Toxic (The Zara Chronicles Book 3) Page 2

  I grin. “I kind of like knowing something you guys don’t.”

  “I’m sure you know a lot that we don’t know,” Stefan says. “Your brain fascinates me.”

  “I like knowing things,” I say.

  “Yeah, but the rest of us... we spent our whole life studying and training for Spy School. You show up two years later than everybody else and you’re still better than all of us,” he says. “It’s incredible.”

  “I am not better,” I say. “Or are you forgetting the bloody nose.”

  He laughs. “So you can’t do a pushup. That’s okay. I guarantee that in a year, a pushup will be easy.”

  “I hope so,” I say.

  We walk into Mr. Brown’s class, and I take a seat in the back, by Cam. I’m so excited to be back here at the school. I loved Japan, don’t get me wrong. And being out in the field... it was exhilarating. But for right now, this is where I belong. And I love every minute of it.

  Long time.

  After our last class, the boys go straight to map class and Zach picks me up from the school. We go directly to his house and he starts looking through more files. I wonder if that is what he’s been doing all day, but I don’t ask.

  I don’t have any homework tonight, which is odd. But I get the feeling the teachers didn’t assign homework because of me. Even if they said I didn’t have to do the homework, because of my concussion, I still would’ve done it. But, they didn’t assign any at all. Mr. Brown didn’t even give us a pop quiz, which was a little disappointing.

  I go to my room, not knowing what else to do. I guess I could watch my favorite show or maybe go on social media, but the thought of doing any of that bores me.

  Maybe I should call my mom. I haven’t spoken to her since I found out that Zach is my biological father, but I kind of don’t want to talk to her right now. I don’t want to talk to my dad, either. The thought of him knowing that I know... well, it scares me. I know he will always love me. He’s my dad. But what if it hurts him to know that I’m trying to build a relationship with Zach? I can’t imagine how he would feel if he knew.

  I could always call my stepdad, Brad. He would be a nice mediator between the two of them. He always has been. Every time that I have ever felt torn, he’s given me great advice on what to do. Like, when my parents both bought me cars for my sixteenth birthday.

  My mom bought me the flashiest car she could possible find. But that’s just her style. She got a convertible Bentley. I loved the car, it was beautiful, but it wasn’t me. And my dad bought me a Range Rover. I told him when I was twelve that I wanted that car when I got older. And he remembered. He bought it for me. But I didn’t want to hurt my mom’s feelings. Or my dad’s. So Brad told me I should drive the Bentley when my mom is home and the Range Rover when she’s not. It was a great compromise.

  My phone vibrates in my hand as I’m trying to make up my mind if I should call him or not.

  It’s Jason.

  “Hey,” I say, holding out my phone so I can video chat with him. “Long time, no talk.”

  “Zara, hey. How’s military school?” he asks.

  “Ha, ha,” I say, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. Though, really, he’s kind of not far off. “Boarding school is nice. Fun, actually.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” Jason says. “Mom said you went to Tokyo last week. Sounds more like a vacation than school.”

  “Uh, I wish,” I say. “We were working the whole time. It was crazy. But I did get you a shirt. It should come in the mail in about a week or so.”

  “I’ll get it when baseball season is over,” he says. “Thanks for thinking of your big brother.”

  “I always think of you,” I say. “I’ve missed you a lot. It sucks that I’m gone now that the season is almost over.”

  “I’ll see you at Christmas though, right?” he asks.

  “Of course,” I answer. “Are you spending it with Mom or Dad this year?”

  “I guess I will do Christmas with Mom and New Year’s with Dad like we always do,” Jason says. “I kind of like our tradition. Plus, I like seeing Chloe and Charlotte on Christmas.”

  “What are we going to do when Erin has her baby?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “But I’m sure we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

  “Just... promise we will stick together, no matter what,” I say. “It was me and you first.”

  “Of course,” he says. “Always.”

  “Do you have a baseball game today?” I ask, changing to a lighter topic. Though, honestly, baseball has never been a light topic in the Summer household.

  “I do,” he answers.

  I look at the time. “Isn’t it really early there?”

  “Six in the morning,” he answers.

  Six isn’t that early. Not for Jason. He’s always been an early riser, mostly because he can’t wait to start training every morning.

  “Hey, Jason,” I say, now biting my lip. “Do you know why Mom and Dad got divorced?”

  He sighs. “Look, I know you were younger than me... you don’t remember what it was like. They fought all the time. For as long as I can remember, the two of them hated each other. We’re lucky they separated when they did. We were better off.”

  “But Mom... do you think she had an affair?”

  “Maybe. Or Dad did,” he says. “I know what it’s like out here, Zara. Women throw themselves at me. I’m sure they did the same to Dad.”

  “Yeah,” I say, not believing that he would’ve ever cheated. He loved my mom.

  “Do you know something that I don’t?” Jason asks.

