Secrets in Phoenix Read online

  She raised her hand to silence him. “I can’t hear you anymore, Mr. Garret. I’m stone deaf, remember.” And with that, she was gone.

  Huh. So that’s Mabel, I mused.

  Mr. Garret cleared his throat. “Right. Shall we begin? Gentleman…and lady…choose your weapons!”

  I was almost knocked down in the charge. By the time I’d regained my composure, only one bow remained on the grass.

  I guess this one’s mine, then, I thought, bending down to claim it. It was heavier than I’d expected, and crafted from smooth, solid wood with a taut string stretching from the top to the bottom. Attached to the bow was a red velvet holster swathing three slim arrows.

  “Take your positions!” Mr. Garret hollered.

  Without missing a beat, the boys formed a neat line, standing shoulder-width apart and facing the far boundary wall.

  Jaxon took his place at the end of line and signalled for me to join him.

  “Ready?” Mr. Garret bellowed.

  No! I thought, taking the spot beside Jaxon.

  It quickly became clear that I was the only one not ready. With impeccably timed accuracy, all of the boys straightened their shoulders and lifted their bows.

  “What are we meant to be doing?” I whispered to Jaxon.

  He glanced at me. “Lift your bow,” he said.

  I copied his position: bow raised and body straight.

  “You see the trees,” he went on.

  In front of the boundary wall was a procession of tall oaks. They faced us like an opposing army.

  “Aim!” Mr. Garret shouted.

  I heard the swoosh of arrows being drawn and bowstrings being eased back.

  “Aim for the tree on the end,” Jaxon instructed me. “The one opposite you.”

  I snuck a peek at him. His bow was held high, the string drawn back and the arrow in place. I noticed his eyes squinting in concentration; the muscles in his arm tautened as he held his aim.

  Ineptly, I reached for one of my own arrows. The slender dart was tipped with a razor-sharp point and had two red feathers affixed to the other end. I fumbled to lock it into place, and did my best to draw the string back—although what had seemed like a simple act was actually infuriatingly tricky. The tight structure of the bow made any leeway near impossible. And yet, beside me, Jaxon held the pose with remarkable ease.

  “Fire!” Mr. Garret commanded.

  Before I could even blink, a round of arrows sped across the clearing—just like the pencils in the classroom, only this time on a much grander scale. Almost all of the arrows had speared the tree trunks and were boldly jutting out from the split bark.

  I released my bowstring and watched as my arrow soared through the air. It curved to the left and landed in the grass some distance from my target oak.

  I may have missed the target, but I couldn’t have been more pleased with myself. I’d shot an archer’s bow!

  Call me Hood… Robin Hood.

  “I did it!” I exclaimed.

  Jaxon looked to my tree, searching for my arrow. “Did you?” he frowned.

  “Yes! It’s over there. Look!” I shook my bow in the direction of a patch of grass midway between us and the trees.

  “Oh, yes,” Jaxon reflected. “I see it. Well done.”

  I beamed with pride.

  “Lewis!” Mr. Garret called. “Steady your arm. You almost missed the target. Even the most minor of mistakes could cost you your life.”

  So dramatic, I chuckled to myself. Only P.E. teachers think P.E. is life or death.

  “Reuben,” Mr. Garret continued, walking up and down the line like an army general, “good work, my boy. Very precise.”

  Figures, I thought. Reuben the Magnificent strikes again.

  Mr. Garret reached the end of the line. “Jaxon,” he said. “Very good. Very good indeed.”

  My focus travelled to Jaxon’s tree. It was identical to mine, except his had a slender arrow piercing the centre of the trunk.

  I spun around to celebrate, but the look on Jaxon’s face made me think twice. His expression was detached. Stony, even. He didn’t respond to Mr. Garret’s comment, and he stood rigid when the teacher gave him an approving pat on the shoulder.

  Why isn’t he happy? I wondered.

  “And Sophie Ballester,” Mr. Garret moved on to me. “Uh… let’s see… what can I say? Hmm… well… good try.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I accepted, humbly.

  “Okay,” Mr. Garret raised his voice again. “Positions!”

