The Nightingale Files : The Rook and Queen Page 3

  “Hence the Nancy Drew comment.”

  “I resent that, by the way,” I retorted.

  “You resent it or you resemble it?” He gave me a snarky look, then moved on. “Second, we need to keep this to ourselves until we have more clues. Okay?”

  “Right.”

  “Did Nate see?’

  “No. He was so impossible! I left him in the gym. I could have slapped him.”

  “What did he say?”

  As we got in Felix’s car, I explained. “It might surprise you to know, but I dated Ace Wentworth last year.” I paused to let him respond, but he didn’t. “And Nate took the opportunity to rub that in. I said he didn’t have my number, and he said he could get it from Ace.” My eyes narrowed at the memory.

  Felix still didn’t respond. He continued to look thoughtfully out the front windshield, which made me think that I had overreacted to what Nate had said. After a few moments passed and I could stand his lack of response no longer, I asked him if he was okay.

  “Sorry,” he said, finally looking at me. “I guess I got lost in trying to think of what to say. It’s just that I’ve already heard the stories,” he admitted as he pulled up to my house. “I hate that I have. We’re just becoming friends.”

  I groaned as I opened the door. “I hate this school. You’ve only been here, what, all of two days and someone already told you the story?” I growled as I slammed the door behind me for the second time today. I knew it wasn’t Felix I was mad at. I heard him scramble out of the car and come after me and felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up my neck.

  “Avery—wait,” he called.

  I dropped my bag and crossed my arms. “What?”

  “It’s just that the stories bother me. I know they are not the whole story, and I know we don’t know each other well enough yet to divulge all our secrets yet. But I still don’t like it. I didn’t know what to say.”

  I nodded awkwardly as the door opened and Mother popped her head out. “Everything alright out here? Oh!” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Hello—you must be Felix.”

  Felix stuck his hand out to shake hers without missing a beat. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Nightingale.”

  “Is everything alright, Avery?”

  I nodded and walked past her inside. “Yes. The wake of Ace Wentworth is mighty wide,” I mumbled.

  Mother made face at Felix and said, “Ah, yes. Would you like to stay for dinner, Felix?”

  “No, thank you, ma’am. I should be getting home. But thank you, Mrs. Nightingale. Avery,” he called past my mother, “I’ll call you later, okay?”

  I nodded as I walked to the kitchen. I could hear Mother tell him that it was nice to meet him.

  “Well, thank you for inviting me to the game. I’ll see you then.”

  “Oh, good, then you’ll sit with us?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Wonderful. See you then, Felix.”

  After that, I heard the door shut and his car drive away. I hadn’t been very nice to Nate or to Felix today. I knew they were just victims who happened to be in the way. The object of my fury was really Ace.

  Over a plate of apples and peanut butter dip, I told Mom everything that had happened that day. Venting about it helped enough that I calmed down and stopped trying to envision Ace in an alley, dead, or in jail. I helped Mother make dinner and set the table but then excused myself to go call Carol before it was time for dinner.

  “Are you sure Felix isn’t trying to date you?” Carol asked after I told her about my day.

  “No, I promise. There’s nothing there.”

  “Nothing? No tension? No staring when he thinks you’re not looking? No longing in his eyes?”

  “That’s enough, Dr. Carol—no more love analysis. But for the record, really, no. He feels like a brother or something. He’s funny and considerate, and he’s extremely good looking, don’t get me wrong, but there’s nothing there.”

  “So…you did notice!”

  “Carol, stop.”

  “Sorry. What about Nate?”

  “What about him?”

  “What’s he like? Besides gorgeous.”

  “Yeah, but he’s such a jerk that it really takes away from the beautiful factor.”

  “Impossible. Plus, all the model-worthy ones are jerks.”

  “That’s terrible, Carol. I don’t want to believe that. There have to boys that exist that are both honorable and pretty,” I joked.

  “Yeah, maybe in Utopia.”

