The Academy Read Free

neoclassical brick buildings with their black slate roofs and sparkling white-painted trim reminded him of the historic buildings he’d seen in Boston and Philadelphia on family trips. The groomed lawn and magnificent old trees were reminiscent of British estates he’d seen on the Travel Channel. It was no less impressive from the back, an imposing line of handsome buildings connected by library-like faculty residences. The only thing odd about Wynncliff Academy was its isolation and anonymity. There wasn’t even a sign off the farm road announcing it; a driver either knew which turn to make or missed it completely.
    Anxious to get as far away from the gym as possible, Steel climbed the stairs to the middle of the dorm building’s three floors, and went outside. He ran smack into the sea of arriving kids, parents, and SUVs bulging with lamps, furniture, and luggage. It was a zoo out there, and he suddenly understood why his father had dropped him off so early: Steel was already unpacked, had picked and made the top bunk, shelved his clothes, and chosen a desk.
    Hand on the dormitory door handle, he froze as he caught a flash of red hair among the chaos out along the entrance drive.
    Can’t be, he thought.
    He mechanically moved toward the exit door, his heartbeat elevated, painful in his chest. His skin now prickled for an entirely different reason, and not something with which he was terribly familiar. He felt feverish. But unlike any allergy he’d ever experienced, it came on instantaneously. His mouth was suddenly bone dry and his tongue tasted salty.
    He moved in a kind of trance, out the door and into the cool September breeze. A few sugar maple leaves had already turned scarlet; they clattered in the wind like broken wind chimes. Steel reached back to hold open the door and let a father and son go past carrying a desk chair. People were swarming into the dorms, moving in all directions, like in an airport or train station. Steel had lost track of the redhead, though his phenomenal memory directed him to look exactly where he’d first spotted her.
    And there she was: Kaileigh.
    He crossed the lawn and two walkways, dodging the throng of kids and parents carrying furniture, steamer trunks, and luggage—never taking his eyes off her. Same hair. Same height. Then he quickly convinced himself he had it all wrong: the girl wore a red-and-green-plaid skirt above black kneesocks, loafers, and a green cable sweater. Kaileigh—his Kaileigh—would never be caught dead in preppie clothes.
    He saw her in profile. Again, his heart skipped painfully. It had to be….
    He turned sideways to avoid a collision with a bookshelf suspended between a mother and daughter, ducked beneath it, and popped up on the other side.
    He was ten feet from her. He stopped where he stood. His mouth hung open to speak, but at first nothing came out. He’d never felt the heat in his face and the seizure of his chest in quite this way. What was going on? A uniformed driver was unloading pieces of luggage from a black sedan. None of the luggage matched: bags of various sizes and colors, most of it well worn.
    “My parents travel a lot,” she had once told him. “They’re almost never home.”
    “Is it…really you?” he finally croaked out.
    The red hair flew as the girl spun around, revealing her face like a curtain lifting. At first he felt like a complete moron: wrong girl. This person was refined, with a tall posture, square shoulders, and the definite body of a young woman—he didn’t remember Kaileigh that way—not at all—and he reminded himself he had a perfect memory.
    “Steel?”
    Coughing out a laugh of astonishment, he breathed for the first time in too long.
    She laughed too. And now any doubts he’d harbored vanished, for he knew that laugh without question. He moved toward her without hesitation and enveloped her in a warm hug before he considered what he was doing. She hugged him back like the friend she was, but the