Toxic (The Zara Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  “You’re wrong,” he says. “You’ve always been charismatic.”

  “I’m so different than Mom, though.”

  “You’re smart.”

  “I guess,” I say.

  “You know, your mom is athletic now,” Dad says. “She wasn’t always, though. When she was your age, she was small like you.”

  “No she wasn’t. I’ve seen her movies,” I say.

  “You’ve seen her the way a director wanted you to see her,” he says.

  “I have to take physical education classes here,” I say. “So maybe I’ll be strong someday too.”

  “You will,” Dad says. “Do I get to see you during Christmas break?”

  “Yeah,” I answer. “Jason and I are going to split time between your house and mom’s house.”

  “Good,” he says. “I guess I’ll let you go.”

  “Okay. I love you, Dad.”

  “Love you, too.”

  The call comes to an end and I frown at my phone. Is he really worried that I won’t want him to be a part of my life anymore?

  It hurt him when he found out I’m living with Zach. But it was almost like he expected it. Maybe he did.

  Zach Stone chose to let me live a ‘normal’ life. He could’ve easily come in and demanded partial custody. But he didn’t. He let my dad raise me. But he did that for me. No matter what way I look at it, Zach is my dad, too.

  I’m lucky.

  How many girls get to have three dads?

  There is a knock on my door and I look over to see Cam standing in the doorway.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  I nod, holding up my phone. “My dad called me.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, leaning against the door frame.

  I shake my head. “No. I just feel really lucky.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I have three dads,” I say. “Zach, Brad, and my dad.”

  Cam smiles. “You’ve definitely taken the news better than a lot of people would.”

  He’s right about that.

  I think it’s just the way my brain works though. I try to think of everything logically instead of emotionally.

  “How did you know something was wrong?” I ask.

  “I heard you pacing,” he answers. “I’d better get back downstairs.”

  “Okay,” I say, knowing he’s right. Cam isn’t in my room, per the rules, and I know him well enough that he wouldn’t come in unless it was an emergency. “Goodnight, Cam.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Thursday, September 27

  Chose me.

  I’m excited for class on Thursday, because tonight I start my human behavior class. Honestly, since I heard about the class, I’ve been excited. Unfortunately, the guys won’t be in that class. They took it last year. But maybe that’s a good thing. Sometimes they distract me in class, and this is one class I don’t want to be distracted in.

  Zach didn’t get home until early this morning, so Cam drives me to school for the day. He had to sleep on the couch all night, which I feel bad about. Maybe I could talk Zach into setting up a spare bed in the third bedroom and making it a guest room in case any of the guys have to stay over again.

  While Cam and I walk from the car to the dining hall, he holds my hand, but the second we walk into the dining hall, he lets go. I try not to read too much into it, but I am curious why he did that.

  Come to think of it, all the guys do that. They hold my hand, but never around the other guys. The only exception was when I was freaking out after our almost plane crash, but that was special circumstances. I file the thought away for later, though. Now isn’t the time to ask why,

  I sit down between Cam and Dylan at the table.

  “We got approved for the class,” Tristan says to Cam before he can even sit down.

  “Really?” Cam asks.

  “Yeah,” Tristan answers. “We start this afternoon. The class is from three to five every Thursday.”

  “What class?” I ask.

  All the guys look at me, except Cam.

  “Don’t worry,” Cam says. “She has her human behavior class this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, but shouldn’t she take this class too?” Stefan asks.

  “Do you really want her to take this class?” Cam asks.

  “No,” all the guys answers.

  “Guys, I’m right here,” I say, waving a hand between them. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not sitting right here. You know I hate that.”

  “Sorry,” Stefan says.

  “What class are you guys talking about?” I ask.

  “We’re taking a stunt driving class,” Tristan answers. “It’s super hard to get into, and all give of us have been accepted. We’ve been trying since freshman year to get in.”

  “Ah, well, maybe it has something to do with your age,” I say. “You’re just now old enough to drive legally.”

  “Not in all countries,” Austin says. “Some countries require drivers to be eighteen. Actually, I think some states in America require that, too. I’m not certain, though.”

  “It’s okay. I’d rather take a human behavior class than a stunt driving class, anyway,” I say. “Maybe I’ll take it next year, though. It sounds fun.”

  “Nah, I don’t think you need to,” Stefan says. “It can be dangerous. Technically, each team is only required to have one person take the class, anyway. Five is a bit of an overkill, but we couldn’t decide who should take it. We always fight over it ’cause we all want to do it.”

  I laugh. “Okay. So, is a stunt driving class like one people take in LA? Like, how to crash a car safely and all that?”

  “Ours is probably a bit more extensive,” Tristan says. “But probably similar.”

  “I’ve sat in on those classes before,” I say. “I know a little already.”

  All the guys look at me, clearly curious why I’ve done it.

  “I was bored one summer,” I say. “Mom shot a movie in Atlanta. There were a lot of car chase scenes in the movie and they had a refresher course the day before they filmed the big chase scene in the movie. I sat in on it out of curiosity.”

