In Too Deep itd-1 Read online

  “Where is everyone?” I ask.

  “The rec room. That’s where we’re going next.”

  I had hoped to change before meeting the student body so I could make a better first impression than I was sure to make in the clothes I’d spent travelling in all day, but I don’t have any choice. I tuck my hair behind my ears and draw in a deep breath.

  Vera pulls open the massive oak door and the voices and laughter immediately die down Every student turns to stare at the door and the odd new girl who surely looks stunned and bewildered.

  The room is like a big family room with several chocolate brown couches, a large TV screen mounted on the wall and several desks scattered at the far end on the room. A few people practice self-defense moves on one end of the room and another group is huddled around a set of high-tech computer monitors, but other than that, they appear normal.

  “This is Taylor Beckett, a new first year,” Vera introduces me in her official sounding voice and then abruptly turns to leave me, letting the door close behind her with a thud.

  Many of the students who had glanced my way at our arrival have gone back to talking, watching TV or doing homework, but a few continue to stare. I straighten my shoulders and put on my best breezy, unconcerned face, studying them right back. Surely someone will come up to introduce themselves or wave me over or at least smile from across the room. The seconds tick by. One friendly face, that’s all I need. I can walk over and make the introductions myself. One friendly face. Come on, come on. No one makes a move. My insides tighten like they are being twisted with a fork. I have never felt so alone and dejected.

  I remind myself silently not to panic, that surely these people aren’t as unfriendly as they seem. In fact, I’ll probably be having a good chuckle at this tense standoff by tomorrow. But a few seconds more slip past and I realize I am just as alone as I feel. I need to get the hell out of here. Now.

  I turn and yank on the door, but it doesn’t budge. I grab the handle with both hands and pull. Hard. Nothing. Damn it. It’s stuck.

  All conversation in the room dies away again and I can feel a roomful of eyes on my back.

  “You have to push,” a girl with a deep, throaty voice offers from behind me. I hear a few people laugh as I shove against the door and charge out of the room. Oh. My. God. That could not have gone any worse.

  I escape back to the dorms, my mind racing and emotions competing against each other. I miss my friends, but I’m stuck in this strange new school. They know about my cheating and now I have to keep up the charade, or risk my parents finding out. This blows. I glance around the silent dorm room and notice my bed is the only one with industrial looking linens. I’d never even thought about bringing my own sheets and comforter. An obvious newbie mistake. I try to remember if that had been on the list of approved items, but I can’t remember seeing it.

  I glance down at the foot of the bed, and the sight of my computer bag brings some comfort. Taking a deep breath, I pull my laptop out, sit down on my new bed, and tap the power button. I immediately open the folder of photos, and smile when I see the picture of me and Piper from the summer at her cousin’s bonfire, otherwise known as the night I learned warm beer, almond liqueur, and vodka don’t mix. I made out with Archer Gibson in the woods after puking behind a tree. Not one of my finer moments. Good thing I knew how to remove the photographic evidence of that night that had been posted online. The next photo is of Wes planting a kiss on my cheek. I groan, certain I had deleted all of those. The look on my face is pure happiness, as he presses his lips to my cheek. To make sure I don’t make the same mistake twice, I hit the delete key with more force than necessary. What was meant to make me feel better was only making me more homesick, so I closed the folder. My eyes linger on the icon in the bottom right of the laptop screen. I’m connected to the school’s network, and I find myself wandering to what extent.

  With each key I strike, I curse myself for landing here. If I hadn’t hacked into the test, simply for the thrill of seeing if I could do it, I would’ve received the very average score I deserved and I’d be applying to state schools next year with Piper.

  I type in a string of commands and wait. Seconds later, Mr. McAllister’s computer desktop fills my screen, and for the first time today I smile.

  Seeing nothing of interest in his e-mail account, I open a folder on his desktop marked “Assignments.” Scanning the contents, I come across a new assignment for a first year named Mary Jean who speaks fluent Russian. I skim over the numerous pages in the file.