  I want to say something, but I can’t. What if Jason treats me differently after I tell him we’re only half siblings? What if he doesn’t love me anymore because I am the reason my parent’s marriage failed?

  But he has a right to know.

  I hear somebody talking. A guy. I’m sure it’s one of his teammates.

  “Listen, I’ve got to go,” he says. “The bus is leaving here soon to get to our next game. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say. “I love you, Jason.”

  “Love you, too.”

  The call comes to an end and I set down my phone, wondering if I did the right thing. But then again, maybe this kind of news is better delivered face to face. I can tell him at Christmas. That’s probably for the best anyway.

  Torture training.

  I walk into Zach’s office after I get off the phone with Jason, partly out of boredom and partly because I need a distraction—something, anything, that will get my mind off my family.

  “You need help?” I ask.

  Zach looks up from his papers. “Unfortunately, this isn’t something you can help with.”

  “What? Why?”

  “This information is highly classified. It’s psych evaluations on students and graduates at Spy School,” he says.

  “Is there one on me?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

  “The boys?”

  “Yeah,” he answers. “And yes, I read them. I read them before I ever gave my approval for you to join their team. They’re good kids.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “You had to give your approval?”

  “I approve all the teams,” Zach answers. “I’m really good with profiling. I know what personality types will go well together. I know which people would clash.”

  “Really? And who would fight the most on my team?” I ask.

  “Most likely, Cam and you,” he says.

  “Me? Why?” I ask. “I like Cam.”

  “I bet he didn’t like you at first,” Zach says.

  He’s right, but I don’t want to admit that. Of course, Zach being Zach, he knows.

  “You and Cam both have pretty strong personalities. You both question authority figures,” he says.

  “I don’t—”

  “Mr. Smith, grade five,” he says.

  That one sentence stops my argument.<
br />
  “But he was wrong,” I say. “It’s not my fault he didn’t know when the Korean War ended. I was simply correcting his error. No telling how long he’d had the date wrong. He was convinced.”

  “And you wonder why you only went to public school for a month,” he says.

  When I was in the fifth grade, I convinced my mom to let me go to school. Zach is right. It didn’t last long. The truth is I did have a problem with authority figures. Not my parents, never them. But there were certain teachers I didn’t get along with.

  I also think back and remember how Cam didn’t want to show me around the school. He talked back to Mr. Brown a little. He wasn’t disrespectful about it, but he definitely questioned his authority a bit.

  Maybe my dad is good at this profiling stuff.

  “I was bored at public school anyway,” I say. “My teachers there wanted me to skip grades.”

  “Your mom wouldn’t let you,” he says.

  “No,” I answer. “Or my dad. I think they had visions of me going to college at thirteen and it scared them. Not that I can blame them. I wasn’t interested in skipping grades.”

  “You’re a good kid.”

  “I’m practically an adult,” I say.

  “You’ll be seventeen in December, I’d hardly call you an adult,” Zach says. “I remember what it was like to be your age. You think you know everything and the whole world is at your fingertips.”

  “Isn’t it?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I guess it kind of is,” he says.

  “I know I don’t know everything. I have a lot to learn about life. I still need adults around to help me. I get it,” I say.

  Zach sighs, holding up the file in his hand. “Do you want to know why you’re not allowed to look at these files?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you haven’t been through torture training,” he says.

  “Torture training,” I say, repeating the words. “That’s...”

  “Awful, I know,” Zach says. “It is not mandatory at Spy School, but access to certain information requires torture training. They need to be certain that no matter what pain you endure, you would never reveal secrets to anybody.”

  “Do I need to do that class?”

  “No,” he says. “I don’t want you to take it.”

  “Who takes it? I mean, who would voluntarily sign up to be tortured?”

  “One fifth of every class signs up,” he says. “And usually, only a third of the people who sign up actually pass.”

  “And you don’t think I can handle it?” I ask.

  “That’s not what I said. I just don’t want you to go through that. You might think you can handle it, but it’s not the kind of pain you’re thinking of. It’s psychological torture, Zara,” he says. “And it is horrible. I realized, after I went through that class that I could never work with another team member. It’s why I’ve been alone all these years. You have a good team. I would rather you be with those five boys than for you to be alone.”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  He looks relieved at my words.

  “Just... if my psychological profile says I’m crazy, please let me know.”

  He laughs. “It won’t. I already know what it will say.”

  “What will it say?”

  Zach points at the door. “Shut the door on your way out, okay.”

  “Fine,” I say. “Don’t tell me.”

  Besides, maybe it’s best I don’t know.

  “One more question,” I say, stopping in the doorway. “Did the guys go through torture training?”

  He looks at me, and I can see the answer in his eyes. “They did it over the summer.”

  “Did they pass?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have to do it, too.”

  I don’t give him a chance to respond. I walk out the door, knowing he’ll probably be upset by what I said. But I have to do it. If the guys could handle it, that means, if I don’t want there to be secrets between us, I have to do it, too.

  Tuesday, September 25

  Secrets.