  Next to me, Jaxon sprang back into his shooting stance.

  “Ready!” Mr. Garret called. “Aim!”

  I raised my bow and fixed another arrow into place, exuding a little more confidence this time around.

  “Fire!”

  I released the string and my arrow shot through the clearing. Again it swerved to the left, landing almost exactly where the first missile lay.

  “I did it again!” I cheered.

  Jaxon tucked his bow under his arm and ran his hand along his jaw. “Well done,” he congratulated me. “It’s very rare to hit the same wrong target twice in a row.” He wrinkled his nose. “Were you aiming for that spot?”

  “Nope,” I told him, decidedly smug. “I wasn’t even trying.”

  “Very impressive,” he mused.

  “I know. Who says two wrongs don’t make a right? Hey, perhaps if I turn at a ninety degree angle next time, I might hit the tree.”

  Jaxon gave me a slanted smile. “Well, in light of the fact that I’m standing at that ninety degree angle, I’d rather you didn’t.”

  I smiled back. “So, how did you do?” I asked, shading my eyes to scan the clearing. I found his tree beside mine, but there was only one arrow in the trunk. The arrow from his first shot.

  “I did okay,” he replied, casually.

  “What did you hit?” I asked.

  “My target.”

  “The tree?”

  “Yes.”

  I squinted against the morning sunlight. “I can only see one arrow.”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “So, where’s the other one?” I pressed.

  “It’s there,” he offered vaguely. “On the target.” He seemed hesitant, as though he were uncomfortable with the conversation.

  My eyes widened as I realised what had happened. “Your second arrow split through your first arrow?” As I stared at his tree again, I could see it clearly. His second arrow was projecting out from the trunk, with two strips of the first arrow curving away on either side.

  “That is…” I was lost for words.

  Mr. Garret, on the other hand, was not.

  “Good job, Jaxon!” he whooped. “Tremendous shot.”

  I felt a prickly tension in the air. I was willing to bet that some of the other boys weren’t quite as pleased for Jaxon as their teacher was.

  “Again,” Mr. Garret commanded. “Positions!”

  I raised my bow.

  “Ready!… Aim!…”

  I stole a glimpse at Jaxon. The breeze tousled his hair, but other than that he was flawlessly motionless. Well, apart from his eyes, that is. They were alive with intensity.

  “Fire!”

  Jaxon’s muscles flexed as he drew the bowstring back. And then the arrow was gone. It exploded across the clearing in nothing more than a blur. Again it hit the target, spearing through the existing arrow and splitting yet another dart clean in two.

  I was amazed, completely in awe of him. I took my own shot, uninterested in its result, unable to pull my eyes away from Jaxon.

  “You’re… incredible at this,” I told him, dropping my bow to my side.

  “Look!” he said brightly. “You hit your target again.”

  I followed his gaze. All three of my arrows lay on the grass beside one another.

  I smiled distractedly. “Hat trick. I wonder if Mr. Garret will recognise my unique skill,” I joked.

  Jaxon shrugged. “It’s hard to miss, really. After all, you are the o
nly one who seems to have that particular skill.”

  “And you’re the only one who seems to have that particular skill,” I said, gesturing towards his tree.

  “No,” he replied, looking down to the ground.

  I had an inkling that that was as far as the subject would go.

  After a brief inspection, Mr. Garret went through his customary praises, then instructed us to collect our arrows.

  “Jaxon,” he said, “you’ll need two new arrows. Go to Mabel’s office; she’ll have a supply.” As Jaxon turned to leave, Mr. Garret called to him again. “On second thought, you’d better get more than two. Get yourself a handful.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Reuben scowl.

  As Jaxon jogged across the lawn, I couldn’t help but admire him. He was, in every sense of the word, extraordinary. He was the most puzzling person I’d ever encountered. And yet, despite his elusiveness, I felt completely in tune with him. I was in rapture, desperate to find out more, yet utterly content with whatever it was that he chose to share with me.

  I watched until Jaxon had disappeared from sight. And just as I was about to return my attention to Mr. Garret, a new figure emerged.

