Loyal Page 2

  Camden, much to my dismay, is the one who answers. “I think he’s in shock. Most people ask him what part of Australia he’s from.”

  “But you’re from New Zealand, right?” I ask, looking at Stefan.

  “Yes,” he answers. “I’m from Aukland.”

  “Nice,” I say. “When I was younger, I was there for a few months during the summer. My mother filmed a movie there. I loved it and actually didn’t want to leave.”

  “Who is your mum?” Stefan asks. “Is she a director or something?”

  I shake my head. “Isabel Jensen-Livingston is my mom.”

  “Wait... isn’t she married to Brad Livingston?” Camden asks.

  I nod. “He’s my stepdad.”

  “He’s in that new superhero movie that just came out,” Camden says. “He’s pretty cool.”

  I guess Brad is pretty famous. I mean, he and my mom are considered the ‘it’ couple in Hollywood. Camden’s infatuation with him is catching me off guard, though. I’m not sure what to do about it.

  “He’s a good stepdad,” I say, shrugging my shoulders, hoping he will change the subject.

  “So, Zara, how do you like our school so far?” Austin asks.

  “It’s fine. I mean, my body kind of hurts from the physical training class,” I say. “But other than that, it’s not so bad. The work here is a little challenging, so I like that. I was bored at my school in Malibu.”

  “Why did they let you in?” Camden asks, back again to his normal, annoyed self. “I mean, in the history of the school, I don’t think any junior has ever been admitted. Only freshmen. So why make an exception for you?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer. “The only thing I know is my mom and dad, who hate each other, actually were in the same room to tell me that I was coming here. They didn’t give me a choice. I don’t even know what kind of school this is supposed to be.”

  They all look at me with their mouths open.

  “You have no idea what you’re doing here?” Tristan asks.

  I shake my head.

  Camden smirks. “Well, I think maybe we should let Zara figure it out on her own.”

  I might stab Camden with my fork before lunch is over.

  “Hey, Zara, you should come hang out with us after class today,” Austin says. “We’re going to Cam’s room.”

  I am about to decline when Camden opens his mouth.

  “I'm sure she’s busy,” he says.

  For some reason, hearing him say that makes me want to hang out with them even more, even if only to piss off Camden.

  “Actually, I'm very not busy. I'd love to hang out,” I say, smiling at Austin before smirking at Camden.

  And that is how I got invited to hang out with the three hottest guys I have ever met.

  Fine, four guys. Camden is hot. Even if he is a bit rude.

  Still, maybe these guys will be my friends.

  Those Guys.

  “What were you doing sitting with those guys today at lunch?” my roommate, Taylor, asks when she comes into our dorm room that afternoon.

  Those guys?

  I came back to my dorm for a few minutes before heading to Camden’s dorm, but I’m now regretting it.

  “Um, they invited me to sit with them,” I say.

  She wrinkles her nose, like something smells bad. “Why would they do that? They don’t even know you.”

  I’ve had a total of one conversation with my roommate since coming here, and that was just her telling me to keep my stuff on my side of the room—not that I ever invaded her personal space. I just got here last night for crying out loud. But I know her name is Taylor because she has her name pinned up on a cork board with fancy lettering.

  “They were just being friendly,” I say, because the answer should be obvious.

  “Stay away from Camden, he’s mine,” she says, trying to sound tough.

  I smile as she says Camden.

  She’s obviously not his friend, considering she’s not allowed to call him Cam. I know I’m not his friend either, not that I want to be. He’s a jerk. But for some reason, I like that Taylor isn’t friends with him, either.

  “Actually, he invited me to hang out in his dorm this afternoon,” I say. I leave out the part about all the guys being there because it’s really none of her business. Also, technically, it wasn’t him who invited me.

  Her mouth falls open and her face turns a bright shade of red. I feel a little satisfied by her reaction, though maybe I shouldn’t. There is clearly nothing going on between Camden and me, and nothing ever will happen. But the fact that she thinks there is, is hilarious.

  Yep, my roommate is going to hate me even more now.

  “I’ll be sure to tell him you said hi,” I say, standing up from the bed.

  “I will make you regret this,” Taylor says.

  “Good luck with that,” I say, then walk out the door, slamming it behind me.

  I hope Taylor doesn’t become a problem.

  As I walk towards the boys’ dormitory, I start to regret it a little bit. Not because I’m scared of Taylor, I’ve dealt with mean girls my whole life. I just regret it because Taylor is my roommate. I’m going to have to deal with her all year. It’d be easier if we were at least civil with each other.

  When I get to Camden’s dorm, I knock on his door, wiping my sweaty palms on my skirt. I’m nervous. I really want to make friends while I’m at this school and I want to make a good impression on these guys—even Camden.

  Much to my dismay, Camden opens the door.

  “The guys aren’t here yet,” he says, frowning at me. “They went to grab some food for us to snack on before coming.”

  I look at the time on my phone. “But dinner is in, like, two hours.”

  “That’s forever away,” he says, opening his door wider so I can walk inside. “Come in, but don’t touch anything.”

  I smile at his command. I mean, I kind of do want to snoop through his room, but I won’t.

