The Academy

Chapter Eight

Marisol shook me awake at eight in the morning.

We weren't having classes today (it was a faculty training day), and I had been looking forward to sleeping in.

"Marisol?" I said, wiping the sleep from my eyes. "What the hell?"

"Kayleigh, get up!" she exclaimed, rushing into my closet. She reappeared beside my bed with an old t-shirt from the frozen yogurt place by my house and a pair of cutoff jeans. "There's a surprise for you!"

I just stared at her, blinking. I had stayed up late last night, rereading Romeo and Juliet in my Shakespeare book because I thought I'd be able to sleep in in the morning. Now, I regretted it.

I tried to turn over to fall back asleep, but she shook me again.

"Don't make me get a bucket of ice water."

When I turned over to glance at her face, she raised her eyebrows and said, "You know I'm crazy enough to do it."

I sighed, took the clothes that she handed me, and made my way into the bathroom. This surprise better be worth it.

Marisol walked me down to the front of the dorm, where a blue Camry was parked. The driver rolled down his window. Tatum.

"What's going on?" I asked Marisol as she continued to the car, her hand holding a tight grip on my arm.

She didn't reply, but walked me up to the window of the car, where Tatum was smiling widely.

"Hey," he said. He was wide-awake and full of energy. My jealousy had to be noticeable.

I shot the both of them a confused glance, but neither of them tried to explain.

"Get in," Tatum told me, gesturing to the passenger seat. I opened the door and slid in, waiting for an explanation, although I knew that I would probably never get one.

Tatum revved the engine and we began to drive, leaving Marisol in front of the dorm. She waved to us as we drove away.

"Are you kidnapping me?" I asked, looking around his car. It was absolutely spotless and well taken care of. It seemed to be a couple years old, but still had the new car smell. His copy of The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet sat on top of the dashboard.

"Yeah," he answered, looking behind him to switch lanes. "Is that okay with you?"

I couldn't help but smile. "I guess. Where are we going?"

"A tour of the city."

"Why?"

"How long have you been in Boston?" he asked, sneaking a glance at me, his shaggy hair slightly in his eyes. He wore a loose white t-shirt and dark wash jeans; he was one of those guys that could pull off the effortless look easily.

"Around seven weeks," I told him.

He nodded to himself and focused his eyes back on the road. "So you've been in Boston for seven weeks, and something tells me you haven't actually seen any landmarks or anything. You know, the stuff that Boston is actually known for."

It was like he could read my mind. He was right. And he knew it without me admitting it. "I'm taking you on a tour. I already know that you'll fall in love with the city that I grew up in."

"You grew up in Boston?" I asked, although I wasn't the least bit surprised. There was something about him—not necessarily his clothes or how he talked, but more his manners—that made me believe he was "old money", but I had never been sure of this. I speculated that he probably lived in a mansion in the heart of the city.