When I emerged, Vero hauled me to my feet. I ducked after her through a concrete tunnel. Then over a concrete tunnel. We high-stepped through a series of tires, then over a beam on a swinging contraption made of more ropes. When we made it to the end, filthy and exhausted, our CPR dummy was waiting for us, supine on the ground.
Vero and I took a moment, hands on our knees, breathing hard, sweat dampening our hairlines as we surveyed the competition. Riley and Max were already wrestling with their dummy, the deadweight of its loose limbs dragging on the ground as they tried and failed to surge ahead. Riley stumbled backward, holding the dummy’s feet. Max’s arms were hooked under the dummy’s armpits as she struggled to hold the weight of its head and torso without tripping on the arms.
“True crime, my ass,” Vero muttered.
Mrs. Haggerty’s grandson jogged past us. Mrs. Haggerty’s arms were around his neck, her spindly legs looped around his sides. She glanced over at me with a wild grin, holding fast to her grandson’s neck as he bent to pick up their dummy. With a grunt, he hoisted it into his arms and forged ahead with Mrs. Haggerty bouncing like a jockey on his back.
The woman was being carried to the finish line.
“Give me the string from your hoodie,” I panted, tugging my own through the hole in the neckline of my sweatshirt. I knelt beside our dummy’s arms. Vero knelt beside its feet. A moment later, we had the dummy trussed like a pig. “Count of three,” I said when she nodded she was ready.
We started walking in slow, coordinated movements. Together, we lengthened our strides, our pace quickening as we fell into a rhythm, the dummy swinging between us. The teams on either side of us paused to watch, their mouths falling open. Mrs. Haggerty’s grandson did a double take as we passed him. “We really are exceptionally good at this, you know,” Vero said through labored breaths. “It sort of reminds me of—”
“Don’t say it!” We might as well have duct-taped the dummy to a skateboard and rolled him to the finish line for all the attention we were drawing to ourselves, but I’d be damned if I’d let Mrs. Haggerty win this.
The white chalk line came into view and Vero and I stumbled over it, dropping the dummy to the ground at Roddy’s feet. He clicked his stopwatch, frowning at the restraints around the dummy’s ankles.
Vero and I lumbered to the empty track, exhaling heavy ribbons of fog as we started our laps. Vero led the way to the inside lane, hopeful of holding the advantage as the other teams started to follow. I kept pace alongside her, letting my eyes wander to the bleachers, then over the sidelines as we fell into a brisk jog, unable to shake the feeling we were being watched. As we rounded the first turn, I glanced back toward the obstacle course. Joey stood over our dummy, hands on his hips, his narrowed eyes trailing us as we rounded the track.
CHAPTER 11
With stilted movements, Vero and I carried our lunch trays through the crowded cafeteria to an empty table in the back. My legs had felt like Jell-O by the time we’d finished our laps around the track, but the numbness had been short-lived, and I dreaded the sore muscles I was sure to have by the next morning.
Vero picked at the contents of her sandwich. She lifted the edge of her bologna and sniffed. “Are you sure we’re not in prison? I’m pretty sure this is prison food.”
“I wouldn’t know.” During the handful of hours I’d spent in a jail after Nick had caught me breaking into one, no one had offered me anything to eat. But the soggy PB&J on my tray was an excellent reason to never go back.
The door to the faculty lounge opened at the far end of the cafeteria, revealing a glimpse of the utopian smorgasbord on the other side. Tables were decked out with carafes of coffee, plates of cookies and breads, and trays of assorted cheeses, deli meats, and fruit. Samara came through the door, holding a chocolate chip cookie that could have doubled as a dinner plate, her heels snapping against the floor tiles as she cut through the cafeteria. She paused beside our table when she spotted us.
“Hey, you made it!” Her smile held a touch of pity as she took in our dirt-crusted sweats and the stray hairs slicked to our brows. “How are you two holding up?”
“I’ll let you know in the morning,” I said, rolling my sore shoulder.
“If it’s any consolation, I heard you two killed it in the agility course today. We’ve got bets going in the faculty lounge.”
“Is the food any better in there?” I asked.
Vero leaned across me and said in a low voice, “She means, is there any booze in there and who do we have to kill to get some?”
Sam laughed. “Sorry, no booze. I would offer to smuggle you some, except I hear the hard-ass who runs this academy frowns on that sort of thing.” She tipped her head to me. “But if you play your cards right, I bet he would sneak you a bottle.” She winked and I felt my cheeks warm. “I’ve got to return some emails before class. You all hang in there. The afternoon session’s a doozy. Don’t let Lieutenant Hamamoto rough you up too much.” She took a huge bite of her cookie as she sashayed out the door.
“That’s it,” Vero said. “We’re breaking into the faculty lounge tonight.”
“No, we’re not. Stealing cookies is—”
“Only a misdemeanor and a necessary survival skill. Screw your resolutions. We earned those calories.” Vero finished the last of her chips and her milk, then tossed the contents of her tray in the trash. “You think Sam was serious about the afternoon class being rough?”
“What does your schedule say?” I asked around a bite of my sandwich.
“Only that we’re supposed to report to the mat room after lunch.”
I didn’t know who Lieutenant Hamamoto was, but anything had to be better than crawling in the mud while Joey hovered over us, watching like a hawk.
The bench sank under my sister’s weight as she dropped down beside me. “Does my hair look okay?” she asked, her eyes a little frazzled as she tried to smooth it down. “And how about my shirt? Does it match my pants?”
“You look fine, Georgia. What are you so worried about?”
“I’m teaching a class this afternoon. I just want to look nice, that’s all.” She darted furtive looks around the cafeteria. “How about my breath?” She turned abruptly and blew in my face.
I reeled back. “What is wrong with you?”
“Here, do me,” Vero said, leaning across the table. Georgia blew between her cupped hands as Vero sniffed. “Not bad. What about your pits?” Vero grabbed Georgia’s arm and held it high, leaning in. “You’re good.”
“You just missed Sam,” I said casually. Blood rushed to my sister’s cheeks, confirming my suspicions. “She’s nice.”
“And hot,” Vero chimed in.
“When are you asking her over for dinner?”
My sister jumped up from her seat. “Wow, would you look at the time? I’ve got to run,” she said, stealing half my PB&J as she climbed out of the bench. She slipped out of the mess hall before I could demand she return my sandwich.
“I have no idea what Georgia’s so afraid of,” I said. “Sam seems really great.”