  “Where is your roommate?” I ask, noticing that there is only one bed in his room.

  “I’ve got a single this year,” he says.

  “No fair. My roommate hates me,” I say. “I’d kill for a single room.”

  “Who is your roommate?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

  That was not the reaction I expected. He almost looks mad—like he’s ready to defend me or something. But that can’t be right.

  “Some girl named Taylor,” I answer. “We’ve had exactly two conversations, and neither has been particularly pleasant.”

  “I’m not surprised. That girl is annoying,” he says.

  “She seems to really like you,” I say.

  He narrows his eyes, glaring at me.

  There is the Camden I know.

  “Don’t encourage her,” he says.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I might have implied that you invited me to your dorm to hang out alone. She probably thinks I’m putting the moves on you right now.”

  He laughs.

  I have never seen him even crack a smile around me, so the sound puts me off for a second, but I quickly decide I like his laugh.

  His door opens while he’s laughing and I watch as Tristan and Austin walk in.

  “Where is Stefan?” I ask them.

  “He had something to do,” Tristan answers, looking between me and Camden. “Is he okay?”

  Which only causes Camden to laugh harder.

  “To be honest, I’m not sure,” I say.

  “Want some snacks?” Austin asks.

  I’m about to decline until I see the chips and guac he’s carrying.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Camden’s room is big—bigger than the room I share with Taylor. He even has room for a small table. Tristan pulls out a chair and motions me to sit down, so I do.

  The guys talk about mundane things while we eat our snacks. They talk about classes and the new teachers. They talk about me and how Mr. Brown hates that I aced his test
on the first day.

  “You should’ve seen his face,” Camden tells the guys. “It was great.”

  “He probably hates me,” I say. “I’m tempted to answer one wrong on every paper just so it’s not perfect.”

  “Don’t,” Austin says, very seriously. “Don’t let anybody make you feel bad for being smart.”

  “Do you think that’s why she’s here?” Camden asks. “Because of her brain.”

  I look at him, annoyed that he’s talking about me like I’m not sitting here.

  “No,” Tristan says, looking at me. “That can’t be it. If it were, she would’ve been here as a freshman. There has to be more to it. Somebody had to pull some strings to get her in here.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine, pretend I’m not here.”

  “We’re just trying to figure you out,” Camden says. “You’re a mystery.”

  A mystery.

  I like the sound of that.

  My whole life, I have lived in the spotlight. Or at least, the shadow of the spotlight. My whole family lives their lives in the public eye, and because of that, paparazzi always took an interest in me; of course, I barely made the pages because my life was boring. But it didn’t stop them from trying to get a story. I kind of like that I get to live a private life here.

  Midnight Drills.

  I am woken up to the sound of a very loud alarm going off. It reminds me of tornado sirens, except they’re inside my dorm room instead of across town. They’re loud and they freak me out.

  It takes me a few seconds to wake up, my heart beating fast as I do.

  What the heck is going on?

  I watch as Taylor gets up and runs from the dorm. I get out of bed and run after her out the door and down the stairs, not knowing what else to do.

  I’m in my pajamas. I’m wearing a t-shirt I got on a trip to Key West last summer, and my pajama bottoms are a pair sweat pants. I borrowed them from a neighbor after accidentally falling into their pool. It’s a long story. But I forgot to give the pants back to them, and they’re comfortable.

  The alarms finally stop blaring.

  Thank. God.

  “ATTENTION!” a voice yells. Jasmine French is on the balcony at the top of the stairs. “I want one hundred, and I want them now!”

  One hundred?

  One hundred what?

  Everybody drops to the ground and starts doing pushups.

  I really hope she’s kidding.

  “Zara Summers, down, NOW!”

  I drop, simply because I’m scared. But I can’t do a push up. I try. And fail.

  Normally, I can get at least five or six, but after the intense workout from today, my arms are just too tired.

  “Come on, you barely weigh ninety pounds,” she says, now standing beside me.

  I push harder and manage to get halfway up before falling onto my face.

  “Ouch,” I say, rubbing my nose. I feel something warm trickle down and I groan.

  Seriously? I just gave myself a bloody nose?

  “Really?” Jasmine says, then sighs. “Dylan Harwell, front and center!”

  A guy steps up beside Jasmine. “You called for me.”

  He has an American accent.

  She puts her arm out to me. “Can you take Zara Summers to see the nurse? And then maybe tomorrow you could get her started on extra training. I’ll let you skip accent training if you work with her.”

  “Deal!” he says, then holds out a hand to me.

  I keep one hand over my nose and give him the non-bloody hand. It’s not doing any good to cover it because the blood is now dripping down my face onto my shirt, making me feel like a complete idiot.

  “How did that happen?” Dylan asks, as we walk towards the nurse’s station.

  “I wish I could tell you something cool, but unfortunately I gave this to myself,” I say. “Apparently I can’t even do a pushup.”

  “You can’t weigh more than ninety pounds,” he says. “A push up can’t be that hard.”

  “Why does everybody keep saying that?” I ask. “I just... overexerted myself today. My arms are sore from physical training. Before coming here, my workouts consisted of yoga and running.”