  “Or heaven.” We both giggled. It was good to talk and laugh with Carol. It was almost as good as having her there with me.

  “So, what’s it like wearing real clothes to school?” I teased as the conversation turned to lighter subjects like public school, music, and the movies that were coming out that we both wanted to see. We talked until Mother called me down for dinner.

  At the table, I retold all of the day’s events to my Dad, and, by the end of the night, I felt better. I knew I needed to call Felix and apologize.

  “Hey,” I said sheepishly as he answered the phone.

  “Hey.”

  “I’m sorry about earlier.”

  “Don’t be. I’m sorry. I hate that people tell stories that aren’t theirs to tell. I’m sorry about what happened with Ace, and you can tell me your side whenever you feel like it. Sorry you have to deal with Nate, too. If I need to show him some army combat moves, I can.”

  “Thanks. I think I’ll be fine. And I’m sorry for storming off. It wasn’t you. Okay? We’re okay?” I asked.

  “Yep.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “See you tomorrow,” I said.

  “See you in our dark corner.”

  4.

  The gym was hot and sticky, though every door and window was open. The drums rattled my ribs and echoed in my chest. The band swayed and bounced and made the whole left side of the stands seem like it was moving. Pom-poms rustled and shimmered as the lights went down except for a spotlight, shining on a precisely formed huddle of girls.

  The music swelled as I took my seat on the third bench from the front and slipped my media badge over my head. The hip hop beat was loud and a bit too seductive, I thought, but the bass rumbled in my bones, and I had to admit their movements were tight and on point.

  I never really understood the point of dancers at sporting events. Lately, it was more of a mild distraction during halftime, but it was clearly over-sexualized, especially for a private Christian school. This come-hither cheer was solely for the football players and not at all for the pep of the school as a whole—not that I would put that in the article, though.

  Of course, I supposed maybe it rallied the crowd anyway. The students and parents went wild as the cheerleaders ran off the gym floor. I sighed heavily in the midst of the clapping and screaming so no one would hear me. This is the worst.

  The drumline made their way onto the floor and formed a tight row. Their beats collided, diverted in choreographed directions and tempos, and blended back together in a wild crescendo before dropping out. I actually clapped and cheered—I love drums, and they were really good.

  Principle Sands and Assistant Principle Hickham walked out to the center of the floor. I couldn’t help but think about who had been in the office with Mr. Hickham.

  “Alright, settle down, Saints,” Mr. Sands said into the mic. A lull rippled through the crowd, but no one sat. “Without further ado, please give it up for your starting lineup Saints!”

  I counted fifteen boys as they ran out of the locker room onto the floor through a cloud of fog. They all pumped their fists and signaled for the crowd to get louder and rowdy. One boy even took his shirt off and swung it above his head. I saw several teachers rolling their eyes and shaking their heads.

  Among the starters were the boys from my keyboarding class. I caught Nate’s eye for a split second, but I looked away, sliding behind a tall boy in front of me in hopes that neither he nor Ace could spot me.

 
; I cringed as I heard Ace’s voice echo in the microphone. “We are the Saints, and we won’t take no for answer!”

  The crowd went wild.

  “We are the Saints, and we take victory for ourselves!”

  This crowd is going insane over a speech that lacks any real motivation and, frankly, has terrible theology, I argued to myself.

  “We are the Saints, and we cannot lose!”

  At that, the crowd really lost it.

  But that’s not actually true, I thought. Then again, Ace usually didn’t see how wrong he was.

  Everyone was jumping around like it was a trampoline convention and sweating wildly, shouting out the words that Ace had just motivated them with. They had hung on every syllable.

  They finally softened to a throbbing roar when head coach Hayden walked out. Head coach Hayden Butler was a favorite among the girls for his scruffy facial hair and wavy brown locks that flipped out at the base of his hat. Personally, I thought Mr. Knight was more attractive. But that’s not the point, I reminded myself.

