Loyal Page 3

  Bloody Nose Girl.

  The next morning, I don’t completely dread the day. I mean, it’s kind of torture to get up so early, after being up late at night, but I’m excited to go to class. The more I’m here, the more I realize that this school is perfect for me.

  When I walk into the dining hall to have breakfast the next morning, I feel a little unsure about where to sit, but when Tristan sees me, he waves me over. He and Camden are the only ones there.

  “Hey, Tristian, hey, Camden,” I say, sitting down.

  “You make her call you Camden?” Tristan asks, looking at Camden.

  He nods. “Only my friends can call me Cam.”

  “I’m wounded. I thought we bonded over guac yesterday,” I say, not able to stop the smile. “Plus, I think there is this rumor going around that I put the moves on you yesterday when we were hanging out.”

  Tristan laughs. “I’d like to see somebody try to put the moves on Cam. He’s pretty much anti-dating while in high school.”

  “Good thing I’m not trying to date you, then,” I say, looking at Camden.

  He cracks a smile.

  Barely.

  But still, it’s a smile.

  “You are so annoying,” Camden says.

  “Does that mean I can call you Cam?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not sure I can be friends with somebody who can’t even do a pushup. What I want to know is how you managed to give yourself a bloody nose.”

  Tristan starts laughing hard, drawing attention from others in the cafeteria.

  “Fine, I don’t want to be your friend anyway, Camden,” I say.

  “I’m only joking,” he says. “Clearly you need me to be your friend. Somebody has to protect you.”

  I let out my breath in a huff. “If I can survive the paparazzi when my mom was pregnant, certainly I can survive high school.”

  Because, seriously. The paparazzi went crazy when she was pregnant. She had to hire a ton of extra bodyguards. I don’t know what they thought—maybe that they were going to catch her right at the moment she went into labor? Thankfully that didn’t happen.

  “This isn’t just high school, though,” Tristan says. “This is Spy School. And we have a lot of enemies. The wall around the town doesn’t protect us.”

  “What exactly does Spy School mean?” I ask. “We’re all just here, training to become American spies, or what?”

  “Do I sound American to you?” Camden asks, reminding me that he is clearly British.

  “You know what I mean,” I say.

  “We’re not loyal to any country,” Tristan says, ignoring Camden’s comment. “Spy School is its own organization. Some countries approve, some don’t.”

  I nod, thinking it makes sense. I mean, the government seems a bit less scary when they have to answer to somebody else. But who is to say Spy School is the good guys? I mean, they don’t seem bad, but I want to know what I’m really here for before I dive in deep.

  Another boy joins our table, and my face grows warm when I see who it is.

  “Dylan, hey,” Camden says. “How was your assignment yesterday?”

  “It was awesome,” Dylan answers, then his eyes meet mine and he smiles. “Hey, you’re the bloody nose girl.”

  Oh, gosh.

  I look around, trying to find a reason to escape.

  “I’m only kidding,” Dylan says.

  “Really, what is worse? The new girl or the bloody nose girl?” I say, trying to be optimistic about it.

  “Both are bad,” Camden says. “The new girl label says you’re weak because you’re new. But the bloody nose girl proves that you’re weak.”

  “Ouch,” I say, trying not to take his words to heart, but it does sting. “Don’t sugar coat it to spare my feelings or anything.”

  “As much as I hate to admit it, Cam might be right,” Tristan says. “Stick with one of the guys at all times. At least until you learn how to defend yourself.”

  “She’s going to be training with me,” Dylan says. “Instead of accent training, I get to help with her physical training. We start this morning.”

  I groan, trying not to think about how sore I am from yesterday’s training. “My arms hurt so bad I can barely lift them.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Tristan says.

  “I know, it’s just the in-between parts that I dread,” I say.

  The warning bell goes off, so I get up to walk to class. Camden, Dylan and Tristan all jump up to walk with me.

  “Is one bodyguard not enough?” I ask, as Camden stands to my left, Dylan to my right, and Tristan behind me. Since I am sandwiched between these boys, I don’t think anybody will touch me.

  “We’re all headed to the same class anyway,” Camden says.

  “Careful, Camden,” I say. “I might start to think you actually like me.”

  “Call me Cam,” he says.

  The words are so casual that they don’t register at first. I nearly stop when I realize exactly what he said. I look over at him to see him smiling. His face is kind of stunning when he smiles. I decide right then that I want to make it my mission in life to make him smile more.

  Maybe Camden isn’t as bad as I thought he was.

  Loyal.

  True to their word, all of my boys stick with me between classes, making it impossible for any of the other students to talk to me. I catch a few sneers from girls as they look at me, but I try not to read too much into it. I’m new. They’re leery of me. I don’t understand it, but I can respect it. I will show them that I’m not a bad person.

  I start to walk into the girl’s bathroom before lunch when Camden grabs my arm.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

  “I need to pee,” I say, pointing at the sign on the door. “Are you going to follow me in there, too?”

  His face turns slightly red and he lets go of my arm so I can walk inside. I can’t help but smile, thinking how protective Cam is. Yesterday, he couldn’t stand the sight of me; today he hasn’t let me out of his sight once. I know it’s only because he thinks I can’t protect myself, but it’s still a sweet gesture, even if unnecessary.

