing his hand on my forearm, urging me back into my seat. “It’s just the second years rappelling off the roof.”
Oh, right. Like that’s normal. I carefully return his easy smile, and slip into my chair.
The two hour class goes by quickly, and for the most part, it keeps my interest. I even answered a question toward the end of Tate’s lecture. She was discussing the Entanglement Theory, which says of the threads that connect everything together, one object cannot be fully described without considering the other. Meaning it’s impossible to view a country’s religious beliefs, political system, or economy apart from one another. They are all connected. She asks the class what to do when you are faced with a complex problem consisting of many entangled pieces.
I think about how I approach the computer programming problems I solve. “You pick one main objective. And then you break the problem into as many small pieces as you can.” I speak without raising my hand, as the others have been doing. “And work backwards, solving for each small piece one at a time.”
“Very good, Taylor.”
Simplifying and breaking down complex problems were things I understood. Maybe I could keep up here by applying the things I knew from computer programming, hacking – a side of myself I’d always had to keep hidden in my old life. It was strange to be able to embrace it for the first time.
My dad’s a computer programmer, and from the time I was little, I worked alongside him writing code, helping him to test and debug software. I liked it so much that he taught me other computer languages, like Python, Lisp, and Java. I was well on my way to becoming a skilled computer programmer by age thirteen. And then I taught myself Unix. And because most of the Internet runs on Unix, it opened up a whole new world to me – Internet hacking. I never set out to do anything malicious, I enjoyed the challenge of reading the code, modifying it, building things, learning to break into things. It was fun testing the limits and doing things no one else could. And now that I’m here, it’s strange that all that will actually be encouraged. I still haven’t wrapped my head around it.
When Tate dismisses us, Logan walks me to my next class, leading me upstairs. With the tiny number of students here, even in between classes, the halls are deserted.
Through my conversation with Logan, I discover that my scholarship is a farce. Everyone here receives a scholarship. You can’t apply to Wilbrook. We were all hand-selected from across the country, with one thing in common – we each had a talent Wil-Tech wanted.
I head inside the computer lab, where McAllister is waiting for me, the light from a monitor casting an eerie glow on his face.
“How’s your first day going?” he says without looking up.
He’s trying to make small talk, to be polite, but on him it seems so out of character that I’m not sure how to answer. “It’s been fine.” I sit down at the table beside him.
He nods once, his mouth pressed into a hard line and meets my eyes. “I’ll be directly overseeing your independent study.”
I wait for him to explain.
“I will provide you your assignments. They are to stay between you and me. Understand?”
I nod.
“Each will be different. They may take one day, they make take several weeks. You’ll supply me with a report when you complete the assignment, before you receive your next one.”
“Okay.” I continue to study him. He looks older than he probably is. There are soft lines edging his eyes and forehead, like he’s spent many years dealing with the stress of running this company and academy. I take stock of his posture. It’s too stiff, his dark hair threaded with gray strands at the temples, no wedding ring. But he’s attractive and commanding in his own way. He also scares the living daylights out of me for some unknown reason.
“You’ll begin by gathering intelligence. The assignments I’ll give you are actual cases that we are actively working on at Wil-Tech. The work you do will aid our agents.”
I’m surprised at how much confidence he has in me. He slides a manila folder across the table toward me.
“This is the information we’ve gathered so far.”
I flip open the folder and a grainy black and white photo of a man with slicked back hair and dark eyes stares back at me.
“Ivan Kazcyk is a known assassin.”
A chill runs up my spine sending tingles along the back of my neck. I look up from the file and study McAllister’s eyes. They are hard and unfeeling. I swallow a lump in my throat, wondering what type of work I’m about to get involved in. This doesn’t feel real.
I shuffle through the pages and reports behind the photo.
“You’ll have time to review this later, but your assignment is here.” He places an envelope on the table in front of me.
I pick up the sealed envelope. McAllister stands to leave. “When’s the assignment due?” I ask as he turns to leave.
Without turning back, he says, “I expect it’ll take you a few days to complete, no more.”
Once he’s gone, I slip my finger under the flap and tear into the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper, with a brief typed message. I can’t help but notice, it isn’t addressed to anyone, there’s no date and no name signed at the bottom. It strikes me as odd. The instructions are simple and as I read them, I hear McAllister’s voice in my head.
He wants me to uncover who Ivan Kazcyk is working for. He’s a former Russian mafia leader and known assassin trying to purchase twelve million dollars’ worth of explosives and rumored to be involved with some Middle Eastern business men. I’m supposed to find out who is involved and what they want with the explosives.
