The Academy (8 page)

There were certain things in life that were going to happen – institutional life had taught him that. You would, for example, wear your uniform as directed. You would be in your cell by six. Lights would go out at nine. You would be up, dressed and bed made by eight the next morning. All of these things were going to happen, whether you felt like doing them or not. The only option that Alex had been offered was whether or not he would prefer to have his teeth kicked down his throat in the process.

And you’d have to be stupid to make a choice like that. They said this was a school, and that was fine. But, in Alex’s experience, school wasn’t so different from any other institution – with uniforms, rules, privileges, dormitories and grounds; there would be principals imparted and edges smoothed out. He’d been the target of such manufacture before, and he knew that he’d gain nothing by getting caught up in the gears.

Add to that, Alex thought, pulling on the button-up shirt awkwardly over the sheath of plastic that wrapped his injured forearm, the fact that Michael was one scary dude, smile or no. Alex didn’t really know that many black guys personally, but he didn’t think that made much of a difference, in this case. He’d never met anyone who looked like him, with the tattoos and the dreadlocks and then the suit, but apparently he worked as some kind of teacher.

Alex fumbled the top button on his collar into place, and then wondered if it was actually supposed to be that tight. Maybe guys usually left the top one undone? He couldn’t remember.

Michael seemed pretty friendly, and that was interesting on its own. Alex hadn’t met many people who didn’t despise him, and he wasn’t overly eager to make him angry. If he was going to be a part of this school, or whatever it was, then Michael seemed to be in a position to make it all go easier for Alex. No, he thought, wincing as he pulled on the tight slacks. There was no point in arguing with Michael. Alex was sure that he would lose, and he didn’t pick fights that he knew he would lose.

He would practice patience, he thought, tucking his shirt into his pants with his off-hand. He’d treat it the same way he’d handled guards, administrators, psychologists, teachers, all that noise – he’d smile when they expected smiles and he’d stay quiet when he could. Whenever possible, he would tell the truth, because lies were more complicated – telling lies meant being meticulous, consistent, remembering who’d been told what. It was a burden, at best; at worst, it could ruin whatever opportunities he might have here. That said, when he chose to speak, he’d try and make as sure as possible it was what they wanted to hear.

And the whole time, he’d be watching. Keeping careful track of everything they said and did. Observation was important. And he knew already that they’d misjudged him, and he’d helped it along a bit. He almost laughed then, as he tucked his feet into the leather shoes, because it was so clear that they didn’t get it – he didn’t lack social skills, not because he came from a town that openly despised him.

Not when it took extraordinary skills just to make it through the day. But, in a lot of ways, it might be better if they thought of him as a bit lost, a bit naive. It would make them more likely to help him, and Alex wanted their help, he wanted it very badly indeed.

Alex didn’t trust Michael, but he liked him, at least a little bit. Alex didn’t want to go to school, but the way he figured it, they’d make him go either way, at least for a few more years. And it couldn’t possibly be any worse than repeating his junior year.

Alex looked himself over in the mirror grimly. He looked battered, skinny, and the blazer and slacks felt unfamiliar and tight. It wasn’t, he thought, the presentation he’d like to make for his big introduction. He’d have to do his best, then, to avoid making those kinds of impressions.

Alex shrugged and walked out the door and into the hallway. He was so absorbed in trying to find his way to the downstairs lobby that he didn’t even notice when Michael started walking next to him, wearing that smile that Alex liked but didn’t trust one bit.

“You look uncomfortable, kid,” Michael said cheerfully. “Nervous about this whole thing?”

“Well, yeah,” Alex admitted, “who wouldn’t be? But I didn’t think that the school would have uniforms,” Alex said, gesturing at the blue blazer and slacks, “it seems kind of, I don’t know, weird. Like some prep school thing.”

Michael laughed and clapped Alex on the back.

“Don’t worry about it too much – you only have to wear it for lectures. The rest of the time, you can dress however you want.”

Michael led him to a bank of elevators, and then pressed the down button. There was almost no wait, and the door chime when the elevator opened filled Alex with a strange, comforting familiarity. Elevators, at least, he understood.

Well, okay. He didn’t
understand
them at all. But they were a recognizable part of his world.

“What happened to my clothes, anyway?”

The elevator started its descent with an unholy squealing of metal on metal, and worn gears grinding, that caused Alex to flinch, but Michael didn’t even seem to notice.

“Sorry, but they were pretty much bloody rags by the time you got here – and anyway, I think the doctors cut them off you in order to operate,” Michael said apologetically. “We got someone to go around to your place, though, and collect your things. I’ve had them dropped off in your new room.”

Alex nodded a bit skeptically. He wasn’t entirely sure what his ‘things’ could have possibly constituted – he’d lived in his grandmother’s tiny trailer, and most of the things in it had been hers. Only some clothes, his MP3 player, and maybe some movies could be considered his, so he was curious what was waiting for him. He had a vision of his grandmother’s absurdly large Christmas gnome cookie-jar sitting on a desk in a dorm room, and had to choke back a giggle.

The elevator opened on to a lobby that looked to Alex’s eyes to be identical to the lobby of every hospital he’d ever been to. Only Michael, towering over the bustling crowd of nurses and patients, dreadlocks hanging down to his shoulders, looked out of place. He strode across the lobby briskly, and Alex found himself struggling to keep pace with the big man’s stride.