  Dylan stops in front of the guys’ bathroom. He grabs my hand and pulls me inside.

  “Wha—” I protest.

  He puts his hands on my hips and lifts me up onto the counter like I weigh nothing. I hate how girly the gesture makes me feel.

  “The nurse is really cranky if you wake her up at night,” he says, wetting a paper towel. “Trust me, unless you’re dying, you do not want to wake that sleeping dragon.”

  “How can she sleep through the alarm?” I ask. It’s loud enough I’m surprised it doesn’t wake the whole county.

  He pulls my hand away and starts cleaning my nose. “The bleeding has stopped, so you should be okay.”

  “Thanks,” I say, letting him clean the blood off of me. Maybe I should feel mortified by this experience, but I don’t. Maybe I’m just too tried. Things have been chaotic since I arrived. Plus, it’s kind of nice to have somebody take care of me.

  “You’re welcome,” he says. “Sorry that I called you weak. I know you’re new here and haven’t had the training the rest of us have had.”

  “I accept your apology,” I say, meeting his gaze. He’s looking me right in the eyes. “I didn’t see you around today in any of my classes. Are you a senior or something?”

  “No,” he answers. “I was out today on an assignment. They like to train us in the field. It’s nice to get out of the classroom. Today was my day to be out.”

  “Cool,” I say.

  Dylan’s eyes are clear blue. They remind me of the sky on a cloudless summer day. Looking into his eyes, as cheesy as it sounds, makes me feel warm.

  “Are all the guys here super attractive?” I ask.

  He laughs. “Are you calling me attractive?”

  I smack a hand over my mouth. “Oh, God. Can you pretend I didn’t say that?”

  “Probably not,” he says.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and have a mini panic attack. My hair is sticking up all over, my bun is at the side of my head, and there is blood all over my shirt. I grab the elastic and pull my hair down. My hair is frizzy at the top and still sticking up.

  Great.

  Dylan laughs and tries to flatten the sides of my hair. It just makes it worse.

  “I’m not usually such a mess,” I say, feeling awkward. I just met the guy and I’ve already made quite a fool out of myself. “I’m really sad, though. This is my favorite shirt.”

  “Key West,” he reads.

  “Family vacation last year,” I say. “It was the last time I got to hang out with my brother before he left.”

  My brother was recruited straight out of high school to pitch for the San Francisco Giants. Talk about hard to beat. Besides being smart, I don’t have a lot going on for me. I’m not pretty like my mom. I’m not athletic like my dad and brother. I’m awkward most of the time, and I trip over my own feet.

  “Are you close to your brother?” he asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I haven’t seen him in about four months, but we used to be inseparable when we were younger.”

  “That sounds nice,” he says.

  Wanting to change the subject to something lighter, I decide to ask him a question that’s been nagging me all day long.

  “So, what’s the deal with this school?” I ask. “This is so not a normal boarding school.”

  “No, you’re right,” he says. “We’re all in training.”

  “In training for what?”

  “For life. Whatever you want to be—a spy, an assassin, a ninja. The possibilities are endless,” he says. “I personally hope to be the American version of James Bond.”

  I laugh. “You going to get a new girl in every movie?”

  “Nah, I’m a sap,” Dylan says. “I believe in love at first sight, romance, and love that lasts forever. My parents ha
ve been married twenty years. My grandparents have been married thirty-seven years. And my great-grandparents were married fifty-three years before they died. My great grams died from cancer and my great gramps died a few days later. He didn’t want to live without her. I guess I want what they all had.”

  “That’s really sweet,” I say.

  “What about you? What’s your family like?” he asks.

  I hate this question.

  “I live with my mom and stepdad in Malibu, though they were gone a lot,” I say. “So, I pretty much was home with the maid and the nanny and the cook.”

  “You had a nanny?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.

  “No,” I say, now smiling. “The nanny was for my little sisters. But I also went to see my dad once a month. He lives in Northern California on a vineyard. It’s beautiful there. I would’ve moved in with him, but I knew it would hurt my mom. Plus, I didn’t want to leave my sisters.”

  “How old are your sisters?” he asks.

  “Charlotte is five and Chloe is two,” I answer.

  I will probably miss Charlotte and Chloe the most. Between my mom and Brad, those two are destined to be superstars. How could they not with those genes?

  “So, did you mom or dad go here?” Dylan asks.

  I shake my head. “Neither.”

  “I wonder why you’re here then,” he says.

  I have wondered the same thing myself.

  “Since I’m here, that means I have to be a spy or something?” I ask.

  “I guess,” he answers. “I’m here because my dad went here. And my grandpa. And great-grandpa. It’s a tradition. Mostly all the people here are legacies.”

  “Wow,” I say. “Yeah, I have no idea why I’m here, then.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” he says.

  “I guess we should go back to our dorms before we get in trouble for being in the bathroom together,” I say, feeling awkward for even saying it.

  He laughs. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Dylan lifts me off the counter and sets me on my feet.

  “Thanks for everything,” I say.

  “Sure. I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

  I nod, liking the sound of that.

  Tuesday, September 11