Desert Dark (2 page)

Who alphabetizes their medicine chest?
Drew shook her head.

But her obsessive-compulsive roommate wasn't even the most interesting thing so far. A rendezvous she'd witnessed last night won the grand prize. It was so unusual, in fact, that Drew took the time to write about it in her diary at two o'clock in the morning. Of course, she never named names. She would not lose another friend that way.

She turned off Scottsdale Road into a shopping plaza that
advertised Fiona's Nail Salon and Desert Moon Books. She'd get her toes done, then grab a cinnamon latte at the coffee shop that would inevitably be tucked into the back of the bookstore.

Inside, she checked in with Fiona and selected a polish. Drew carried a magazine in her purse just in case, but the store gossip was much more interesting than “How to Tone Your Tummy by Spring.” A half hour later, toes freshly painted, she slipped into flip-flops and padded next door for her latte dessert.

She spent too much time flipping through celebrity glossies; it was dark by the time she left the bookstore. Drew crossed the dimly lit parking lot quickly, now wishing she'd found a closer spot. As she approached the car, she saw someone leaning on the passenger-side door. Her breath quickened. She slowed her pace as she peered through the darkness, trying to see the man's face.

“Good evening, Drew,” he said, and she immediately recognized his voice.

“You scared me.” She laughed, relieved. “What are you doing here?”

“I have to talk to you. Can we go somewhere private?”

“Sure.” Drew was always up for some juicy gossip, and what else could this be? She unlocked the doors and climbed into the car. She drove toward school, north on Scottsdale Road.

With the lights of town behind them, her passenger requested she pull over into one of the many trailhead parking lots along the road. She consented, and left the car idling after she'd put it in park.

“What's up?” Drew asked.

“You saw me last night.”

She hesitated for a second and then nodded.

“What did you see?”

She tried to look confused. “Nothing.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“No.”

“Not even your roommate?” He stared at her intently.

She shook her head. “You're not the only one who snuck out. I broke the rules too. I'm fairly certain Libby wouldn't approve.”

“What were you doing, lurking around?”

“I wasn't lurking. I was
stealing
, but I wasn't lurking. I helped myself to a little mint chocolate chip, that's all.”

“At one o'clock in the morning?”

She shrugged. “I don't know what to tell you. I couldn't sleep. I like ice cream. And you? What were you doing?”

Her accuser sighed and lowered his car window. The hot night air filled the cabin.

“Who was that guy you were with?” she asked, trying to draw out his story. After a moment, “Okay, it's none of my business.”
Maybe it was a romantic encounter
. Drew actually knew the other guy; she'd recognized him.
That would be highly inappropriate
.

“Are you sure you kept quiet?”

“I already answered that. Are we done here?” Drew stepped on the brake and grabbed the gearshift.

“What is that?” The passenger pointed out the driver's side window, squinting through the darkness.

Drew turned toward her window. “Where?”

And the last thing she heard—besides the gunshot—was, “Oh, my mistake.”

The only acceptable thing in Nadia's life was that today was Friday, which meant an entire weekend without having to look at Matthew's face. Sweet, luxurious freedom.

Her friends still averted their eyes when they passed in the hall. She couldn't find a lab partner in chemistry, so her teacher had assigned one. He was a sigher. “Can you pass me that beaker?”
Sigh
. “Did you fill out the lab report?”
Sigh
. “Look out—your solution is on fire.”
Sigh
. It was exhausting.

A week ago she'd smartened up and downloaded a playlist to her phone, so at least she could listen to music on the way home. Then she could pretend not to notice Matthew and Paige as they drove by. But when her father found out, she'd been forced to endure a twenty-minute lecture on the importance of “situational awareness.”

“Nadia, your personal safety is at risk. A young woman walking down the street, unaware of her surroundings—it's irresponsible. When you leave this house, you need to pay attention. Who do you see? What are they doing? Do you hear footsteps behind you? Open your eyes and your ears.”

