Authors: Sonja Stone
“I'll talk to her. She worries about you, that's all. She's your mother. It's her job.” He lowered his voice. “I think she'll come around.” He hugged her and left the room.
Nadia stood alone in the kitchen and felt a flicker of something she hadn't felt in weeks.
Hope.
Libby Bishop stood at her bathroom counter and rearranged the flowers in the glass vase for the third time that hour. She had placed clear marbles in the bottom for texture, chosen lilies for their strong fragrance and added enough greenery to make the white flowers pop. When she was satisfied with the new arrangement, she cleaned the pollen off the marble counter with a sanitizing wipe, reapplied her lipstick and turned to the bedroom.
She wanted everything to be perfect for her new roommate. Her momma had told her many times you never get a second chance to make a first impression, and with her daddy's high profile, she'd had plenty of practice. That's why she always introduced herself as Libby and not by her full name, Liberty. That's also why she loathed her Southern drawl. She knew what people thought when they heard it: at best, they'd think her uneducated and prissy; at worst, racist. She didn't miss that part of Georgia one bit.
Her room, now half-vacant, was exceedingly tidy. Drew's belongings had been cleared away immediately. The whole thing was awful to think about, and Libby couldn't bear to dwell on the details. Plus, it wasn't as though she'd lost a close friend. Drew was distant; Libby never felt that special connection. Despite living together all summer they'd scarcely gotten to know each
other. But it was unsettling all the same. Especially since Libby had been invited along that night. If she wasn't such a conscientious student, she might've been in the car too.
Well, maybe
conscientious
wasn't the right word. Libby simply did not consider spontaneity a virtue. She much preferred a plan.
To cheer her up, her momma had encouraged her to redecorate her room, make a fresh start. And her momma was an expert at new beginnings.
Libby had chosen deep earth tones for the duvet and arranged the coordinating boudoir pillows just so. She'd dressed the windows from floor to ceiling in chocolate brown silk with the slightest sheen, and filled the space between the twin beds with a soft white wool shag. She considered making Nadia's bed up with the extra set of linens she'd purchased, but she didn't want to seem pushy.
Libby settled into her desk chair. She peeked inside the top drawer, making sure the false bottom she'd installed was properly secured. The only plus to living alone was the guarantee of privacy.
Let's hope my new roommate isn't as nosy as the last one
. Satisfied her secrets were safe, Libby closed the drawer, smoothed her skirt and flipped open her political science textbook. She had no intentions of reading right now but she didn't want to seem as though she was sitting around waiting for Nadia Riley to arrive, which she was. It made her uncomfortable, being at loose ends like this. No schedule, no plan. She looked at the clock on her nightstand. Just after noon.
It'll be hours before she gets here
.
Libby went back to the bathroom to recheck the flowers.
And I'm so glad I did
.
Look at this one! It's like a raccoon's been gnawing on the petals
. She lifted the wastepaper basket to the vase and carefully removed the offending stem. She wiped the counter again and returned to her desk.
I probably should'a washed my hands while I was up
.
Libby slid her fingers under her thighs and frowned.
You don't
have to. Those wipes are clean. They've got bleach in 'em. Doesn't get any cleaner than bleach. Just don't think about it
.
To distract herself, she read the titles on her bookshelf out loud. “
The Making of a Navy Seal, Unarmed Combat, Diplomacy in a Terrorist World
âoh, for heaven's sake,” she said, as she rushed to the bathroom to wash her hands.
Two days after Marcus Sloan's visit, Nadia flew into Phoenix. She hadn't told anyone about the Academy. Her mom would call the front office tomorrow, let them know about the transfer. Word would get out that she'd been recruited to a boarding school in Arizona. Matthew would be sick with envy. Paige would wonder if he was jealous because they chose Nadia over him, or if he was sulking because he missed her.
She tried to ignore the flash of sadness. This was probably the most exciting thing that'd ever happened to her. She wanted to share it with someone.
Knock it off. Don't let them ruin this
.