How am I supposed to solve this? I reread the note again. I have no idea where to start.
I glance around at the computer lab, wondering if I have this all to myself. It’s an awesome set up –three desktop computers, with large HD monitors, and a MacBook Pro that is a definite upgrade from the laptop in my bag. I select the MacBook and get started.
I spend the first thirty minutes exploring the network setup at the academy. I download a free open source network mapping system. It’ll tell me what hosts are available on the network, what operating systems they’re running and what types of firewalls are in place. I can already tell the network security here is much better than what I’m used to at my old school. This is going to be fun. I feel the familiar buzz of excitement as my fingers dance over the keys.
After I get the lay of the networks, I search for information about Ivan Kazcyk. I pick up his trail in a database used by the British military. I guess McAllister isn’t the only one interested in this guy. The site I’m on is an official military database, housing confidential records. I pull back, my fingers hesitating over the keys. This is bigger than any hack I’ve done before, probably against the law, and I’m torn about what to do. If I refuse the assignment, I’ll get sent home, like I’ve wanted all along. But something tugs inside me urging me on, to see if I can do this, to prove to myself that I do belong here. And if my assignments are going to be help capture dangerous criminals, really how could I say no?
And then there’s the whole avoiding going home to face my ex thing. Piper might hate me for it, but the idea of staying here a bit longer, avoiding seeing Wes and working on my hacking skills appeals to me.
I flip open the folder again, and glance down at his photo. I’m sure hacking into a British site wouldn’t be against US law. And besides, I’m just gathering information. My general rule of thumb is that if I’m capable of getting in, they practically deserve to be hacked.
I hear someone approach and look up to see Colt. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe and watching me with a crooked smile.
Chapter 8
I lean against the doorframe and watch Taylor work on her laptop. She has a tiny crease in between her brows and chews on the end of a pen with enthusiasm. It’s more than a little distracting. She looks so absorbed that I don’t want to startle her. I clear my throat, signaling my presence. Her eyes dart up to mine, and the pen falls from her open mouth.
I step inside the room and she watches me with rapt attention. “I was going to come in here to work today, if you don’t mind.”
“Fine with me,” she chokes out.
“My office is next to McAllister’s and he’s been bugging the shit out of me lately.”
She coughs loudly, covering up a laugh. So she finds my reaction to McAllister funny? Everything about her so far has been unexpected. I smile at her, and when I do, she dives under the table top to retrieve the pen that has now clattered onto the floor.
When her head pops back up, I continue. “Plus I wanted to check on you. Bria can come off a bit…strong.”
Her cheeks flush slightly and she looks down.
I was right about her being shy.
She picks up her chin and meets my eyes again, more confident this time. “It’s fine. I’ve recovered. It’ll take a lot more than an over-sexed Zumba instructor to get to me.”
I chuckle at her honest assessment of Bria. “Good.” I shift in my seat so I’m fully facing her. “Plus, I wanted to talk to you.”
Her eyes are guarded as she searches mine for an explanation.
I slid into the chair next to her, leaning back casually. “As one of your instructors, it’s my job to make sure you’re settling in well.”
“How kind.” A mocking smile is planted on her lips and her voice is laced with sarcasm.
She turns back to her computer and begins tapping at the keys, though with not quite as much vigor as before. That crease on her forehead is back, like she’s deciding what to do.
“Let me guess…Russian assassin assignment?”
She hesitates, looking cautious.
“McAllister is nothing if not predictable. And I’m sure he told you this is an actual case?”
Her eyes widen and she nods again.
I scroll through my email, in an attempt to appear uninterested in how she’ll respond, but of course I’m curious as hell. Is she going to stick around despite McAllister’s shady assignments? “He wants to test your commitment. You have to break into something, don’t you?”
“Yeah…How’d you know?”
“It’s the same first assignment every time. No matter your specialty, you have to take down a Russian assassin and do something potentially illegal in the process. It’s McAllister’s way of testing your allegiance.”
She’s quiet for a few seconds, as if processing what I’m saying.
“Once he knows he can trust you to follow through, you’ll be given actual cases.” I pause, letting my words soak in. What I don’t tell her is that McAllister himself will be directly overseeing her assignments, something he never does with first years. “So, what are you going to do, Taylor?”
Her blue eyes sparkle and her mouth turns up in a grin. She doesn’t answer, but instead, taps at the keys again as she sets off to work.
Chapter 9
I following day I slip into my seat in Global Studies next to Logan. “You’re so lucky you started during Geek Week,” he says.
