Rites of Passage (26 page)

“Coming around now,” he says as he hands a stack of papers to the nearest cadet, “is the course syllabus. You'll notice a large part of your grade comes from outside reading and group work.”

When I get my syllabus I scribble a note on the edge to talk to the professor about making an exception to his group work rule. I'm hoping he'll give me permission to work by myself again.

Professor Williams continues. “You would do well to choose your groups wisely. Many cadets have failed this class due to their, um, unwise group selection.” He clears his throat, his eyes falling on Drill. A wide smile crosses his face. “A prime example sitting in the back row. Good to see you again, Mr. Stamm.”

“And you, Professor,” Drill says with a grin. “Listen to him, guys. He's not wrong about the failing part.”

I glance sideways at Drill and the grin slides into a full-fledged smile, which throws me completely off-kilter. He shrugs before turning back to the front.

“I'm sure you're eager to know what we'll be doing in here. Our focus will be on researching the DMA, looking for famous military heroes from within our ranks. We'll write reports to publish in our very own DMA newspaper.”

The guys are mumbling to each other under their breath, none of them sounding happy about research, reading, or publishing. The perks of being in a class you're forced to take. They should be happy it's only a semester long.

“Now, our first assignment will be to research different branches of the military DMA grads have gone into to get an idea of the breadth of people available for us to study as the semester goes on. After some presentations, we'll pick a direction in which we want to start off. Sound good?”

My classmates nod and grin at each other. They get to decide what they want to study? Suddenly they think they've got it made.

“The partners you choose for the first assignment will be the ones you'll work with the entire semester. There will be no switching partners after today. I think most of you all know each other, and while I'm sure there will be some uneasiness regarding Miss McKenna among us, I'm sure one of you will make her feel welcome. Partner up and start brainstorming some topics.”

I hear names yelled across the room; some cadets get up and move around.

Drill speaks up after a few seconds. “McKenna's my recruit. I'll partner with her, Professor.”

Spending hours researching and writing a paper with him? Late nights where we're actually allowed to be together? I bite the inside of my lip to keep myself from smiling.

“How chivalrous of you, Mr. Stamm.” Professor Williams sounds like he means it, and I like him even more. He's been here for years—he must know how hard it would be for Drill to stand up to them and work with me.

A cadet in front of us snorts, nudging the guy next to him. He holds his hands in front of his face, moving them like he's groping an imaginary girl. “Chivalrous, my ass!” They both erupt in laughter.

Drill grins, though it looks like he's plastering it on his face for show. He lifts his head in acknowledgment. Even though I know he's playing it up for them, it still hurts.

 

Campus seems different at night, with no one out here to scream at me for not keeping my eyes straight ahead. Pulling the hood of my PT sweatshirt up to block the bite of January, I glance around, sticking to the gutters just in case anyone notices me. Only a few cadets walk around campus at this time of night, but most are heading back to the barracks, not toward the armory.

I shouldn't be out past curfew, but Katie promised not to tell anyone where I'm headed. Remedial PT is useless and I've got to do something to stay fit or this year is just going to get worse. I've got to show them I'm tough—that I can do whatever the DMA throws at me. It might require a lack of sleep, but at this point, I've got to focus on something other than Dad and the Society or I'm going to go crazy.

I'm almost to the safety of the armory when I hear a voice behind me.

“McKenna?” Drill's voice comes from only a few steps back, but I hadn't heard him at all.

I stop, coming to attention. “Drill Sergeant Stamm, yes, Drill Sergeant Stamm.” I don't want to wake anyone up, so I speak quietly. We still haven't figured out a balance between what we had over Christmas and how we're supposed to be here. The air between us is thick with longing, with
something
we aren't allowed to be.

“What are you doing?” He sounds more concerned than upset. “Are you okay?”

“Drill Sergeant Stamm, this recruit is heading for the armory, Drill Sergeant Stamm.” My eyes scan the darkness behind him. I don't see anything, but that doesn't mean there aren't people watching.

He raises his eyes. “What? Now?”

