Rites of Passage (3 page)

“Welcome to the Corps of Cadets, recruits!”

A cheer rises up around me. That, and the clink of metal on metal, fills the air, almost deafening. While we celebrate, though, the upperclassmen are stone-faced and staring. Not one of them smiles.

Model Recruit leans over, her eyes scanning the upperclassmen. “This is so exciting!” she squeals.

We weren't given permission to talk, so I smile back but don't respond. No need to break the “no talking” rule twice on the first day.

“Now, recruits,” Jonathan says, trying to get our attention again. Slowly the celebrations die down and we all still, waiting for him to continue. “My first order of business is to allow you the opportunity to meet your cadre. These carefully selected sophomores and juniors will be responsible for your military training during the school year. They have survived the rigors of the Fourth Class system and they have been entrusted with your upbringing. There may be times you don't like them, but they've earned the right to your respect, and you will give it to them.” Jonathan pauses dramatically again and I almost roll my eyes. Where does he come up with this stuff? “When you are dismissed, walk with your fellow recruits back to barracks and form up. Your cadre are waiting. Recruits, dismissed!”

Some of the guys almost fall over each other in their eagerness to get out the door. The boy with freckles from dinner waits for us, though, and without talking, takes the lead as we leave the armory, the last five to go.

Freckles, the other girls, and I follow the long line of recruits up the hill to the parade ground, a big, open, grassy field where we'll spend much of our training time throughout the year. The ceremony has taken over an hour and the sun is gone by the time we get outside. It's not dark, though. Stadium lighting shines around the edges of the parade ground, putting only the corners in darkness. The upperclassmen who were on the track before now hang from windows, calling out and yelling to each other across the green lawn. There's only a handful here—the rest will come back next weekend, just in time for classes to start.

In front of Stonewall Hall, we shuffle into a sad semblance of rows and columns with the rest of the members of Alpha Company, but I don't worry about it. The cadre will sort us out soon enough. For now, we're all equally ignorant of what is expected. We're all first-time recruits, in this together. For better or worse, or something like that.

The silence on the hill gives me the jitters.

Jonathan and the commandant of the DMA stand in the middle of the parade ground, talking to another man in uniform. Two cadets stand near a cannon, looking for all the world like they're about to light a fuse and start a battle.

Where the hell is the cadre?

I swallow hard, wondering where they'll come from, how they'll introduce themselves. I know it's not boot camp or anything, but I'm sure, just like everything else here, this will be done in some dramatic fashion.

The urge to move, to be familiar with my surroundings and know where danger could come from, is overwhelming. But before I break my bearing and look around for some hint of what's going to happen, the lights go out, and we're plunged into darkness.

THREE

THE GUY ON MY LEFT STARTS GIGGLING LIKE A LITTLE GIRL.

“Shut the hell up,” I hiss, squinting into the darkness, trying to see something. Anything.

“This is so gay,” he says.

But he doesn't know. Doesn't feel it. Every inch of the darkness pulses with energy. Something's coming. I don't know from where. I don't know how long we'll have to wait. But something is coming and it's not going to be good.

I hear one tap first, then another. Suddenly the night is filled with the clinking of ring taps again. My heart thunders in my chest. Giggler continues giggling. Freckles, standing close on my right, shifts nervously. I stay still, balanced on the balls of my feet.

Waiting.

The tapping stops.

Silence.

Something that sounds like a church bell rings out in the darkness, echoes in the black, and gongs three more times, but the sound bounces off the barracks. There's no way to tell where it's coming from.

Then all hell breaks loose.

Lights come on and we are surrounded by people dressed in black with black face paint.

They start screaming, indecipherable sounds at first, but through the heavy guitar now playing along with the bells I start to make sense of things.

“Stand at attention!”

“Arms by your side! Hands in fists!”

“Backs straight!”

“My name is Corporal Matthews, your squad leader. You will address me as such at all times!”

“I'm Corporal Julius. So help me if any of you in my squad decides to screw up from this moment forward!”