  I sink back against the pillows and let out a long slow breath. “Holy shit.”

  Mary Jean’s assignment is to translate some documents and listen in on phone calls to do real-time translation for a Russian mafia guy the CIA is interested in. My stomach aches at the idea of having seen too much, and I look over my shoulder to make sure no one is watching. So much for book reports and spelling bees.

  My new roommates begin filtering back into the dorm. I manually power down my laptop and shove it into its bag. Hoping to avoid another awkward situation, I head to the bathroom for a shower.

  I take my time in the shower, letting the steam and hot water work away some of the tension that’s set in at what I’ve just read. I think about what type of assignment Mr. McAllister might have in store for me, and what my parents would say.

  By the time I make it back to the dorms, everyone is in bed, though a few of the girls read by lamp light. I set my shower bag beside my bed and pull back the starched sheets and crawl under the covers, settling into the not so comforting scent of chlorine bleach. I’m almost asleep when I hear a creaking sound and metal sliding against metal followed by male laughter. I look toward the window with the balcony just as a lanky boy climbs inside, followed by the gravelly voiced girl from the rec room earlier. I watch as she stubs her toe on a bed frame. He laughs and pulls her along.

  “I feel like I’m walking bowlegged,” the girl whispers.

  Gross. TMI.

  The girl in bed nearest the window sits up, peeling off her sleeping mask. “What the hell, you guys. Keep it down.”

  “Oh, blow it out your ass Brooklynn,” the gravelly voiced girl whispers back.

  “You’re going to get in trouble again and no one’s going to cover for you.” Brooklynn huffs and rolls over in bed, pulling the covers up over her head.

  The boy laughs again as he tiptoes across the room, coming closer to my bed with each step.

  A light flips on in the hallway, flooding the entrance to the room.

  “Shit, Vera’s up,” the boy whispers.

  “Now we’re fucked,” his companion says.

  They hop on the balls of their feet beside my bed, considering where to hide while the footsteps advance up the stairs.

  I meet the girl’s eyes and she smiles at me. When she smiles, her face is warm and kind. I sigh and think why the hell not? And hop out of bed.

  “Put this on,” I say as I toss my robe at her.

  She wastes no time shrugging into it, concealing her jeans and T-shirt almost entirely.

  With the footsteps drawing nearer, I shrug at the boy, silently apologizing that I have nothing to offer him. Immediately he slips off his shoes and kicks them under my bed.

  Vera appears in the doorway. “What’s going on in here?” She stands looming over us, waiting for a response.

  The girl begins to step forward, but I place my hand on her forearm to stop her. “It’s my fault, Vera.”

  They all turn and look at me, along with several girls near us, who’ve now woken up.

  Vera cocks her head. “I was very clear when I explained our no fraternizing after lights out rule. You’re expected to be in bed, Taylor.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m sorry, I just had a…feminine situation and…” I look to the girl, realizing I don’t even know her name.

  “MJ,” she offers.

  “And MJ got up to help me find what me I needed.”

  Vera eyes me cautiously, a
s she seems to decide whether or not to believe me, and her gaze travels past me to MJ, who, thanks to my robe, appears to have just gotten out of bed. She then turns to the lanky boy with dark hair hanging in his eyes. “Logan, what are you doing in here?”

  He flips the hair from his eyes like he’s bored and quite unconcerned at being caught in the girls’ dorm.

  “Logan’s a light sleeper. He heard something and came in to check on everything,” MJ answers for him.

  I take in the full sight of him –from his poker-straight hair that hangs in his eyes, down to his long feet in mismatched socks, and pray that Vera won’t notice he’s not in pajamas.

  “Why are you dressed?” She nods to his jeans and T-shirt.

  “I sleep naked,” he says with such conviction I think he might be telling the truth.

  Vera clears her throat. “Well, take care of business,” she says to me, “and then everyone back to their beds.” She turns to Logan and points to the boys’ dormitory. “And that means you in there.”