  Mr. Hardy.

  The stocky upper group teacher was followed by a gang of boys, all carrying archer’s bows. I spotted Sam and Todd at once, though from a distance I struggled to distinguish between them. Until, that is, one of them shoved roughly past another boy.

  Sam, I deduced.

  I waved at them, grateful to see familiar faces.

  Mr. Garret greeted the newcomers with a smile, but his body language became markedly tense.

  Mr. Hardy approached us. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that you’d be using this space,” he explained courteously. “We can come back later.”

  I could tell that Mr. Garret wanted to say ‘yes,’ but instead he went with, “No, no. Plenty of room for all of us. Middle group, shuffle along,” he ordered. “Two per tree, from now on.”

  As requested, we made room for the other class.

  I didn’t get a chance to speak to my brothers, because Mr. Garret hastily pulled our focus back to the lesson. Though when I did manage the occasional glimpse at the upper group, I quickly discovered that Mr. Hardy was nothing like my own teacher. He was sterner and broader. Not at all approachable, I thought.

  For a while, I listened as Mr. Garret fielded questions and imparted his knowledge. But my attention went elsewhere at the sound of a commotion.

  “Is that your best shot, Ballester?” a boy from the upper group jeered.

  I glanced over to see Todd hanging his head in shame while a couple of thickset boys sneered at him.

  I felt a pang of sorrow. I couldn’t bear to watch Todd being teased like that.

  And apparently I wasn’t the only one. Sam swung around to face the boys.

  Oh, no. Now the only thing I felt was fear.

  Slinging my bow over my shoulder, I slunk off to diffuse the situation before it escalated. But I was too late.

  “Do you want to see my best shot?” Sam challenged, twanging his bowstring.

  A robust boy snorted. “You don’t belong here,” he hissed. I recognised him from the scuffle the previous day. Thompson, his teacher had called him.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Sam retorted. “I asked you, do you want to see my best shot?” He spoke slowly and calmly, but there was a wild fury in his eyes.

  “Go on,” Thompson sneered. “I dare you.”

  Oh, no. Don’t dare him! My heart leapt into my throat. “Sam, no!”

  Again I was too late. Sam swiped an arrow from his holster and fired it at Thompson.

  I froze. In the fraction of a second between the release of the arrow and the impact, a whirlwind of questions tore through my mind: Would there be a lot of blood? Would Thompson die? Would Sam go to jail? How often could I visit him? How would I ever survive without him?

  And then, something happened beyond belief.

  Thompson caught the arrow.

  Caught it. In midair! As though it were nothing more than a tennis ball.

  He tossed it aside and lifted his own bow, aiming it at Sam.

  “No!” I screamed. Before I knew what I was doing, I had aimed my bow at Thompson.

  Great, I thought. Now I’ll be the one going to jail.

  Muffled behind the hum of delirium, I heard the distinctive swish of bowstrings being drawn back. Not Thompson’s, Sam’s, or even Todd’s, but every other bowstring in the clearing. And they were all aimed at me.

  Sam threw his weapon to the ground and raised his hands in surrender.

  “Don’t shoot!” he begged. “Don’t any of you shoot.”

  I looked around—first at Sam, then at Todd, then at the swarm of metal tips all pointing in my direction.

  Where are you, Jaxon? was all I could think.

  An authoritative voice shattered the tension. “Stop this at once!” yelled Mr. Hardy.

  “Lower your weapons!” Mr. Garret ordered, shoving his way through the gathering.

  Hesitantly, the boys followed his command.

  Oh. My. God.

  No sooner had I let out a breath than Sam was at my side. He grabbed my wrist and we ran.

  And we didn’t look back.

  Chapter Seven

  Gone Fishing

  Sam and I didn’t stop running until we reached the graveyard. We collapsed onto the grass, panting for breath. For the first time since leaving the Academy, I realised we were alone.

  “Where’s Todd?” I asked between rasps.

  Sam looked back to the path, almost as though he was expecting our absent brother to materialise. “Aw, Todd,” he groaned. “Why didn’t he follow us?”

