The Black Coats(23)
“Just when I start to like you,” Thea called after her, “you say something like that.” Mirabelle’s hand beckoned her from inside the door. Thea dutifully followed, the hint of a smile on her face.
Nixon appeared before they could even make it inside the foyer. “Nice of you to join us, ladies. Mirabelle, are you planning on staying for our entire session today?”
Mirabelle bit her lip, a witty retort no doubt dying on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Don’t bother heading to the classroom; we are starting today with individual training and will finish up there afterward. Thea, please head to room thirteen. It’s on the lowest level, in the south wing, tucked back toward the end of the hallway. Mirabelle, follow me.”
Nixon stalked away from her without a word. Her heart giving a nervous beat, Thea shouldered her bag and headed into the house, wondering what could possibly be in store for her this time.
Ten
Following the room numbers, Thea made her way through the house, marveling at each little touch: a framed painting of an old plantation, a big copper sink functioning as a planter, an antique ladder dangling with small glass bulbs. Deciding to err on the side of caution, Thea ducked into a restroom, smiling at the tin ceiling. Even the bathrooms were lush. She was washing her hands at the sink when the door banged open. Thea jumped as a cluster of girls wearing black leggings and black T-shirts spilled into the restroom. Their voices echoed in the space.
“I still haven’t gotten the blood out of my pants from Craig Allen’s Balancing last week.”
“Try white vinegar, that’s what I use.”
The girls stopped short when Thea stepped out from behind the sink. Her hands dripping water, she tried to slip past the girls in the narrow restroom.
“Excuse me,” she said politely. A solid body stepped in front of her.
“Thea, right?” The voice was older, the woman obviously a president. She was in her midthirties, with huge blue-green eyes and short, chin-length curly hair, striped the color of chestnuts. While shorter than Nixon, it was obvious that she was strong: her muscles pushed against her black shirt, and when she roughly grasped Thea’s shoulders to let her team pass by, Thea could feel the strength of her grip.
She swallowed nervously. “Yes, I’m Thea.”
“How are things going over at Team Banner?”
“Okay.” Thea wanted to wriggle away but instead stood taller. “Actually, better than okay. I was just on my way to individual training.”
One of the other girls stepped forward, tossing back her curly black hair. She smiled cruelly, black eyes flashing. “Banner is a team of freaks and spares. What a joke.”
The president raised her hand, silencing the girl, who reminded Thea of a barking Doberman. “Valentina. Hush.” She circled Thea. “How’s your president doing? This is her first team, after all. Nixon, Robin’s favorite little pet.”
Nixon appeared in the doorway to the bathroom. “I heard my name. Team Emperor, always nice to see you.” Her tone expressed a different view. She nodded to their president, who let go of Thea’s shoulders with a parting squeeze. “Kennedy.”
“Nixon.”
In her mind, Thea imagined the tension between them shattering the ceramic subway tiles, but nothing changed. Kennedy leveled her gaze at Thea.
Thea ducked her head. “I’ll, uh, be on my way, I guess.” Valentina practically hissed at her as she passed.
Behind her, she heard Nixon snap at Kennedy, “Don’t speak to my girls unless I give permission. Is that clear?”
Kennedy mumbled something in return that Thea couldn’t make out.
Nixon clicked out of the bathroom. “Have a great day, Team Emperor.”
Thea smiled to herself. Their team might not be excellent yet, but at least they had Nixon.
She made her way down the hallways, winding deeper into the house. Room eleven was some sort of sitting parlor, and twelve held nothing other than two very deep claw-footed tubs filled with ice baths. Thea shuddered—she knew those all too well from her time in track. She let her fingers trail the walls until finally the plaque appeared: Room 13.
It was at the end of the wing, in a dark corner with no other doors around it. Thea knocked. No one answered. She knocked again, harder this time, and there was only the sound of the wind behind it. The wind? Thea pushed open the door and gasped.
In front of her stretched an open field. Her feet and body were in the house still, but if she stretched out her arm, dots of uninterrupted sunlight brushed her skin. Thea couldn’t help the stupid grin plastered across her face. Nothing in this house was what it seemed, and room thirteen was nothing more than a door that opened directly to the outside of the house. As she stood in the doorway, a blur of white flashed in her peripheral vision.
Sahil appeared in front of her, pacing back and forth about fifty feet from where she stood. His white linen pants brushed a very expensive pair of neon track sneakers and he was wearing a backpack. Thea looked down and saw a pair of sneakers waiting at her feet—black, marked with gray lightning bolts, just the right size. A spark traveled up through her legs, shaking her whole body with excitement. Sahil’s eyes met hers, and the intention was communicated wordlessly. Unable to stop smiling, Thea slipped off her black ballet flats and pushed her feet into the sneakers, her heart pounding. She rolled up the leggings over her brown shins and smoothed the curls back from her forehead. Then she stepped off the hardwood floor and out onto the dirt. The woods were silent for a moment as they stared at each other.