  Coach Hayden told everyone to calm down. “I’m really proud of these guys out here.” He put an arm on Nate’s shoulder. “They have been working hard, and we are going to leave it all out on the field tonight. Nate is going to lead us in prayer.”

  My eyebrows would not come down from my hairline as I bowed my head and closed my eyes. Nate? Why? But his voice was velvety and strong as he asked God’s protection as they played and asked God’s favor for the outcome. It was short but clear.

  Everyone said amen, and the players walked off as the cheerleaders and the band filled the court. After our alma mater and the fight song, the rally was finally over.

  I hung around near the court as students celebrated all the pep and their apparent inevitable victory, according to Ace. I got a quote from a cheerleader and a band member. Suddenly, Coach Hayden was standing alone, no longer in serious playmaking conversations or bombarded by hyper players. I dashed over to him.

  “Coach, I’m Avery Brave with the All Saints Bugle.”

  “I know you who you are, Ms. Nightingale.” He smiled.

  “Oh. Okay. Well, I wondered if I could get a statement for the article Nate and I are writing together?”

  “Sure thing.”

  We talked for a moment, and I scribbled down his words, but just behind the coach in my line of sight was Nate, walking toward us. Was he coming over here? After the way he acted yesterday? The audacity.

  Just then, Ace stepped in front of him, blocking his path and keeping him from getting any closer—purely for intimidation, I surmised.

  I thanked the coach and slipped out the side door before Ace or Nate could notice.

  “What have I missed?” Felix said, sitting down beside me with the largest soda I’d ever seen.

  “Caffeine much?” I teased.

  “Don’t judge.” He pretended to glare at me. “Now, what have I missed?”

  My father leaned forward and shook Felix’s hand across me and answered, “First half. We’re up by two, first down.”

  “Thanks, sir. Nice to see you.”

  I smiled at Felix and shook my head slightly. He shrugged and whispered low, “What is so amusing, Avery Brave?”

  “You’re soooo polite.”

  He laughed. “Military father, remember?”

  I made small “o” with my mouth and looked back to the game just in time to see Nate catch the toss, tucking it in tight against his ribs and making a move toward the end zone. I knew I didn’t know that much about football, but, while Felix pointed out which player was in what position, I could see what was coming a mile away, and it all seemed to be happening in slow motion. The outside linebacker approached aggressively, causing Nate to turn back toward the other defenders. The defensive end aimed low and hit him right in the knees…hard. Nate started to flip forward just in time for the perfectly placed linebacker to aim high, hitting him helmet to helmet. I couldn’t be sure if it was linebacker impact or when his helmet whiplashed against the ground, but there was no mistaking that, when the play was over, Nate was out cold.

  Everyone gasped and stood to their feet.

  Nate lay unmoving on the ground.

  The referee blasted the whistle and charged, along with the coaches, over to Nate. The referee threw the defensive back and the linebacker off the field. Everyone hovered over Nate for minutes. A woman who I could only guess was Nate’s mother ran to the fence, hysterical.

  Suddenly, the night was still except for the ambulance sirens starting to wail and grow nearer. The stadium lights suddenly seemed like spotlights on Nate’s still body lying on the turf.

  The trainers and medics kneeled next to him, taking his helmet off and trying to assess his body. The whole team respectfully took a knee and waited pensively. Felix nudged me with his elbow, and I shrugged at him, not knowing what to say or do. My Mother leaned across my Father and whispered, “Is that the boy that you’re writing with?” I nodded, and she said, “Gracious.”

  Several “he’s not getting ups” rippled through the crowd, and a second gasp erupted as the medics walked a stretcher out onto the field. Nate’s girlfriend/cheerleader counterpart, Sylvie, seemed unaffected, huddled together with the other cheerleaders, whispering. Her face was not distraught or concerned in any way, which I noted as odd and cold. Felix appeared to notice it too.

  As they carried Nate off the field with his mom and dad running close behind to get in the ambulance, the referee began arguing with the opposing team’s coach, the coach yelling and pointing fingers until the referee signaled that the coach was ejected as well. All three—the defensive end, the linebacker, and the coach—ranted all the way off the field.

