“The winning squad goes back to the dorms to shower and relax. Losing squad reports to Harris Hall for kitchen patrol after dinner. That means mopping floors, scrubbing appliances, cleaning toilets, washing plates and silverware, peeling potatoes, and whatever else the dining staff tells you to do.”
The Misfits walked off the track in silence, heads low.
“It could be worse,” Dara said.
“How so?” Jillian asked.
Dara gestured to the window, where the gates to Whitfield loomed. “We could be going home.”
CHAPTER NINE
TEDDY AND JILLIAN RETURNED TO their room, exhausted after cleaning every single one of the dining hall’s long tables. Teddy threw herself down onto her cot with a sigh.
“Aren’t you going to the party?” Jillian asked, spraying a cloud of patchouli.
“I’m wiped.” Teddy couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to sleep this early. Probably the same time she’d last been forced to do chores. “Also, FYI, you smell like my grandmother’s attic. Actually, no, you smell like the chest in my grandmother’s attic that belonged to her grandmother.”
“The third-years are hosting,” Jillian said. Her bracelets jingled as she turned to face Teddy. “And patchouli’s an aphrodisiac.”
Teddy groaned. “I don’t want to know that.”
“I bet I can convince you to come with me,” Jillian said.
“I bet you can’t.”
“There’s a rumor that there’s going to be contraband at this party.”
Teddy made a face. “You think you can tempt me with drugs?”
“Not drugs,” Jillian said. She picked up Teddy’s leather jacket and threw it at her. “Cheeseburgers.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, dressed in a black V-neck, her favorite pair of jeans, her leather jacket, and her best (and only) combat boots, Teddy followed Jillian to the southwest corner of campus and over the serpentine brick wall that encircled Whitfield’s perimeter.
The rest of the Misfits had arrived already. The Alphas were there, too. Teddy deduced that the others must be upperclassmen. After two days at Whitfield, Teddy still expected to encounter weird psychic behavior among the otherwise normal twentysomething students. Maybe levitating a keg. But all she saw was a makeshift bar set up in one corner of the clearing and a lanky guy pouring drinks into red plastic cups.
Jillian mumbled something about an aura calling to her and walked toward the campfire. Teddy scanned the crowd for Pyro. There he was, leaning against a tree. And could that boy lean. He was talking to Liz, a petite blond Alpha from their year. Jillian had told Teddy that Liz was a clairvoyant gymnast from Kentucky. If she’d been as good at seeing the past as she was at seeing the future, Liz would have known that Teddy had seen Pyro first.
Liz flicked her blond hair over her shoulder. Teddy wasn’t going to pretend to be some team-spirit type just to impress a guy. If Pyro lost interest in her because of what had happened in Boyd’s class, that was his problem. She wasn’t going to waste another second thinking about him. So she did what she always did at parties: made her way to the bar.
“Welcome to our top-secret institution’s top-secret hootenanny,” the bartender said in a Texan drawl. He introduced himself as Brett Evans, a third-year.
“Teddy, first year. Or possibly no year by this time tomorrow.”
“Then you have no excuse not to celebrate tonight.” He winked, handing her a drink.
“Who said I was looking for an excuse?” She cast one more look at Pyro and Liz and downed the drink. Vodka and something sweet. She handed the cup back for a refill. “Doesn’t this party kind of violate every one of Whitfield’s Code of Ethics?”
Brett laughed. “We haven’t been shut down since I’ve been here. And the tradition was already in full swing when I arrived, so . . .”
“But the staff is full of military personnel and psychics; they must know what you’re up to.”
Brett considered her for a moment. “This place has more twists than a pretzel factory. But I don’t poke a possum, even if I’m pretty sure it’s dead.”
“In English, please?”
Brett refilled her cup. “That’s Texan for drink now and ask questions later.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Teddy saw Pyro making his way toward the bar. So she grabbed Brett and dragged him to the makeshift dance floor.
There were bursts of drunken laughter from a group of the first-year Alpha guys. Teddy had learned their names at dinner. The all-American eighties teen dream was Ben Tucker, the de facto leader of the group. Supposedly, he was telepathic. His chief suck-up was Zac Rogers, a college soccer player who received psychic messages through dreams and planned to fast-track to a position with Homeland Security after Whitfield. The third was Henry Cummings, another clairvoyant.
Kate Atkins, the tall brunette, stood off to one side of the dance floor. She was an icy midwesterner from a military family who didn’t seem to have an at-ease switch. A claircognizant, Kate had flashes of insight that allowed her to know things without regard to source, logic, or facts. Ava Lareau swayed in the middle of the crowd. She was a medium from Mississippi, and Dara swore she dabbled in voodoo, which was strictly forbidden at the school.
Teddy looked up at Brett as they danced, wanting to ask him more about Whitfield’s traditions, but his eyes were elsewhere. Teddy realized that he was staring at Jillian, who was dancing to the beat of her own drum. “Ask her to dance,” Teddy said, nodding toward her friend. “She doesn’t always smell like mothballs.”
Brett smiled. “All right.”
Teddy returned to the bar, where she bumped into Molly, the one person she didn’t want to see: she still felt terrible about what had happened on the track.
“Shot?” Teddy asked, lifting the vodka bottle.
“I’d rather not compromise my position,” Molly said. She took a swig from a water bottle.
Teddy rubbed the back of her neck. “I guess it’s obvious I’ve never been good at team sports.”
“Well, I have this