“Geek what?” I turn to him and await an explanation while he shares a knowing glance with MJ.
“When you take the date of Einstein’s birth and multiply it by the year of Socrates’ death…”
I tune out his long-winded explanation. Something involving the birthdays of genius’s throughout history being multiplied together and then divided by pi, which apparently gave you four twenty one, or April the twenty-first.
“The teachers incorporate these fun tests and on Friday night all the results are revealed and we have some competitions and a party to celebrate,” Logan finished.
To celebrate what? Their geekiness? “Sounds delightful.”
Tate gives us the access code for a website that promises to test our geekiness. I’ve never thought of myself as all that geeky, sure I liked to spend an unhealthy amount of time on my computer, but so do a lot of people.
I easily answer no to the first few questions: doing math problems for fun, in the marching band, played in role player games, I’m firmly in the no category on those. But my answers to the next set of questions start to concern me.
I click yes on all the following: in “smart” classes, have fixed someone’s computer, on speed dial as someone’s personal tech support, skipped parties to program or repair computers.
I might just have something in common with these gifted geeks after all.
***
My first week of classes has left me physically sore and mentally exhausted, yet with each passing day my plan to get sent home has become little more than wisps in the back corner of my mind, only remembered when I text with Piper. But yesterday, when she mentioned Wes’ hook up with Stacey, it only solidified my resolution to stay here at least a bit longer. Not to mention my parents are over the moon about me being here.
Friday night I’m sitting on the center of MJ’s bed while she swirls miniature brushes into well-used compacts. She brushes my whole face with a thick foundation.
“What do I need this for?” I’m not used to wearing anything that covers my whole face.
“It evens your skin tone out,” MJ says. I study her more closely and see that her makeup is flawless, but still manages to look natural. I loosen my shoulders, and begin to relax a little.
“So, what will tonight be like?” I ask.
MJ concentrates on sharpening a black eye pencil into a tissue lying on the bed.
Sara tucks her dark hair behind her ears. “It’ll be most of our class, plus a few second years hanging out, playing games, reveling in their geekiness. A few people will drink too much. Some of the girls will get annoying and turn up the music to grind on each other, you know, pretty typical stuff.”
I smile while MJ swipes bronzer across my cheeks and forehead. “Sounds like fun.”
She shrugs and finished by lining my eyes with the black pencil and adding a few swipes of mascara. When I look in the mirror I’m pleasantly surprised. My complexion is clear, I’m a bit tan and my blue eyes stand out against the dark makeup.
MJ gathers everything from the bed, stuffing it into the pink makeup bag and then we set off for the basement.
“You go ahead.” I shoo her out the door. “I’ll meet you down there in minute.” MJ eyes me curiously. “I’m gonna make a quick phone call.”
She nods once and turns to leave. The phone call home’s not a bad idea, but really I need a minute alone. I don’t have the energy to fake sounding happy and well-adjusted right now. I just want a second to myself. I open the trunk at the end of my bed and refold all the clothes I shoved inside when I was too overwhelmed to unpack earlier this week. At home, I had two dressers plus a walk in closet that were never this organized, but with less space to work with, I have a strange desire to keep it tidy.
I’m not sure why I’m hesitating joining them at the party. Maybe because if I make friends here, it’ll be like admitting I’m staying. I haven’t decided yet, but I certainly haven’t been doing anything that would get me kicked out like I’d originally planned. Piper’s recent texts to me have gone unanswered. I didn’t know how to tell her that it doesn’t look like I’ll be thrown out anytime soon and that I’m enjoying this reprieve from seeing Wes.
When I’ve refolded the last tank top and placed it on the top of the stack, I let the lid drop closed. I steal one last glance at the mirror and head into the hall. Just as I’m turning the corner, I meet Colt at top of the staircase. He stops his descent from the third floor and waits. His eyes linger on me and suddenly I’m self-conscious under his scrutiny. I can’t help but wonder if he’s remembering me in all my glory: hip cocked out and gyrating like a drunken lunatic.
My patience is shot. All week I’ve answered endless questions, I’m adjusting fine – thank you – with plastered on fake smiles and polite nods, and I don’t have it in me to be polite right now, especially to the guy who stood by watching me attempt to dance at Bria’s command. Mostly I’m mad at myself for allowing her to make me into a fool.
I intend to step around him, but as I take a step down, in my flustered state I’ve misjudged the distance and end up tripping. Colt’s steady hands around my waist stop me from tumbling to my death.
“Thanks,” I mumble without meeting his eyes.