  Mother shook her head and said, “Disgraceful. Two Christian schools, and they can’t even act like it on the field. And it’s only the second quarter.”

  Felix and I laughed to ourselves and exchanged glances where she couldn’t see. While the game continued, I found myself more concerned about Nate than I was about the score. But I forced myself to focus on the game in order to write the article effectively—now, for the both of us.

  Two days later, sitting in church, I still couldn’t get Nate off my mind. The empty seats where his whole family usually sat were a constant reminder of him. Should I go check on him? Should I even ask about the article? Is he in a coma? Why can’t I stop thinking about him?

  We sang three more songs, and the service ended. I thought about going over to some of his church friends to ask how he was, but I didn’t. Instead, as I joined the crowd heading up the aisle, I found myself wondering if Felix and his parents went to church. They had never visited our church that I knew of, and he had never mentioned it. Not that it really mattered—half the kids at our school went to our church but acted like anything but a saint or a Christian.

  Dad always said there was a church and a bank on every corner in the south with fast food in between. It was certainly true in our city. Dad would also always tell us stories of the small town that he grew up in, and, while it sounded nice to know everyone, it also sounded suffocating.

  Over lunch, mom asked about the article and questioned me on how I was going to get it done. I told her I didn’t know, because I didn’t know how Nate was.

  “I actually heard from Mrs. Reinhart that he had a concussion and a broken ankle. But he’s not in a coma like some of the kids were saying.”

  I looked at her sideways. “How do you know that? And since when do you talk to Mrs. Reinhart?”

  “Avery! Watch you tone, please,” my dad reprimanded me.

  “Sorry, I was just surprised. It came out edgier than it sounded in my head.”

  “Mrs. Reinhart is in my book club, Avery Brave, and I called her to check on Nate yesterday,” Mom said while she served me more salad. “He’s at home now. I think you should go check on him, and then you could talk about the article.”

  “At his house?”

  “Sure. Why not,” Mom insisted.

&
nbsp; “It just doesn’t seem like a very neutral place, that’s all.”

  “Why do you need neutrality?” Dad chimed in. “Not that I’m protesting the concept or the wisdom, just curious.”

  “We just…don’t really get along.”

  “Oh,” Mom said. “Have you tried to be nice?”

  “Yes, Mom,” I said, annoyed. “Why do you always assume it’s on my end that things are failing?”

  “She has a point, Dinah. Getting along is a quid pro quo thing,” Dad aided again.

  “Are you sure?” Mother asked again.

  “Yes, Mom. I told you what he said! I’m shocked you would be encouraging this, considering…”

  “Well, maybe you should take him a get-well balloon and try a little harder to be nice. He has been through an ordeal. And, after all, the article will most likely be about him now….”

  “I am not taking him a balloon.” I shook my head.

  “Don’t take him a balloon,” my dad echoed.

  “No?” Mom asked, almost defending her suggestion.

  “No,” my dad said flatly. “You don’t take a boy balloons. Unless he’s five.”

  “Ok, I just thought it would be a nice gesture.”

  “I think me going over that there at all is gesture enough.”

  “Truth,” my dad said, finishing his steak and putting his fork down. I smiled at him, and he winked at me.

  “Okay…,” Mom conceded as she cleared the table.

  “I need to go see a client this afternoon, so I can drop you by if you want,” Dad offered.

  “Okay,” I said grudgingly.

  Dad dropped me off and told me he’d be back within twenty minutes. I walked up the grand stone staircase to the front door. I knocked three times on the ornate door and waited, half-expecting a butler to answer. I heard an “I got it” yelled behind the door just before Nate’s little brother, Tanner, opened it.

  “Hey. Avery, isn’t it?”

  Tanner was shorter than Nate was but still much taller than me. He was a freshman this year and already seemed to be quite popular.

  “Yes, it’s Avery Brave.”