  “You got it, V,” Logan says, taking Vera by the shoulders and steering her toward the door. She casts one last suspicious glance over her shoulder at us.

  “Taylor, right?” MJ asks.

  I nod.

  “Thanks for covering for us.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “Yeah, that was quick thinking.” Logan flips the hair from his eyes again. “Sorry we woke you up.”

  I don’t mention that I hadn’t actually been asleep.

  “I better go before Vera busts an artery.” Logan ducks and fishes his shoes out from under my bed.

  MJ hands my robe back to me, and I realize just how pretty she is underneath the dark eyeliner and heavy makeup. Her skin is the color of warm honey and she has rich chocolate eyes. She smiles at me again and then turns and punches Logan in the arm. “Next time, if you keep your mouth shut, Vera won’t hear us.”

  He rubs his arm. “Next time you want to go to a place like that, ask someone else. I probably caught Hepatitis just walking in there.”

  MJ reaches out to swat his arm again, but Logan dodges her hit and disappears through the doorway.

  I’m curious about where they’ve been but figure now isn’t the time to ask. MJ heads for her bed, peeling off her jeans and removing her bra through the sleeve of her T-shirt before climbing under the covers.

  Chapter 3

  The cafeteria is much more civilized than at my old school. For one thing, it’s clean, and for another, the food actually looks edible. Most notably, though, it’s quiet. A group of less than twenty students doesn’t create the roar of several hundred.

  The cafeteria itself is pretty impressive. Dual lines are each staffed by a chef in a white hat, one flipping omelets, the other blending custom smoothies. MJ and I are running late, due to oversleeping after last night’s interruption and cover up. We only have time to grab something quick—a bagel for me and a large coffee to go for her.

  I pull my schedule from my pocket as we head back out of the cafeteria. Logan, the boy from last night, strolls up to meet us.

  “All the first years have the same classes,” MJ says, not glancing up from her giant cup of coffee.

  “But we all have our own independent study where we work on our specialty,” Logan says, wedging himself between us. “What’s yours, by the way?”

  “Uh, computer programming.”

  “Nice.” He nods. “A hacker.”

  I’ve never considered myself a hacker. I don’t even see myself as a computer geek, just someone who likes to spend a lot of time online. “So everyone here has a specialty?”

  He nods. “You’re the only hacker. MJ’s is languages. Mine is explosives.”

  “Like making bombs?” I ask, dumbfounded.

  He grins, flipping his hair out of his eyes. “Or dismantling them.”

  “Don’t worry,” MJ says. “They make him work out in the barn away from the school ever since he blew out a window in the lab.”

  Logan’s grin deflates into a scowls but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he reaches over and snatches my schedule from my hands. “What do you have for gym?” He studies the paper.

  “Something called Zumba.”

  He chuckles. “Of course. They’ve been giving that to all the girls.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “It’s a Latin dance type of aerobics,” MJ says as she tosses her empty cup at a nearby trashcan and misses.

  I remember late-night infomercials with middle-aged women in too-tight spandex jumping around erratically. “How is doing Zumba going to prepare me for life as a secret agent?”

  “It’s not.” Logan shakes his head like the idea’s insane. “It’s just to keep you in shape.”

  “What do the boys have?” I ask.

  “Basketball. We had rock climbing last quarter with the girls.”

  “I still think it’s strange. Why a dance class?”

  “Bria leads it. She’s a second-year. She convinced McAllister the girls needed their own gym class, and because we don’t have two gym teachers, she told him she’d teach it.”

  “And he just let her?” In my old school, I couldn’t convince a teacher to give me a hall pass to use the bathroom, let alone design my own class. I keep forgetting how different this place is.

  “Have you met Bria?” He smirks.

  “No, not yet. Why?” A wide grin spreads across his face. “What’s her specialty?”

  “Seduction techniques. “I glare at him. “Well, officially its negotiations, but how exactly do you think she gets what she wants?” I shrug “You’ll understand when you meet her.”