His hands are still at my waist. We both look down and notice, and he slowly removes his hands, and stuffs them into his pockets. “Are you going to the party?”
I nod and try another step. I’m steady this time, but I reach out and trail my hand along the banister just to be safe.
He jogs down next to me until we’re side by side. I wouldn’t have thought instructors would be going to the party, but somehow I know that’s where he’s headed. I try to ignore him and not let him get under my skin, but with his faint trace of cologne invading my senses and his snug fit T-shirt, he’s incredibly distracting.
We reach the basement in silence and he slides open a heavy door set on a rolling track. He keeps his hand on the door, holding it open for me and I slide in around him, brushing past his chest in the process.
Inside is a large open room with a concrete floor and walls. The wall on the far side of the room is painted in multi-colored graffiti. There are signatures, a rough sketch of a dragon, a long math equation and lots of drippy handprints. I step closer and read some of the writing. Tabitha + David. Adrianna ’07. McAllister sucks donkey ballz. Bria is written in large flowy writing with a heart dotting the i. Gag me.
Dance music is thumping from the speakers plugged into a laptop. MJ and a few others sway to the music in the center of the room and pass a flask back and forth.
There’s a group sitting around a table, a few guys along with Bria and a girl I don’t recognize who must be a second year. They seem to be in the middle of an over-eager game of strip poker. Bria is shirtless with a hot pink bra pushing her cleavage up to her throat. One of the guys is also shirtless, but the rest have opted for lesser articles. Watches, belts and socks litter the floor at their feet. Colt is still at my side and my eyes flick up to his. He seems amused by the innocence and surprise in my reaction.
MJ spots us at the door and jogs over. “Hey!” She passes me a flask. I take it and look from her to Colt. Our instructor. I assume since he’s here and no one seems concerned, I shouldn’t be either, but this is beyond strange. I make a move to pass the flask back to her, but Colt’s sly smile makes me want to show him I’m not a stuck up stiff. I don’t know why his mere presence infuriates me, but I suddenly want to be more reckless. I tip back the flask, taking a long swig, then break into a coughing fit. “What is that?”
“Tequila.”
“Tastes like gasoline.” I take another quick sip which goes down a little easier than the first, and pass it back to her. Colt’s smile has faded. I can’t read him.
Colt tips his head, motioning to the wall as a tug of a smile pulls on his mouth. “Nicely done.”
I turn to see a big poster on the wall displays the results of this week’s geek tests, and I’m surprised to find my name listed second from the top, only behind a guy named Pete who is galloping around the room in a cape.
Strange. I shake the feeling of panic away. I have nothing to be ashamed of.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get back to the dorm safe and sound,” he says, his voice dropping an octave lower so only I can hear him.
“So are you chaperoning this shin dig?” I whisper back.
He chuckles under his breath. “Um, no.”
I watch him scan the room and when his eyes stop on Bria, I weave around him. I head to the far end of the room where I spot Logan sitting against the wall.
I slide down and collapse onto the floor next to him. He glances over once before pulling a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his black hoodie. He shakes one out and lights it, then offers me the pack.
“No thanks.”
Logan and I play tic tac toe with chalk on the floor, the most innocent of pastimes by far compared to what’s going on around us. Couples have paired off and found not-so-private corners of the room to make out in, others are getting sloppy drunk, including Bria’s friend who’s still in the poker game. Though she tries to cover herself, I swear I just caught a glimpse of a nipple.
I shudder and roll my eyes. I thought this was supposed to be a geek party. I hadn’t been expecting…this. But I guess this was bound to happen with teenage hormones running free and unchecked.
Colt surprises me by ignoring Bria, though once she spotted him, she gave up her spot at the card table and pressed her perky boobs up against his chest. I suppressed a smile when he retrieved her shirt for her.
She pouted, but she put it back on.
“Your turn.” Logan says, bringing my attention back to our game. I draw an X through the square, blocking him from winning.
He rolls the chalk between his fingers. “Colt keeps looking at you.”
I glance up and see that he’s right. Colt’s dark eyes are locked on me from across the room. Yep, he’s definitely gorgeous. His eyes, which at first glance were brown, are actually hazel with flecks of deep green. And he has dark, thick eyelashes that I would gladly murder someone for.
I do my best to ignore him for the next hour, but the feeling that someone is watching me is unmistakable. I have no idea why he’d be looking at me, with a room full of girls and one who’s practically throwing herself at him. But I do my best to ignore him.
A few more sips from MJ’s flask provide me with the courage to steal a glance toward Colt. He’s sitting alone across the room in a bean bag chair, head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. For some strange reason I think of Wes and my chest gets tight.