“Drill Sergeant Stamm, this recruit couldn't sleep. This recruit wanted to get some weights in, Drill Sergeant Stamm.” I feel stupid, talking this way, especially to him. Heat burns my face. I should have just stayed in my room and done sit-ups.

“I was on my way to the weight room, anyway. Come on.” He starts walking and I hurry to keep up. “You shouldn't be walking out here alone, though. Next time, just ask.” When we reach the armory, he opens the door and shoos me in before him. “After you.”

“Thanks.” I bite my lip as I pass, keeping my eyes on the armory floor. Only the emergency lights are on and the polished floor shimmers with the reflection.

Huff stands by a basketball hoop, lobbing a ball up and missing spectacularly. “There you are, Stamm,” he yells, grabbing the ball and passing it to Drill. “Hey, McKenna,” he adds, a huge smile on his face.

I grin but don't say anything, glancing at Drill and waiting for him to tell me I need to go back to the barracks. But he just lobs the ball back through the air to Huff. “Don't worry. You can be at ease if it's just the three of us. This shitbag's not going to rat you out.” Huff tosses the ball back and Drill catches it easily. “Mac's going to lift with us.” It's not a question. He rolls the basketball against the wall and heads across the court to the weight room. “Huff made a New Year's resolution.” He punches Huff on the shoulder. “Ready to lose some of your shitbag status?”

“I didn't make it of my own free will,” he grumbles, but gives me a grin. They head straight to the bench press—typical males—and I go across the room, starting with some lat pull-downs. I watch Drill, stern but patient as he coaches Huff on proper bench press technique. He's calm, relaxed, the version of Drill I saw at Christmas. The one who almost kissed me.

I shake my head to clear it, to keep my thoughts away from his lips and the electricity that flows through me, charging me with energy and confidence whenever he touches me. I'm on my second set before Huff has even done five reps on the bench.

“Come on, Huff,” Drill yells, using his drill sergeant voice. “You can do better than that. Stop slacking.”

“God, chill out, man. I'm not one of your recruits.” He's laughing, though, so he's not too pissed. “Why do you think I'm making you do this with me in the middle of the night? If anyone knew I was actually
trying
to get a little better, they'd laugh me out of here. Besides, I like my remedial PT.”

Drill helps him put the bar back in the holder. “You've got fifteen seconds. Then we're doing it again.”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant.” Huff sits up and turns, searching the room for me. “Mac, how the hell do you put up with this shit? He's like a freaking drill sergeant or something.”

I laugh, the weights clanking down as I finish my set.

“Time's up,” Drill growls, trying to sound tough. He's standing up by Huff's head, arms out in a spotting stance, ready to catch the weight if it's too much for Huff. “Lie down and give me eight more.”

Huff leans back, grumbling about his taskmaster, but picks up the weight and begins. Drill talks to him about what he needs to start eating as I make my way around the room, working two more machines before Huff's done with his third set.

“It's been nice having you guys in PT with me, Mac. I enjoy looking good for the ladies,” Huff chimes in between labored inhalations.

My smile's gone in a second and I lower the weights I've been using to work my quads, pumping through a fury-filled extra set. “Yeah, well, it's not by choice.”

Even though he's still holding Huff's weight bar, Drill looks over at me. “I'm sorry, Mac. My hands are tied. Corporals are in charge of their recruits' fitness.”

“Isn't there an SOP for changing back? Say I want to get back into Corps PT. How would I do that?” I push with all my might, attacking the weights since I can't hurt Matthews.

“The recruit would go to their corporal and request a change. You'd have to take a PT test and score within a certain range to be able to move.”

I stand, legs shaky after too much work, and walk over to them. Huff's raising his arms above his head to stretch them. He's breathing hard and I almost feel bad for him. “And if the corporal won't listen or won't let a recruit test?” Matthews had demoted me to remedial PT. I'm guessing he won't want me moving out anytime soon.

Drill huffs out a burst of air. He knows I'm right. “Then I guess you'd come to me.”

I nod toward the bench press. “Can I work in?”