  * * *

  I follow MJ into the locker room to change for gym. I use my open locker door to shield myself as I change into a pair of baggy mesh shorts and an oversized T-shirt that still smells like home.

  MJ looks me over with a discerning gaze. “No,” she says and turns back to her locker, fishing out a pair of black skin-tight yoga pants and a fitted black tank top. “Put this on.”

  “Why?” I glance around and find the answer to my question. The other girls are in similar outfits. My baggy shorts and T-shirt, which were perfectly suitable at my old school, are out of place. “Thanks.” I take the clothes from her, making a mental note to ask my mom for black yoga pants.

  The six of us gather in the girl’s gym, which I learned from Logan had been recently remodeled at Bria’s insistence. The polished wood floors and wall to wall mirrors make it feel like a true dance studio.

  A tall girl with jet black hair swishing at her waist glides through the glass doors and walks to the front of the room. This must be Bria.. With an olive complexion, striking green eyes, and a thin body that’s curvy in all the right places. She’s stunning. I silently vow to start a diet tomorrow.

  Bria turns on the music—a quick Latin beat—and claps her hands, signaling that class is about to begin. I already feel inferior in her presence; let alone attempting to dance in front of her. All the girls fall silent and turn to face her, seemingly just as mesmerized as I am.

  Bria’s eyes fall on me. “Have you ever done Zumba before?”

  I shake my head, embarrassed a being called out. My voices breaks when I try to speak. “No,” I blurt out.

  Bria turns back to the mirrors. “Just watch what I do and try to follow along. I’m sure you’ll catch on.” She bounces on the balls of her feet, working her hips from side to side in time with the music. All of the girls follow while I stand there transfixed by her swaying hips for a second longer than I care to admit, attempting a little too late to copy the movement.

  I glance at myself in the mirror. My movements are jerky and awkward and so unlike Bria’s. She breaks into another dance step, more complicated this time, whipping her hips to move across the floor, sashaying her arms as she goes. While it seems to come easy to the other girls who follow Bria’s lead, it takes me a few minutes of stumbling over my feet before I catch on, but still, I just don’t look r
ight.

  I watch Bria’s rear thrusting, her hips rocking, and I try to copy the moves just as she’s doing them, but my hips just don’t move that way. In the mirror, I’m stiff and rigid, and in this skin-tight outfit, there’s no forgiveness. My arms and legs are stick straight, my chest is flatter than it should be, and I have zero muscle tone, but just to spite me, Mother Nature has blessed me with the round booty that runs in my family. My mom and grandma both have this ass, and I can assure you it doesn’t get better with age. From what I’ve seen, it will spread wider and begin to sag as middle age approaches. I look back at Bria. I’m pretty sure she’ll be a MILF.

  The girls around me know every step and don’t wait for me to catch on. They’re flying through the moves, all synchronized. They march forward, hop back, step apart, and grind down to the floor. I’m always a step behind, and just when I’ve caught on, they add another move. They clap their hands in unison before beginning again. And just when I’ve caught onto the clap, the move changes and my clap rings out alone at the wrong moment. Damn it.

  I resign myself to the fact that Zumba is not something I’m good at and spend the next hour trying to move in the right direction and not stick out too much. My moves have little resemblance to the others’.

  When the class ends, I’m sweaty, out of breath, and thankful it’s over.

  The girls file from the room, crowding around the drinking fountain. A group of guys stands outside the glass doors, and the fading smirks on their faces tell me they’ve been watching us. Fan-freaking-tastic. In a room with just six of us, there’s nowhere to hide. My only hope is they were as captivated by Bria’s hips as I was. Logan shakes his head at me, laughing. He intimates my jerky hip movements, thrusting his hips back and forth. Crap.

  “It’s Taylor, right?” Bria asks from the front of the classroom. She motions me toward her while blotting a towel to her cleavage. I seriously need to stop checking this girl out. I step toward her and glance in the mirror again. My dull brown hair, pulled into a ponytail, is damp with sweat at my temples. My wide set blue eyes look childish, too innocent next to her exotic beauty.