I gather my wits and slide into the perfect attention stance Dad taught me as soon as I learned how to walk.

“What are you looking at? I know you don't have the balls to look at me, right? Right?” The cadet who is yelling stands in front of Giggler. I think it's Matthews, though it's hard to tell without looking, which I'm not allowed to do while standing like this.

Then, like a flash, the cadet is in front of me.

He's as tall as me, and fit, like the rest of the cadre, huge and imposing, like a pit bull on steroids. A sneer lights up his face and he's got dark eyes, but I can't study him any more than that. I stand at attention and stare straight ahead, reminding myself that he's my age—he's just a kid, too—and he's got nothing to yell at me for.

He steps closer, his breath hot on my face. “You shouldn't be here, McKenna. Pack up and go home now.” His voice is quiet, but I don't miss the hatred in it.

How does he know who I am? There are three other females who could be the female McKenna. Without a name tag on, I should be anonymous. I grit my teeth but don't respond, wondering if the guys around me could hear what he said. I'm not eager for them to discover who I am. Something tells me it'll only get harder for me once they know.

Matthews takes another step toward me, his body pressed against mine—way too close for comfort. Where the hell are the adults who are supposed to be running this show? They need to call off their watchdog.

“We don't want you here. You're just going to slow us down, make us weak. Get out before we force you out.” He steps back, looks me up and down, and then lunges forward. Something warm and wet hits my face. “Trust me. It'll be easier if you just give up.”

Even though Matthews's spit oozes down my cheek, I don't move a muscle.

He's pissed but continues down the line, yelling at Freckles next.

The cadre come, one after another. They're the cadets who will train me, the people who will make me part of a unit with my other platoon members—sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds. And each and every one of them tells me to leave.

I stand still and take it. I don't flinch. I don't cry. They don't know it yet, but I can't quit. I've been a member of Platoon McKenna my entire life. The lieutenant colonel doesn't like quitters. And then there's Amos's dare. I couldn't quit even if I wanted to.

A guy in front of me throws up. Giggler dissolves into tears. I'm sure one of them will be gone by morning, maybe both. I take it all in, but I don't make a move.

When the next member of the cadre appears, though, everything changes. The guy who stands in front of me—I remind myself he's only seventeen, a year older than me; he's no one to be feared—wears a black drill sergeant cover pulled down low, his eyes shadowed beneath the bill, the black shirt of the cadre pulled tight across his chest. He's a good four inches taller than me and lean, not the G.I. Joe–shaped drill sergeant I expected.

“I'm Drill Sergeant Stamm.” His voice is low, threaded with authority. I have no trouble hearing it, even with everything going on around me. He's got a leader's voice, just like my dad. Even the cadre stand at attention when he talks. “We're in a unique situation this year. We're the only company with females. Some of you may not like it. Some of you may hate it.” He pauses. This guy doesn't even look like he knows how to smile and I wait for him to tell us to leave, too. “I don't give a shit. I'm here to lead you as a company, not as individuals. You are all equal in my eyes. Worms. The lowest of the low. My job is to make you into warriors.” His eyes scan us as he gives his speech and I can't look away. His military presence alone makes him someone to be obeyed.

I stand a little taller when his gaze falls on me. I'd follow this guy into battle right now.

“Matthews, lead them out!”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” Matthews stands in front of my platoon and yells. “Right face!”

I make the turn without even thinking, standing at attention the second I've finished the movement. As far as I can tell, though, no one else budged. They don't even know what a right face is.

“What lazy sacks of shit you guys are. Take an eye up here.”

I turn back to the front. Matthews demonstrates the right face maneuver twice. He calls out the order again and we all do it, some slower than others. At least we're all facing the right way now.

“When you march, you always start with your left foot. You remain directly behind the person in front, and in line with the people to either side. You move as a whole. From this moment on, you are
one
. When one of you screws up, you will all pay. Is that understood?”

“Corporal Matthews, yes, Corporal Matthews!” I scream out, but none of my other company members yell along with me.