Nadia followed the other passengers to baggage claim. A man stood to the side, holding a sign printed with her name. He eyed the women, moving from one to the next, until his gaze settled on Nadia.
“That's me.” She smiled and pointed to the sign.
He didn't return her smile. “May I see your ID?”
“Oh, sure.” Nadia dug through her carry-on and offered her passport.
The driver studied her picture. “What is your mother's maiden name?”
“Azar.”
“And your recruiter?”
“Mr. Sloan?”
“The name of the hotel where he stayed?”
“Um, the Bridgeport? In Arlington, I think.”
Apparently satisfied, he returned her ID and smiled. “Welcome to Phoenix.”
Nadia laughed. “Do you get many impostors?”
“Let's get your bags.”
A blast of searing heat assaulted her as they left the terminal. They drove north, leaving the beige city behind, into the rocky foothills of a low mountain range. Dusty stretches of desert replaced shopping malls; gated communities faded into thick stands of sage-green cacti.
Nadia's stomach hurt.
It's like any other new school. I'll be fine. I always am
. She sighed and rested her head on the seat-back.
But what if I'm not? What if no one likes me?
Keep whining, Nadia, and no one will
.
After an hour, the driver turned onto a winding dirt road, barely wide enough for the car. Ahead, a massive sand-colored wall stretched across their path, extending in both directions. A security booth policed the iron gate that blocked the road.
An armed guard stepped forward. He scanned the driver's eyes with a laser gun and nodded them through.
Nadia's stomach tightened. “What was that?”
“A retinal scan.”
“They don't know you by sight?”
“The dean of students likes to keep track.” The gate closed behind them.
Inside the wall, it was another worldâa literal oasis in the desert. Against the backdrop of vermilion mountains, eight buildings formed a semicircle around a lush carpet of grass. The lawn sloped gently toward her; the driveway ran along the bottom of the hill at the base of the half-circle. Flower beds packed with purple and white pansies lined the concrete path curving along campus.
“Dean Wolfe is expecting you.” The driver pulled to the building on the far right. An etched stone marker read
Hopi Hall
. He nodded toward a slender woman waiting on the steps. “That's his assistant, Ms. McGill. She'll take you from here.”
Ms. McGill smiled. Freckles covered her crisp features. “We're glad you could come.” She handed Nadia a bottled water. “Drink this. It's a hundred and eight today.”
“Thank you so much.” Nadia chugged the icy water. The afternoon sun filtered through the palm trees over her head and danced across the jute-colored wall. The flickering light made her head swim. “I think I was a little dehydrated.”
Inside, Ms. McGill's heels clicked along the travertine. She led Nadia to a sitting room at the end of the hall. “I'll get your uniforms. You're about five-three?” Nadia nodded. “Have a seat. Dean Wolfe will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.” Nadia stepped into the cool, dark room. A bank of windows covered the far wall. To her left the mountains erupted like crumpled paper; to the right, the distant city nestled in the saddle of the valley. Glass-covered bookshelves lined the walls, like soldiers standing at attention. A brass nameplate bolted to the heavy door in front of her read Thadius Wolfe.
Nadia sank back into an oversized chair, then changed her mind and sat forward, embarrassed her feet didn't quite reach the floor when she reclined. She sat awkwardly erect on the edge of her seat, ankles crossed. She waited.
And waited.
Finally, the door opened. “Miss Riley? I'm Dean Wolfe.” His smooth voice resonated through the room.
“It's nice to meet you.” Nadia stood to shake his hand.
Thadius Wolfe, attractive in a distinguished sort of way, had deep-set eyes and dark hair streaked with grey. His huge frame filled the doorway. He looked powerful, and not just physically. “Please, come in.”
Indigo drapes largely concealed the window behind his desk; a matching oriental rug covered the floor. A small lamp with a
sunset-orange glass globe cast a tiny pond of light onto a file labeled Riley, Nadia.