  After going to the bathroom, I walk up to the sink to wash my hands. Two other girls are standing in there. I can feel their stares, but I don’t look up at them.

  “What are you doing here?” I hear a girl ask, as I shut off the water. She has an American accent.

  “I had to use the bathroom,” I say, thinking the answer to her question was pretty obvious.

  She was leaning against the wall, but at my words she pushes off, stalking towards me.

  “I mean at this school, you nimwit,” she says.

  “Do you mean dimwit?” I ask. “Nimwit isn’t a word.”

  She looks confused for a second.

  “Answer the question,” her friend insists. Her accent sounds German.

  “Why am I at this school?” I ask, just to clarify that’s the question they’re referring to, even though it’s technically the only question they asked.

  “Yes,” the American girl says, her face turning as red as her hair.

  “I’m not sure, to be honest,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “But if I find out, I’m sure you’ll be the first one I tell.”

  The blonde girl with the German accent steps forward. I’ve seen enough bullies at my old school to know that she is trying to intimidate me. And maybe it would work if I didn’t currently have five boys waiting for me outside the bathroom.

  She opens her mouth to say something when there is a knock on the door.

  “Zara, you okay in there?” I hear Tristan ask.

  “I should get going. My friends are waiting for me,” I say, backing away from the girl.

  “Those boys won’t always be around to protect you,” the redhead says.

  “It was lovely meeting you guys,” I say, smiling at them like they didn’t just threaten me. I just hope I never meet them in a dark alley.

/>   I walk out the bathroom door, surprised to see it’s just Tristan standing there.

  “Where’d the guys go?” I ask.

  The two girls who were in the bathroom with me, come out. They glare at me one last time before walking down the hall.

  “Were they giving you trouble?” Tristan asks.

  I shake my head. “Nah, they’re just bullies. I handled myself quite well.”

  And I am so not admitting he saved my butt by knocking on the door. I was pretty sure I was only a few words away from being shoved or punched. And that redheaded girl had at least nine inches on me.

  “So, where are the guys?” I ask.

  “They went to grab our lunch,” he answers. “I figured you didn’t want a bunch of guys waiting on you outside the bathroom.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Tristan and I start walking towards the dining hall. On the way there, a guy bumps into me, nearly knocking me over.

  “Sorry,” the boy says, but keeps walking.

  Tristan glares at him, but he doesn’t even turn to see.

  After that, Tristan grabs my hand, pulling me closer. I know I should feel shocked by the gesture, but it feels normal. Plus, I know he’s not trying to be romantic, he just wants to protect me. It’s sweet.

  “You’re really short,” he says, as if he’s just now noticing.

  “Or maybe you’re just really tall,” I say.

  He laughs. “Maybe a little of both.”

  We walk into the cafeteria and everybody looks at us. It’s then that I notice he’s still holding my hand. I try to pull my hand loose, but he just holds onto it and walks us to the table with the other guys.

  If he’s not afraid to be seen holding my hand, I won’t be either.

  “Everything okay?” Dylan asks when he sees how tense Tristan is.

  “It’s fine,” I say.

  “Justin Miller bumped into her in the hallway, nearly knocking her over,” Tristan says.

  I wave a hand like it’s no big deal. “I’m short. He probably didn’t see me. Plus, he said he was sorry. He looked like he was in a hurry.”

  Cam gets up from the table, a determined look in his eye.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “To teach Justin Miller a lesson,” he says.

  “There is no need,” I say.

  But it’s too late. He’s already walking towards the door in haste.

  I point towards his retreating figure. “That is the same boy who, yesterday, literally couldn’t stand the site of me, right?”

  “Cam doesn’t like anybody,” Tristan says. “But when he does decide that somebody is worth being his friend, he is loyal to a fault. I should probably go after him.”

  Tristan gets up, so I turn my attention to the other three boys, who are watching me.

  That’s not unnerving at all.

  “He’s not going to hurt the guy, right?” I ask, biting my lip out of nervousness. “I mean, I don’t think the guy meant to bump into me. And I don’t want Cam to get in trouble. Not for me.”

  “Zara, you should know something,” Dylan says, scooting closer to me. “People at Spy School have been trained their entire lives for this. I learned how to shoot a gun when I was nine; I disarmed my first bomb at eleven; started stunt driving classes at twelve, and hacked into the White House when I was thirteen. People here aren’t normal. And I guarantee that Justin Miller didn’t bump into you by accident.”

  He’s disarmed a bomb?

  Why would you ever need to know how to do that?

  But the more important question is...

  “Then why the heck am I here?” I ask. “I failed my driving test the first two times. Though, in my defense, who actually knows how to parallel park? And, okay, maybe I ran one stop sign, but there was a tree blocking it until the last minute. How was I supposed to know there was a stop sign there?”

  Dylan, Austin, and Stefan all start laughing.

  “Remind me to never let you drive me anywhere,” Austin says.