“Oh, we've got a know-it-all, do we?” Matthews is in my face in a flash. “McKenna!” he shouts, and it's hard not to flinch. If my fellow recruits didn't know who I was before, they do now. “Of course you know what to do. Brother-dearest probably told you all the tricks. Or was it Daddy? Trying to give you a leg up? Make things at the DMA a little easier on you?” He laughs. “Get a load of this, guys! Recruit McKenna thinks she knows what to do. Sandwiching names.” The sneer on his face tells me I'm making a mistake—I know too much.

“You're supposed to work as a unit at the DMA. You're a family now.” The other corporal stands next to Matthews, both so close I'm itching to take a step back.

“So what do you think we should do about it, McKenna? How can we make sure your company thinks you're with them, not that you're better than them?” Matthews yells over the sound of the music still blaring around the parade ground.

I want to close my eyes, to slink away and be invisible, but I can't show weakness. McKennas don't believe in weakness.

“Corporal Matthews,” I manage to say without my voice shaking too much, “push-ups as a family would be very motivational, Corporal Matthews.” I can feel the eyes of the other members of my company drilling into me, wondering what the hell is going on.

“Alpha Company! Drop and give me twenty!”

The adrenaline helps. I drop to the ground, muscles shaking and ready.

The corporal starts counting. “One, two, three!”

Down, up, down. “One!” I shout as I push back up. Of course we use military counting, where even though we count to twenty, we're actually doing forty.

“One, two, three!”

Down, up, down. “Two!”

One of my squad members drops to the ground after just two reps. The cadre are on him like vultures to roadkill. What kind of kid comes here and can't even do push-ups? I want to scream at him. But he wasn't expecting this. None of them were.

None of them signed up to be in a company with the most infamous person on campus. Everything that happens to them from here on out is my fault.

FOUR

IT'S BEEN FOUR DAYS, AND EVERY MORNING THEY WAKE US
up the same way. The music they pump into the hallway at 0515 starts with a soft chord or two. But no matter how nice it seems, in about three seconds it turns into some heavy-hitting hard rock/death metal mix that I'd never listen to of my own free will. My muscles tense and I wait.

“Wakey, wakey, recruits!”

Then they kick the doors—as if the music isn't enough to get us up and out of bed.

I'm already awake—the anticipation of the morning routine more than enough to keep me on edge. I swirl the polish cloth one more time on my combat boot and set it to the side. “Come on, Quinn. Time to get up.” I'm paired with the crier from the first day. The tears stopped, but she's definitely not adjusting well.

“It can't be.” She groans and rolls over in her bed, pulling the blanket up over her head when I turn on the light. Our door cracks as one of the corporals kicks at it again.

“On the wall now, Worms!” The words echo down the hallway.

“Matthews says otherwise. Hurry up.” I tuck my Knowledge Book in my sock, which we have to wear pulled up to mid-calf, check the laces on my tennis shoes, and hoist my DMA-issued backpack up on my shoulders before hurrying out the door. I stand next to Freckles, whose real last name is Kelly, against the wall, and give a quick tug on the Camelbak hose coming from my backpack to make sure I'll be able to get a drink when we head out on our five-mile run.

“Where's your roommate?” he whispers when Matthews's back is turned. He's been kind of a protector of ours for the last three days, making sure we're all where we need to be and that we're not the last ones to finish any of the drills. It might be cute. If we needed it.

“She's coming. Just tying her shoes.” I hope it's true. I definitely hope she gets out here before Matthews notices.

“Obstacle course today. Can't wait!” His eyes are gleaming and I smile back. He may be a bit protective of us, but from what I can tell, his heart is in the right place, and we'll take allies wherever we can get them.

“Anyone not out in thirty seconds will be the sole cause of Alpha Company doing an extra three miles before training this morning.” Matthews looks at his watch, and then scans the wall. When his eyes fall on the empty space next to me where Quinn should be, I cringe. He takes two steps toward me, ready to pounce.