  “You were a strange child,” Dylan says.

  I grin at him. “Yeah, I was.”

  “You know, most kids would’ve spent their summer at the pool,” Stefan says.

  “I did that, too. Atlanta was hot,” I say.

  “Zara, do you want to take the stunt driving class?” Cam asks, looking at me. “It’s not just some class you take on paper. You drive a car. You get real experience.”

  I love that he’s asking me.

  “Not really,” I answer. “Like I said, I’d rather take the human behavior class. But maybe next year.”

  “What if you don’t get the chance to take it next year? What if you get on the fast track graduate program?”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen. The rest of you had two years of study before you got the opportunity,” I say.

  “But none of us were as smart as you when we came,” Tristan says.

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever. You guys have trained for this your whole life. I haven’t. I hope you guys don’t mind, but if you really want me on your team, you’ll probably be stuck here this year and next.”

  “As long as we’re with you, we’re never stuck,” Austin says.

  I still have no idea what these guys see in me, but I’m glad they chose me.

  Short straw.

  My human behavior class starts right after my ‘mandatory’ class of the day. I’m so hyped as Dylan walks me to my class. I tried to tell him I didn’t need him to walk me there, but he insisted. I know he’s technically not supposed to leave my side.

  “I’ll be here to pick you up at five,” he says.

  “Does that mean you’re babysitting tonight?” I ask. “You drew the short straw today.”

  “Nah, I’m the lucky one today,” Dylan says, grinning at me. His smile makes my heart skip a beat. “I’l
l pick you up in a couple of hours.”

  “Bye,” I say, and watch him walk towards the exit of the school. He and the guys are so excited for their class today, and I’m excited for them.

  I told them that maybe I’d take the class next semester, but the more I thought about it through the day, the more I realized I would hate that class. After the car accident I was in, I don’t particularly like driving all that much. I only do it when I have to. So, I’m glad I have this class to keep me occupied.

  I walk into the classroom. It’s mostly empty. There are ten students total. I recognize them, but don’t know any of them personally. Not that I really know anybody at this school, aside from the guys anyway.

  I take a seat in the only open spot, right in the middle of the class. I like being the in the middle. I feel like teachers never ‘call’ on people who sit in the middle—it’s always the people in the front or the back.

  “Hey, you’re that new girl, right?” a guy sitting to my right asks.

  “Yep,” I say, even though I’m pretty sure he was just asking that to start a conversation. I’ve been at the school long enough to know that it’s small. Everybody knows everybody. So saying that is just an excuse to talk to me.

  “I’m Ezra,” he says.

  I look at Ezra. He’s cute in the same way all the guys at Spy School are cute. He’s got an athletic body and it’s clear that he spends a lot of time working out. He’s also got tanned skin, dark eyes, and sandy blond hair. He’s the kind of guy who would definitely get my attention in California, but I would never talk to him. Now that I’ve met the guys... nobody can compare to them.

  “I’m Zara,” I say.

  “I know,” he says. “Everybody in the school has been talking about you since you showed up.”

  “Great,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  I’ve always hated attention. It’s silly, I know. I mean, paparazzi literally follows my family around. But if it were up to me, I’d just hide in the shadows.

  “It’s not a bad thing,” Ezra says, obviously trying to comfort me. “Everybody says you’re, like, this really important person, or something.”

  “Or something is right,” I say. “I’m definitely not important.”

  “You moved in with Zach Stone, right?”

  I nod.

  How does everybody know that?

  “Are you related to him?”

  Really?

  If I tell this boy that Zach Stone is my dad, he will most likely run off and tell everybody else. Not that he’d need to. Nobody in the classroom appears to be paying attention to us. Like, their eyes are trained somewhere else in the room. But I can tell from the way they’ve angled their body towards me that they’re listening.

  They all want an answer.

  Too bad I’m not going to give them one.

  I turn my attention to my messenger bag. I pull out my laptop so I can take notes.

  “Sorry, I know it’s none of my business,” Ezra says.

  No, it’s really not.

  But I still don’t turn my attention to him.

  The class isn’t supposed to start for another five minutes, but I’m kind of hoping the teacher will show up early.

  Come to think of it, why are all the students so early? I came early because I knew Dylan needed to get to his stunt driving class.

  But it is Spy School. I’ve noticed everybody here is always early for everything. I’ve never seen one person late for class. I have a feeling it wouldn’t turn out well for them if they were late.

  “So, you’re really good friends with Cam, huh?” Ezra asks, like he’s desperately trying to keep the conversation going. At this point it’s just sad, but I don’t want to be rude.

  “Yeah,” I answer, hoping that this will be the last of his questions.

  Like, please, just stop. This is Spy School. I know you can pick up on my subtle hints that are telling you I don’t want to talk to you.

  But then again, this is the first day of human behavior class. Maybe this guy needs to learn how to take a hint. Maybe this class will be really good for him, then.

  “Is he your boyfriend?” Ezra asks.