  “I thought he would,” I said. “I thought he’d be right behind us.”

  “So did I.”

  I sighed and leaned back against a marble headstone. “He probably wanted to stay out of trouble.”

  Sam snorted. “And the rest.”

  I frowned at him. “What do you mean by that?”

  He shrugged the remark off. “You know Todd. He likes to keep his nose clean.”

  “Can you blame him? We shouldn’t have run. Ness is going to kill us.”

  Sam laughed and reclined onto the grass.

  I swallowed, my throat dry all of a sudden. “Should we go back?”

  “Nah. We’re out now. There’d be no point in going back.”

  “But maybe if we—”

  “No,” Sam cut me off. “I’m not going back. You go if you want. Be with Todd,” he added, folding his arms across his chest while he lay on the grass gazing up at the sky.

  I furrowed my brow. “Why did you say it like that?”

  “I didn’t say anything like anything,” Sam answered coolly.

  “Whatever,” I muttered.

  “Shut up.”

  “You shut up!”

  “On second thought,” Sam snapped abruptly, “I think you should go back.”

  “Good,” I said pettily. “I want to.”

  Sam closed his eyes against the sunlight. “Good for you.”

  I stood up and shook the grass from my clothes. “I’m going now,” I said. “ ’Bye.”

  “ ’Bye,” Sam replied curtly.

  I had barely reached the path before he called me back.

  “Sophie?” His tone was careful.

  I glanced at him. He was sitting upright now. “Yes?” I said.

  He rose to his feet and strolled towards me.

  “I’m now thinking that you shouldn’t go back to school…” Standing before me on the path, he purposefully avoided my gaze.

  I made sure that he saw me rolling my eyes, however.

  “Okay,” he yielded. “I’m sorry. Sor-ry. What more do you want? Blood?”

  “No. Sorry is fine. I’m sorry, too, I guess.”

  Sam stared down at the pebbled pathway beneath our feet. “Can I tell you something?”

  “Okay,” I repl
ied guardedly. After all, I wasn’t sure what would come next.

  “Todd’s not who we thought he was.”

  I almost laughed. “Oh really? What is he, then? Short like me?”

  Sam’s eyes shot up to meet mine. “No,” he bit back. “He’s perfect height. And if you’re not going to take this seriously, then forget I said anything.”

  I made a half-hearted attempt to suppress my smile. “Go on, then. Spill. What dark secret is Todd hiding?”

  Sam crossed his arms. “You won’t think it’s so funny when you find out.” He paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.” Another pause. “But I have to tell you.” Pause. “Or do I?”

  “Just tell me.”

  He began walking, heading in the opposite direction from the school. I trailed behind him, waiting patiently for him to elaborate.

  For a minute or two, Sam said nothing. And then, in a thoughtful voice, he asked, “Am I a bad person?”

  “Of course not!” I cried. “You’re my best friend.” I’d never considered it before, but I supposed it was true.

  Anyway, Sam seemed to appreciate the sentiment. He grinned at me.

  “Aw, thanks, Soph,” he said. “You’re my best friend, too. Well, after Todd.”

  I gave him an ironic smile. “Gee, thanks.”

  He returned the smile. “Well, maybe if you started putting in the time on X-Box…”

  “Second place is fine,” is decided. “So, why do you ask?” I said, steering us back to the original conversation.

  We stepped over a fallen tree branch and onto a carpet of crisp amber leaves.

  When Sam spoke again, he sounded older somehow. “I don’t know. I just…” He exhaled wearily. “It’s just that I always thought me and Todd told each other everything. And I mean everything. There’s no one else in the world who would trust me enough to tell me everything.”

  “I tell you everything,” I argued.

  He gave me an incredulous look. “Who’s Jaxon?”

  I blushed. “Point taken.”

  “Anyway,” Sam continued, kicking aside a mound of leaves as we walked, “that’s how it had always been. And now, it’s like everything’s changed, and I don’t even know who my own brother is anymore.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Is this still about him going to the apothecary room without us?”

  “No.” Sam came to an abrupt halt and whirled around to face me. “It’s so much bigger than that.”