The grounds outside the hospital did look to Alex like a university – concrete paths winding through grassy areas, a number of angular buildings made out of a strange, dull stone, set back discretely from each other, surrounded by old oak and birch trees. The weather was warm fall weather not unlike California – and not for the first time, Alex wondered where they were, exactly. Somewhere that the weather was pretty similar to home, anyway, if that meant anything.

They followed a winding path through the grounds, Alex trailing a few feet behind Michael, who made no attempt to converse. Occasionally, they were passed by other students, or at least other people in uniforms similar to his own. Alex didn’t seem to attract much more than passing glances, though everyone acknowledged Michael with at least a nod, and received a cheerful greeting in return. Alex was not particularly surprised to discover that Michael appeared to know the first name of everyone that they came across.

The building Michael led them to, a few minutes’ walk from the hospital, reminded Alex of a church, or one of the older government buildings in D.C. – made from the same grey stone he’d seen earlier, with ornate columns and a weird round overhang out in front. The windows on either side of the giant wooden door were stained glass, done in an abstract and colorful style. It was imposing, even in the mild afternoon sunlight, dark wood with dull metal inlays, formal and a bit grotesque.

Alex wondered how they were going to enter the building, given that the door appeared to be twelve feet tall and cut from a single piece of wood, but as they got closer, he realized that the door had a secondary, standard-size entry set in it, so close to flush that it was invisible from a distance. Michael held it open, gesturing for Alex to enter.

It was cold inside the building, and Alex shivered as he walked inside the enormous central chamber, a long expense of alternating black and white marble tile with curled stairways at intervals along the hall, climbing up to the ornate girding of the second floor. The hallway went far enough along in a straight line that Alex could not see the end of it. The building appeared sparsely populated, as he saw only a handful of people moving purposefully from office to office, dressed in typical business attire rather than the school uniform.

“Welcome to the Administration building, Alex. We’ve got a few things to take care of here, regarding your enrollment, then we’ll see about giving you a look around the campus, and get you set up in the dorms. Right through here…”

Michael led him down the hall, then up the third staircase on the right, through a heavy walnut door, and into an airy office with an excessive number of potted plants. There was a heavy-set woman in a purple dress there, working behind a white-painted desk, who smiled cheerfully when they walked in. Michael greeted her with a wave.

 “Mrs. Nesbit, my secretary extraordinaire. Alexander Warner, a new student. Could you prepare the paperwork?”

She nodded and began tapping away at her keyboard, while Michael led Alex through another door to a smaller back office. He sat down behind a desk littered with books, piles of paper, and an aged desktop computer, nodding wearily toward a comfortable-looking chair in the corner of the room. Alex sat down gratefully, his back sore and his forearm aching, even after his stay in the hospital.

“You’ve got good timing, Alex. We are between sessions right now,” Michael said, clearing an area in front of him by moving what appeared to be a partially disassembled firearm, piece by piece, into a desk drawer. “Most of the students are back at home. We’ll be able to get you installed at the dorms and enrolled in class right from the first day.”

“What kind of classes?”

Alex spoke in monotone, unable to hide his unhappiness at the thought.

Michael laughed.

“I doubt very much that you’ll find it boring, Alex, but I can’t tell you much until we figure out what you can learn, okay? We won’t try and teach you anything that you don’t want to know.”

“I don’t get it.”

Michael seemed terribly amused by Alex’s recalcitrance.

“Don’t worry about it too much. At first, it will be general stuff. We’ll have you do some tests, so we can figure out the proper placement for you. It’ll probably be a bit hard, to start with, but I think you’ll find that it’s not that bad once you get the hang of how it all works.”

“Will everyone know what’s going on but me?”

“No, but you will be at a disadvantage,” Michael said thoughtfully. “No use pretending otherwise. Sometimes the talent runs in families, but mostly it doesn’t. Some of the students here have been raised as part of a cartel, but most of the others, like you, were discovered in the world, as children or early teens. It’s a bit unusual to be starting at your age, but it’s not unheard of. But yes,” Michael added sympathetically, “most of the students will probably have a better idea of what’s going on than you do.”

“You’re going to have to explain it, then,” Alex said firmly. “I’m going to need to know about it all, Michael.”

“I’ll do my best to explain,” he said, as Mrs. Nesbit entered with a quick knock and deposited a stack of folders on a recently cleared patch of desk. “Two coffees, Mrs. Nesbit. How do you take yours, Alex?”

Alexander hesitated for a moment. He’d never cared much for coffee. It made him nervous. But then again, given the circumstances…

“Milk and sugar,” he decided, because it sounded right to him. “Lots, please.”

Mrs. Nesbit nodded and bustled back out to the main room, shutting the door behind her. Michael deposited the new stack of paperwork on one of the already daunting piles and then sat back in his swivel chair, folding his hands behind his head.

“Do you mind if I start with the hard part first, Alex?”

Michael’s smile folded up and disappeared, and his big, brown eyes got sad. Alex braced himself without knowing what was coming, and then managed a nervous nod.

“Okay, then. Nobody ever likes hearing this part, but most of the time, people have a bit more choice in the matter. You got the short end of the stick, son,” Michael said, so sympathetically that Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he was being genuine.