  “Hey, if I can handle traffic in LA, I can drive here,” I say. “I’ve had my license for six months now and I have vastly improved.”

  “She’s cute, can we keep her?” Stefan says.

  Beautiful.

  After school on Tuesdays, there is a mandatory dance class. Apparently it is an every Tuesday thing that all juniors are forced to attend, which I think is weird, but then again this entire school is weird.

  When we get into class, the teacher pairs us each up with somebody that we are going to be paired with the entire semester. I let out a sigh of relief when I hear that I’m going to be paired with Austin.

  Poor Camden gets paired with the redhead who bullied me in the bathroom, and Tristan gets paired with Taylor, my roommate. The other guys all get paired with girls I don’t know. I hope they’re nice.

  The teacher goes on and on about the ‘art’ of dance for about thirty minutes, before we even get to stand to our feet. She tells us that we will be learning how to waltz first, which I, thankfully, already know how to do. I’ve been to a few formal balls with Mom and Brad. Plus, I had to learn so I could dance at their wedding. It’s kind of a fun dance.

  After a lot of explaining, we finally get to start.

  I’m surprised when Austin seems to know the dance already, too. I expected him to be clumsy through the moves.

  “You can dance,” Austin says, clearly surprised.

  “A little,” I answer.

  The teacher clears her throat. “Gentlemen, please keep your hands mid-back.”

  “Am I going to have to worry about you trying to cop a feel?” I ask him, completely joking.

  He grins. “Not unless you want me to.”

  His words make my heart pound faster. He’s not supposed to say those kinds of things to me—the kind of things that give me butterflies. This guy is so far out of my league. Yet, I can’t stop looking into his eyes. Are they blue or green? I still don’t know.

  “I made you blush,” he says.

  I lower my head so my hair carpets my face. “I’m just... hot.”

  “I like it when you blush,” he says.

  I look back up at him, not knowing what to say.

  “Maybe you’re unaware, but people here aren’t just being mean because you’re new,” Austin says. “Yes, they’re curious. But the girls... they’re all jealous.”

  “Jealous of what?” I ask.

  “Because you’re beautiful.”

  I look at him, waiting for him to start laughing or tell me he’s joking, but he doesn’t. He just keeps looking me in the eyes, and I swear my heart stops beating for a second.

  I have never felt beautiful in my life. How could I? I live in LA where most people have had modifications, whether it be Botox, plastic surgery, or even people dyeing their hair. Even my mom has an entire glam squad that helps her get ready in the mornings. But me, I’m plain. Ordinary.

  Maybe I look a little like my mom did when she was my age. She has naturally brown hair, where mine is blonde. But I have her blue eyes. My mom was always curvier, where I’m just thin.

  “Thank you,” I say, accepting the compliment.

  I want to tell him that I don’t feel beautiful, but I don’t want to be one of those girls. The kind who puts herself down in order to get praise or a compliment. I hate when girls do that.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” Austin asks.

  I shake my head.

  “I guess I will just have to prove it to you then.”

  The music shuts off, so we turn our attention to the teacher.

  “That wasn’t bad,” she says. “Next week, we are going to section you guys off into groups a little better, with more advanced students going in a different class. If you aren’t advanced, that’s fine. Keep practicing the dance this week. And I will see you all next Tuesday.”

  Austin turns to me. “How advanced are you?”

  I shrug. “I was on the dance team at my school. Also, I learne
d a lot of traditional dances. I spent a lot of time on set with my mom, so I took advantage and learned as much as I could as a kid, because I loved to dance. I am decent at ballet.”

  “You would be great at ballet. You’re so small,” he says.

  I look down, feeling awkward about his comment. I’ve always hated my size.

  “I actually didn’t like doing ballet that much,” I say. “It’s beautiful to watch, I just was never dedicated enough to focus on one thing. I like... everything. And ballet is a full time thing if you want to really pursue it.”

  Everybody starts gathering up their things to leave the room, so Austin and I follow the example of the crowd.

  “So, what is with this whole dance thing?” I ask.

  “We have a rotating schedule of classes around here,” Austin says. “Like, we do accent training for three months, then we switch to acting lessons.”

  “Ah,” I say. “They probably won’t put me in that class either.”

  “Why? Are you good at acting?”

  I shrug. “I was in a movie when I was five. I actually played the kid version of my mom in flashback scenes. I only did it once. I wanted to be like my mom and try it out. After that, I realized I’d rather play with my toys then be forced in front of a camera, and my mom never pushed me into acting. I was good at it, though. I remember my mom’s director being amazed.”

  “What movie? I want to watch,” he says.

  “I shouldn’t have even told you,” I say. “I don’t like people to know that. Please don’t tell anybody.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Not even the guys?” I ask.

  “Not even them,” he says. “Not unless you want me to.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You know, I’m starting to understand why you were accepted into this school,” he says. “It doesn’t explain why you weren’t here as a freshman, though.”

  “Is there a way to find out?” I ask. “I mean, I am curious, too.”

  He grins. “There might be a way. If we get caught, we’d probably be in a lot of trouble.”

  “It’s worth it,” I say.

  “Okay,” he says. “We will need the guys to help.”