Drill raises his eyebrows and takes a step back. “Sure.”

It's hard to keep the grin from my face, knowing I've impressed him with my weight room terminology. Amos and I used to work out all the time before he was deployed so I know my way around. I grab two tens and two fives, adding them to Huff's one hundred-five pounds. I also know when I'm overdoing it. I've never benched this much but I was gearing up for it at the end of the summer. Being in here with Drill and Huff is
almost
like being at home with Jonathan and Amos. I was always doing stupid things to push myself and impress them. And here I go again.

Huff whistles. “You're way past me, Mac.” He raises his hand and heads to the treadmill.

I ignore Huff's comment. I'm too focused on the weight I'm determined to push. Lying down on the bench, I slide up so my head is directly under the bar.

“I'll spot you.” Drill stands above me, looking down, his hands under the bar but not touching it.

I blow air into my hands and rub them together, drying them off so my grip is sure. Gritting my teeth, I hold the bar, lifting it just a fraction and letting my muscles settle into the familiar pain. When I grunt with the unaccustomed weight, Drill moves to grab the bar. “No.” I grimace.

Eight grueling reps later, I put the bar back in the rack, my arms completely spent. I swipe the back of my wrist across my forehead and sit up, trying to catch my breath. Drill sits down on the bench next to me.

“Want to tell me what that was about?”

“What?” I'm looking around for water, but the fountain is across the room and I'm not ready to move yet.

“Whatever you were just trying to prove to me by lifting that much.”

“I'm just working out.”

“Bull.”

“Fine. Consider this me coming to you about getting out of remedial. I want to join Ranger PT.” It comes out of the blue and I know it's crazy, but I can't take it back now.

He raises his eyebrows, really studying me, and I can't hold his gaze for long. “Ranger PT is serious shit.”

“I know. But I'm not going to let Matthews push me around. I can out-PT half the guys in the company—”

“That doesn't mean you're ready for Ranger PT.”

“Then get me there.” I turn toward him. “You're working with Huff. Add me into the mix. I won't make the move until you say I'm ready, but at least give me a shot.” I don't want to beg, but I will if I have to.

He looks at me for a second longer, then runs both his hands over his face, scrubbing it like he thinks he can clear away the thought of me in Ranger PT.

I stand up, putting distance between us. “Never mind. I'll figure out my own way to get into Ranger PT. I'm sorry I asked.” I thought after getting closer to him at Christmas that he'd understand how much I have to prove myself, that he might even help me get there. Maybe I was wrong.

“Mac, wait,” he says as I'm moving across the room toward the door. “It's nothing like that. It's just— You've got enough that you're fighting right now. Why make it even harder? You can work out with us at night. I'll help. But test for Ranger PT next year.”

I don't want to admit he's right. It's not in my nature to back down, but he's offered a solution that might work. With everything going on this semester, delaying Ranger PT is probably not such a bad idea anyway. “Deal.”

“If we're going to do this, we're starting now. It's going to be hard.”

I don't think he's talking about us, but I allow myself a second to pretend. Then I turn my thoughts back to PT. “I know.” I swallow, proud because I know he wouldn't do this if he didn't think I could manage it. “I won't let you down.”

“You couldn't, even if you tried.” He points toward the bench press. “Now let's get back to work.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

JONATHAN TOLD ME ABOUT THE RANDOM SNOWSTORMS IN
Virginia, but I didn't believe him until today. It's the end of January and when I wake up at 0500 to get my uniform ready for the day and change into PT gear, the PG is covered with white. Not just an inch, though. There's almost a foot of snow on the ground, where last night there was only dead grass.

I can't even begin to comprehend. No one is out walking to the gym, or the armory, or anywhere, for that matter. Normally there are at least a few cadets ready to lead PT heading out and about. But today—nothing.

It's a rare, quiet moment—one I'm going to soak up. Not like I have anyone to share it with anyway. Bekah spends all of her time with Evers and the track team. Wilson and Kelly are starting to miss company time regularly, too, though Kelly gives no explanation that I've heard and Matthews obviously doesn't mind.