  I leave Zach’s house early on Tuesday morning, hoping I get to spend some time with the guys before they head to class. I’ve pretty much spent every waking moment with them for the past few weeks and I missed them last night. Since they were all in class, I didn’t get a chance to see them.

  When I get to the dining hall, I find all the guys sitting at the table. Usually they’re not there so early, but they’re all talking heatedly to each other. I can’t tell what they’re saying from far away, but they look upset, even Stefan.

  “Hey, guys,” I say, taking a seat between Austin and Dylan. “What’s going on?”

  They look at me, but nobody says a word. From their silent glances, I can tell that I was the heated topic at hand.

  Yikes, this isn’t going to be good.

  “Did you tell Zach that you want to do torture training?” Cam asks.

  “Yes, I did,” I answer, not leaving the subject up for debate.

  “You can’t,” Stefan says.

  “Yes, I can,” I say.

  All the guys start talking at once, so I raise a hand to stop the chaos.

  “Guys, this subject is over. I have decided,” I say.

  “No. You can’t do it, Zara,” Cam says. “I won’t allow it.”

  “I can’t do it, but everybody else on the team can?”

  “That’s different,” he says.

  “How is it different? Because I’m a girl?” I ask.

  Nobody says anything and I realize that is exactly what he’s saying.

  “Camden Miller, don’t ever say I can’t do something simply because I’m a girl,” I say.

  “It’s just statistics,” Tristan says. “There has only been one girl who has ever gone through torture training successfully, but she was cold. She didn’t care about anyone or anything. Rumor is she liked the torture.”

  “I have to try.”

  “No, you don’t,” Dylan says.

  “You guys all went through torture training and you passed. That means you will always have information that I can’t know,” I say. “Is that how you want our team to be? You guys keeping secrets from me all the time?”

  “No. We will just not take top secret cases,” Cam says. “We have all talked and decided it.”

  “Well, you excluded me from that conversation,” I say. “And I reject your decision. Yes, we are a team, but this is my decision and my decision alone. While I appreciate your concern, there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

  The boys all start talking again, so I get up from the table, leaving them there.

  I am not going to let them talk me out of this. I walk straight from the cafeteria to Ms. Schmidt’s office and knock on her door. I am not sure if she’s in this early, but she seems like the kind of woman who lives and breathes her job. I wouldn’t be surprised if she slept there.

  “One moment,” I hear from the other side.

  I take a seat on the bench, waiting for the door to open. That’s when I hear a man’s voice. He sounds... angry. He’s clearly upset about something.

  “You can’t just let her join their team,” the guy says.

  “They insisted,” Ms. Schmidt says. “We never turn down a request unless there are issues. She did the assignment with them and she’s good. Amazingly good considering she just got here. She’s perfect for them.”

  “They were about to join our accelerated program,” the guys says. “They would’ve graduated within a month or two. Now, it’ll be at least a year.”

  “They know that,” she says. “They were well aware of what they would give up to have Zara Summers join their team, but they wouldn’t budge. They won’t work without her.”

  “Of course they won’t,” he says. “They’re a bunch of teenaged boys and she is beautiful. Don’t you think this is going to cause problems for them in the future?”

  “Possibly,” she says. “But denying them would be worse.”
<
br />   I hear footsteps and I look up to see Stefan, Austin, Cam, Dylan, and Tristan walking up. And they look angry. I don’t blame them. But before they can say a word, the door opens up and a man I’ve never met walks out. He looks at the boys, then at me.

  “You must be Zara,” the guy says, holding out his hand. “I’m Michael Sinclair.”

  I shake his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Is there a reason you’re at the principal’s office so early?” he inquires.

  “Yes,” I answer. “I want to sign up for torture training.”

  He raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised, then he looks at the boys. “Haven’t you boys already passed your test?”

  “Yes, sir,” Cam says.

  “They’re just here to stop me,” I say, turning my attention fully to Michael Sinclair. “They think that because I’m a girl, I’m too weak to pass. But even if I can’t pass, I think it would be a shame not to try.”

  “I agree,” Michael says. “I think you should try. I will put you down for the training.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sir, we agreed as a team that we don’t want Zara to do the training,” Cam says.

  “With all due respect, Camden, it’s Zara’s decision. This isn’t up for debate,” Michael says, then looks at his watch. “I do believe it’s time for the six of you to get to class.”

  The boys don’t say anything, but from the way their knuckles turn white, I can tell they want to say something.

  “And Zara, you will do very well in this school,” Michael says. “I am impressed.”

  With that, the man turns and walks away, leaving me with the guys.

  “Who was that?” I ask, once he’s out of ear shot.

  “Michael Sinclair,” Cam answers.

  “I know his name,” I say. “I mean, why was he talking to me?”

  “He runs this entire organization,” Tristan says. “His great-something grandfather was the one who started the school to begin with.”

  The bell rings, so the guys start walking towards class. Everybody except Cam, who holds out an arm to stop me.