  I turn to Ezra, narrowing my eyes at him. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, but no. Cam is just my friend, as are Tristan, Dylan, Austin, and Stefan. I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m from California. I’m five-foot-two. I have a mom and a dad who have never been to this school or even heard of it until I came. I also have one older brother and two little sisters. Do you need my medical records while we’re at it?”

  “Uh, no. Sorry,” he says, casting his gaze down.

  I feel kind of bad about going off on him, I just really don’t want to talk to somebody I just met about such personal things. It’s kind of creepy.

  Okay, fine. It would be less creepy if I didn’t know somebody was after me. But somebody is. And I can’t be too careful.

  Thankfully, after only a minute of awkward silence, the teacher walks in. She’s a nice looking woman—mid to late thirties with bleached blonde hair that reaches her collarbone. She has these high cheekbones that make her look like some an actress in one of those old black and white films. And she’s wearing a black pencil skirt that goes just below her knees, a black blazer with a white button down shirt, and a pair of four inch heels. Everything about her screams that she is not just a woman, but she is a lady.

  I like her already.

  She sets her bag on the desk and I notice that her hand is shaking slightly. She almost looks nervous.

  “Hi, I’m Dr. Stevens and I will be instructing your human behavior class,” she says, then clears her throat. She then picks back up her bag and begins to look through it for a few seconds. Eventually, she pulls out a stack of papers that have been stapled together.

  Interesting.

  She really is nervous.

  “I know a lot of you were expecting Mr. Smith, but he was called away on an important mission in Tokyo,” she says.

  Tokyo.

  At that, everybody turns to look at me.

  Great.

  “You guys don’t need to worry though,” Dr. Stevens says. “Just because I don’t have the teaching experience that Mr. Smith does, does not mean I am not experienced.”

  She then goes on to list all the degrees she has.

  It’s enough to make my head spin.

  Like, seriously, she must have just finished college. That, or Spy School has advanced programs for doctrine degrees. While Dr. Stevens isn’t a MD, she’s earned the title of ‘doctor’.

  After her quick introduction, Dr. Stevens jumps into the material, not wasting any time. She quickly loosens up and I know immediately that I am going to learn a lot from her. In fact, this might just be my new favorite class.

  Home.

  My human behavior class runs over slightly, and Dylan is waiting for me outside the classroom when I walk out. I figured he would be; I just hope he didn’t have to leave his stunt driving class early for me.

  In a normal situation, we’d never be able to leave class early, but with everything that is going on, the guys have special permission to do things because of my safety. I just don’t want any of this to affect their grades.

  “Hey,” I say, smiling.

  I am so glad to see him right now.

  Honestly, I was a little worried Ezra would try and talk to me again, from the way he kept glancing over at me as I was gathering up my stuff. I want to avoid him at all costs.

  “Hey,” Dylan says. “You ready to head home?”

  Home.

  I’ve been calling it Zach’s house, but home feels right. Maybe it’s because Zach is there and I’m always surrounded by the guys there. But this small Switzerland city has become my home.

  Even though we’re in Switzerland, it doesn’t really feel like Switzerland. Here, everybody speaks English, even at the grocery stores and malls. I get the feeling that Spy School owns the whole town. It makes sense. I mean, they have a wall around the c
ity. Even though I know the wall is more for show, it makes me feel safe, like nothing can get me as long as I’m inside.

  “Yeah, I’m ready to go home,” I say, loving how the word feels on my tongue.

  I have a home here. Not just a physical place to live, but a place with the guys. With Zach... my dad.

  It’s still so weird to think of Zach as my dad, yet sometimes I feel myself wanting to call him ‘Dad.’ But I’m not sure if I’m ready for that just yet.

  Dylan and I drive back to the house, mostly in silence. He asks a few questions about my human behavior class and I ask him about his stunt driving class. I definitely leave out the part of Ezra getting on my nerves, because I get the feeling the guys would try to scare Ezra if they knew, and I don’t want that. I want to take care of the situation myself... or at least I want to try.

  When we get back to the house, Zach is actually there. But only to drop off food. He leaves a pizza for Dylan and me, then leaves after a quick goodbye. I miss him, but don’t say so.

  I grab a couple of paper plates for Dylan and me to eat off of, then we sit at the small table in the corner of the kitchen.

  “I knew you’d like human behavior,” Dylan says.

  “I think it might be my favorite class,” I say.

  “Maybe you’ll be a profiler one of these days,” he says.

  “Like with the FBI?”

  “Nah. Well, I mean, kind of. But instead of profiling serial killers, you’d be profiling terrorists and... international bad guys.”

  I laugh.

  International bad guys?

  “You know what I mean,” he says. “Unless the government asks us, we generally stay out of things that are not international. So, say a serial killer was killing people in the US and Canada, then we’d stop them. But if they’re staying in Canada, we’d leave it up to the Canadian authorities.”

  “Makes sense,” I say. “Do we ever get called in for serial killer cases? ’Cause that sounds fun.”

  “Your idea of fun is seriously disturbing,” Dylan says.

  Oh, my gosh.

  Did I just say catching a serial killer would be fun?