Her father's occupation repeatedly compelled him to thwart Nadia's attempts to act like a normal teenager. He was a professor of criminology; he understood the dark side of human nature.

She rounded the corner to her house and, as if she'd conjured
him with her thoughts, saw her father's Camry in the drive.
Is he checking up on me?
Nadia yanked out the earbuds and shoved them into her bag.
That's not really his style
. But he never left work early and wasn't due home for hours.

Maybe we're moving again
. She climbed the front steps.
That would rock
.

Inside, Nadia dropped her bag on the bench in the foyer and kicked off her sneakers. She slammed the front door, announcing her arrival.

“Nadia?” her mom called. “We're in here.”

“Dad, what are you doing home?” Nadia yelled as she crossed the living room. She pushed through the kitchen door and grinned at her father. “Did you get fired?”

He stood with his back to the sink. The sun filtered through the window, creating a halo around his coppery brown hair. Beneath his closely cropped beard he suppressed a smile. He'd removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his oxford. He seemed relaxed, which meant he'd been home for a while.

Nadia had her father's blue-green eyes and her mother's dark, wavy hair, though Nadia's had more curl toward the ends. Her complexion, a fusion of her parents' Irish and Lebanese, was a light olive that she thought looked sallow most of the time; too dark to be fair and too light to be dark.

“Good for you,” Nadia continued. “You finally told your boss to take this job and—”

“Sweetheart,” her mother said, nodding toward the kitchen table.

Nadia turned around and noticed a fourth person in the room. Her face burned as she said, “Oh, we have company.” She glanced at her dad. “A little heads-up would've been nice. I was joking, by the way. My father would never tell off his boss. You're not his boss, are you? I'm kidding—I know him. Great guy.”
Stop talking
.

“You must be Nadia.” The man smiled and extended his hand. He stood a foot taller than her, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. He had silver hair and wore a dark suit, well-tailored, with
a knife-like crease in the pants. “My name is Marcus Sloan. I work as a recruiting agent for Desert Mountain Academy outside Phoenix, Arizona. Your father was just showing me your trophy collection.” He gestured to the case along the wall. “Very impressive.”

“Sorry. He does that.”

“I can see why. The Mid-Atlantic Championship? Nicely done. I don't meet many students with a competitive interest in cryptography.”

“Competitive? Nadia?” Her dad laughed. “Not our girl.”

Nadia narrowed her eyes at her father's sarcasm. “So I'm a little driven.” She turned to their guest. “Cryptograms are just a small piece of the competition. Once the clues are decoded, it's more of a scavenger hunt. Anyone could do it.”

“Yes, I'm familiar with the Smithsonian's annual Cipher Search Competition. You're the youngest winner in history. I've been looking forward to meeting you,” Mr. Sloan said. “Which brings me to why I'm here. An opening has become available and I'd like to offer you a position as a first-year student.”

“First year?” Nadia shook her head. “I'm a junior.”

“We run an intensive two-year program for juniors and seniors. The curriculum focuses on ingenuity and problem-solving, so we provide a project-based, hands-on learning environment. As I've explained to your parents, tuition, room and board is paid for in full by the United States Government.”

“But I didn't even apply.”

“Why don't we sit down, and I'll explain.” Mr. Sloan pushed his coffee to the side and folded his hands on the table. “Our school was founded to serve the country's most academically elite. Our primary goal is to remain competitive with up-and-coming nations, like China, who now place a great deal of emphasis on education. It's a government-sponsored private school, so we don't accept applications. We recruit students based on their overall grade point average, among other things.”

Nadia looked down. “I don't have the highest GPA in my class.” Matthew did, which annoyed her. She came in second place. Again.

“Do you remember the standardized tests administered at the end of your sophomore year?”

“Sure. We take them every May.” She loved standardized tests.