MJ purses her lips and directs a glare at Colt. “The jackass needs to keep his eyes to himself,” she complains.
I can see him looking our way. He chuckles at MJ’s obvious death glare. “So other than the obvious, what’s with your hatred for Colt?” I look at her. “You and he never…”
“God, no.”
“Do you just despise him on principle then?”
She bites into her bottom lip, hesitating, as if deciding how much to tell me. Her eyes blaze, resolute. “He slept with my friend, Jewel. She only lasted here four months. When he broke her heart, she purposely failed out and got sent home so she didn’t have to see him.”
I grimace. “That’s awful. Was she a first year?”
She shakes her head. “Second year, but she and I started here around the same time. She was hilarious, smart, spoke six languages. It was such a waste – her going back to rot away in public school just to escape him.”
I nod. That is sort of horrible, but strangely, it’s something I can relate to. I can see how Colt’s attention could easily turn weaker girls into his playthings, to use once and then discard. And how it would feel after. I knew firsthand how bad it stung when a boy you gave your heart to moved on. I’d been inexperienced in love, well what I thought was love with Wes.
Wes was practically a high school celebrity at the local skate park. Flocks of girls sat on the curb watching him for hours. I’d been stupid enough to think he was mine when we started dating. I’d been on that ride before, and had no plans to get back in line.
MJ cuts into my private thoughts, continuing on. “Colt’s philosophy was if Jewel wasn’t strong enough to withstand that, she wasn’t cut out for this anyway. He didn’t even feel bad. I question if he has human emotions at all.”
I do my best to see only his bad qualities, which is difficult, since none of them are physical.
“Logan, pass me that flask.”
He gives me a strange look, but hands it over. I take a long swig, swallowing down the gasoline flavored tequila, but it does little to quench the uneasiness inside me.
Chapter 10
I stretch out in bed and try to shake the image of Taylor from my mind. She’s off limits, which makes keeping my thoughts clean right now even more difficult. I replay the way she drank from that flask. Determination burned in her eyes, as she licked the amber-colored liquor from her very kissable lips. That image is seared into my brain whether I like it or not.
But a girl like Taylor would never be happy with a once-and-done type of a guy. Which I remind myself doesn’t matter. I enjoy my lifestyle and I’m not looking to change that, no matter how bad I’d like her in my bed. I had it made – a different girl every weekend, more money than I knew what to do with and adrenaline pumping assignments. I wasn’t about to throw that away for a girl who would want commitment and romance. No thanks. That shit never works in the end anyways.
I’m not looking for a relationship, but figure there’s nothing wrong with a little flirting, especially when it seemed to have such a profound effect on her. Showing her the slightest attention left her flustered and pink-cheeked. And call me masochistic, but I liked provoking that response in her.
If I was smart, I’d ignore Taylor. Which shouldn’t be difficult, given there are several other girls I can and will entertain myself with. Then no one would get hurt, especially me. But somehow thoughts of her creep in before I can block them out.
I absently twirl the leather strings on my right wrist, which I caught myself doing whenever I felt anxious, which for some reason this girl makes me. She keeps me on edge.
I pick up my phone, scanning through my contacts, trying to put faces to the names of girls I’d bothered to enter. I scroll through and pick one at random, and wait while it rings.
“Hey. It’s Colt. Come over and keep me company?”
When I hang up the phone, a pang of regret claws inside me. I shake the feeling away. This is the only way, even if I am starting to have mixed feelings about it. I lay back against my pillow, knowing I have time to wait before she gets here. I close my eyes and try to relax. I hate how on edge I’ve been since Taylor arrived here. I haven’t felt this off in a long time. I run my hands over my face, remembering back to a time I don’t often think about.
My mom died my freshman year of high school.
That first year was hell. I returned to school two weeks after her funeral and I wasn’t prepared for the sad looks everyone gave me, and the fact that every teacher seemed willing to cut me endless breaks. I wanted to hide, to forget everything that had happened, but everywhere I looked, everywhere I went, there were constant reminders, both at home and at school.
I eventually got that chance to hide from all that sadness. At a party one weekend I met a pretty junior named Jess, but instead of pity over my situation, she took mercy on me and said she was going to help me to forget. The first time I came that night, I pretty much forgot my own damn name. I had been a shell, a walking broken shell my entire freshman year, and that night I found a way out. A way to forget about all the sadness and sorrow in my life, if only for an hour. Being with her that night was like a revelation. I’ll never forget it.
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