She sat in one of the two wingback chairs, hands in her lap. The soft leather whispered as Dean Wolfe reclined into the other navy chair.
“Mr. Sloan explained that you're replacing another student, so you understand classes have started for the semester.” The Dean plucked a speck of lint from his pant leg and dropped it on the rug.
“Yes. I was sorry to hear about the accident.”
“It's a horrible thing, losing such a young person.” He paused for a moment, then cleared his throat. “You'll need to relinquish your cell phone at this time.”
Nadia raised her eyebrows as he continued. “Communications between students and the outer community are restricted. If you need to telephone your parents, your dormitory assistant will make arrangements.”
She nodded. “I guess my bags are in my room?”
“Security is checking them. They will be delivered when they're done.”
“Glad I left my contraband at home,” Nadia joked.
He didn't smile. “You are required to wear a uniform on campus at all times with the exception of Saturdays and Sundays. All classes are mandatory. You train in jujutsu three days a week. In addition, first-year students are required to complete basic strength training five days a week. There are
no
casual Fridays.”
“Dean Wolfe, Director Vincent is on line one.” Ms. McGill's voice sounded over the telephone's intercom.
“Excuse me.”
Nadia stood. “Should I wait outside?”
“No, no. Sit.” He picked up the phone. “This is Thadius Wolfe. No, sir, not at the moment. Yes, we shipped everything to her parents. As a matter of fact,” he glanced at Nadia, “she's here with me now. Yes sir. I'll speak to you then.” He hung up. “Where were we?”
“No casual Fridays.”
“Right. Laundry is delivered weekly to your room. Do you have any questions?”
She almost asked about room service, but he hadn't seemed to enjoy her first joke. She shook her head.
“You've been assigned to a standard team: four juniors, a senior advisor. Your success at Desert Mountain is largely determined by your ability to function as a group. I cannot overstate the importance of team unity. You eat together, you work together, you train together. Do you understand?”
Nadia smiled. “Not a problem. I love working with others,” she lied.
“Ms. McGill will introduce you to your roommate, Libby Bishop.”
“Sounds great.”
Dean Wolfe presented Nadia with her class schedule. “We have one more item of business, then you're free to go.”
“Okay.” She glanced at the paper.
Psychology, Political Science, Diplomacy . . . Arabic? Seriously?
“It's time to meet the psychiatrist.”
Jack Felkin sat on the second-story patio outside the Navajo Building and looked across campus. The misters attached to the overhead beams did little to cool the air. He wiped the sweat from his neck and glanced at his roommate's notebook.
That figures
. Noah was drawing a caricature of the kid at the next table. “Don't you have anything better to do?” Jack asked.
Noah grinned. “What's better than this?”
“It's a real comfort knowing guys like you will be in charge of our Nation's security.”
“You know what your problem is? You take yourself too seriously.”
“Great. And now you sound like my mother.” She claimed he buried himself in his studies to avoid real life. Sure, he'd always been a committed student, perhaps to a fault. But there were so many books to read, languages he should learn.
“Don't worry about me,” Noah assured Jack. “I'll get my work done. Hey, I've been meaning to ask you, is Libby seeing anyone?”
Jack shook his head. He and Noah were seniors, and both had been chosen as team leaders. He didn't understand Noah's willingness to waste study time in pointless pursuits: sketching, speculating about girls. More annoying than his slacker attitude was the fact that Noah's inattention to academics didn't seem to
affect his GPA. He and Jack were still neck and neck. “Stay away from her. I don't want you poisoning the well.”
“Don't be like that.”
“I'm not kidding,” Jack said.
“I think we'd be really good together.”
Jack did his best to block out Noah's voice. Something had happened Friday afternoon, right on the heels of Drew's death, and it had nagged at him all weekend.
“The poor girl just lost her roommate,” Noah said.
Jack and a group of classmates had been leaving Improvised Munitions. In the hallway around the corner, two of his professors had stood talking. He'd caught bits of the conversation: something about a double agent on campus. They obviously hadn't known the students were there.