“We have a series of eighty benchmark questions scattered throughout the exam. Those questions weigh more heavily on our decision to recruit than GPA. The average student answers ten, maybe fifteen of those questions accurately. The students we recruit get about sixty of them.”

“How many did I get?”

Mr. Sloan paused and glanced at her father. He cleared his throat and answered, “All of them.”

Nadia smiled. Matthew would be furious if he heard that. He made everything a competition. “So what were the questions?”

“A variety of problems involving spatial ability, abstract thinking, pattern recognition, moral judgment.” His cool eyes flitted between Nadia and her dad. She had the feeling his response was deliberately evasive. “Based on your answers, we believe you fit a certain profile that we value at Desert Mountain. I'm sure you'll need to discuss this with your parents. I've shown them our website. I encourage you to peruse the site as well.”

“The campus is certainly beautiful,” Mr. Riley said.

“Thank you. We're very proud of it.”

“School started weeks ago. Why are you inviting me now?” Nadia asked.

“Sadly, one of our students passed away. She was in a car accident.”

“Oh, her poor parents,” Nadia's mom said.

“Yes, it's a terrible tragedy. We are all still feeling the loss. But unfortunately, with such a small student body, we need to keep each position filled.”

“How many students are enrolled?” Nadia asked.

“The Academy has fifty juniors and thirty seniors. We have a few students transfer out every year. Not everyone is suited to the program. Because of the heat, the Academy starts a little later in the year than East Coast schools, so you've only missed four days
of classes. Your roommate will catch you up in no time. I fly back tomorrow, and I'll need your decision by then. If you decide to join us, we'll arrange your travel. Due to the challenging nature of our curriculum, you would have to transfer immediately.”

He turned to her parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Riley, thank you for seeing me. Your daughter would be a fine addition to our school. I'm staying at the Bridgeport Hotel in Arlington. Please call me with any questions.” He placed his business card on the table as he stood. “You should know that our graduates have first pick of all the Ivy League schools.”

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Sloan. We'll be in touch.” Nadia's dad escorted their guest to the door.

And there it was. A lifeline. Her way out.

No more avoiding her locker, no more heart palpitations every time the phone rang—
is it Matthew? Paige?
—no worries about junior prom. Everyone was already talking about Homecoming. If Matthew had broken up with her for any other reason she still could've gone to the dance. She would've gone with Paige, shown up in a killer dress and spent the evening deliberately ignoring him.

When her dad returned to the kitchen Nadia asked, “Did he just show up?”

“He called yesterday. We were expecting him,” he said.

“And you didn't tell me?”

“We didn't see the need until we'd discussed it.”

“But I can go, right?”

“I think it's a terrible idea,” her mom said. “You're sixteen years old! And you haven't even looked at the school.”

“Zaida, honey, we need to talk about this. I've done some research. This is a phenomenal school. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Nadia's father said.

“It's very sudden.” Her mom crossed her arms over her chest. “Nadia, do you even want to go? And miss your junior year?”

“Well, let's see, I simultaneously lost my boyfriend and my best friend. I was recently humiliated in front of the entire junior
class. I spend my lunch period in the biology lab with the
mice
so I don't have to eat alone in the cafeteria. What am I clinging to, Mother?”

“There's no need for sarcasm.”

Shut up or you'll blow it
. Nadia took a breath. “You're right—I apologize. But it sounds like a perfect fit. Hands-on study? That's right up my alley.” She'd never imagined boarding school. Her family was solidly middle class: two cars, a yearly vacation. They certainly couldn't afford private school. “And if it doesn't work out, I can always transfer back, right?”
Whatever it takes, I'll make it work
.

“You hate moving! You throw a fit every time you have to change schools!”

“That should give you some indication of how desperate I am.”

“Well, I'm sorry. You can't go.”

“Mom,” Nadia pleaded.

“It's out of the question.” She strode from the room.

Tears burned Nadia's eyes. “Dad,
please
,” she whispered.