Crossroads (Crossroads Academy #1) (9 page)

I drive with the windows down and allow the
cool morning air to invigorate my spirits, the wind whipping across
my face and tousling my hair. I’m glad Aldo chose a school in the
United States. Romania is wonderful, but I feel much more
comfortable here. Even though I’ve never been to Vermont before it
feels more familiar, more real, to me. Well, real and quaint. There
certainly weren’t any covered bridges where I come from.

“Welcome to Rutland,” I read aloud, breezing
past the visitors sign on the outskirts of town. It’s a good
reminder to cut my speed and avoid drawing too much attention to
myself. I’m pretty sure the car will draw enough curious stares on
its own.

There probably aren’t a lot of teenage girls
driving forty thousand dollar sports cars in a small town like
this. Hell, there probably aren’t a lot of sports cars period. Not
that practical living in the mountains. Most of the vehicles I pass
are SUV’s or trucks made for towing boats and hauling outdoor
equipment. Another upside to Vermont: there’s an endless list of
outdoor activities to choose from, with the mountains and lakes
surrounding the school.

The tourist season is over and the streets
are quiet this morning. I find a parking spot close to the center
of town and decide to hoof it for the rest of the day. I don’t
really have any plans. I just want to stretch my legs and forget
about school for a while.

It quickly becomes obvious that I haven’t
thought this through very well. It’s only 9 a.m., and most of the
stores located downtown aren’t open yet. I stop at the local coffee
shop and let the barista talk me into a mocha latte. I’m not really
in the mood for it, but figure it will help me blend in a little
better. What could be more natural than a girl and her coffee?
Turns out it’s surprisingly good.

I’m relaxed as I take in all that Rutland has
to offer. I feel like I’ve stepped back in time. It’s a nice town;
the kind where local kids can’t wait to get out and spend their
weekends skiing, sailing and drinking. The people are friendly, and
I’m greeted warmly, as I browse at the farmers’ market. No one
pressures me to buy anything, and I’m allowed to handle the
merchandise without hassle.

I end up buying a handmade bracelet and some
fresh flowers for my dorm. Oriental Lilies. Perhaps the last thing
I’d expect to find in New England, but they’re bright and fragrant,
and I’m thrilled to have the last bunch from the florists’ booth.
I’ve gotten flowers before, but never lilies, so I’m even more
excited when the florist offers me a discount.

I exit the farmers’ market and stumble across
an old theater, The Palace, on Center Street. The theater has been
restored to its original glory which is pretty cool. It might be
fun to come back some night and catch a show.

I hit a few more shops downtown and decide
Amy’s Book Stop is my favorite. They have a great selection, and,
like the folks at the farmers’ market, the owner is a nice guy who
actually knows something about the merchandise he’s selling. He
doesn’t try to push me into the best sellers and instead engages me
in a conversation about my favorite author and my school. It seems
the locals don’t know much about Crossroads, but speculation about
the privileged student body abounds. I politely humor him and
excuse myself thinking it might be best to head back to campus.

On my way to the car I make one last stop.
Again, unplanned. This time less pleasant. But I can’t help myself.
The angel draws me in. Wings spread, palms exposed, eyes cast
skyward. The pillar at the base of the statue explains its purpose.
The Angel of Hope. It’s a memorial for parents who’ve lost a
child.

The monument hits me like a fist in the
chest. I lower myself onto one of the stone benches and try to hold
myself together mentally. The feeling of loss, of grief, of pain is
nearly overwhelming. It descends upon me without warning, bringing
with it unwanted ghosts of the past. I’m reminded yet again how
cruel and unfair the world really is.

I wrench myself from the bench. I must get
back to the Audi. I walk down Main Street putting one foot in front
of the other, not really seeing anything but that angel.

**********

The jarring ring of the phone disturbs my
sleep. I want nothing more at this moment than to be left alone.
I’m wallowing. It’s not an indulgence I often allow myself.
Self-pity is a waste of time, but at the moment I don’t care. I
have an abundance of time, might as well waste a little. The phone
rings again, demanding my attention. I briefly contemplate
burrowing deeper into the covers, when I realize there aren’t many
people who have my number. It must be Aldo. Who else would be
calling me?

I roll over and grab the phone, answering in
one swift motion. “Aldo?”

“Katia! How we miss you at the manor!” he
bellows. “How are you enjoying Crossroads?”

“It’s... school,” I reply. I can’t lie to
Aldo. He knows me too well. Why bother trying?

“Oh, dear child. What is wrong?” It’s not a
question. Not really. It’s a command. Typical Aldo. He’ll want to
make it right; to protect me. But I am no innocent lamb. I’m every
bit the wolf, and we both know it.

“I have everything a girl could possibly
want, but not the one thing that I need,” I tell him morosely.

“We talked about this, Katia,” Aldo reminds
me gently. He never loses faith in me. It’s the thing I love most
about him.

“I know. I’m trying. I really am.” I don’t
know if that’s true or not. If I’m honest with myself I can’t be
sure I’m giving it my best effort. I’m reminded of my last real
conversation with Aldo before I left Romania. I quickly replay the
conversation in my head looking for reassurance.

“
The past does not give us definition, My
Dear, only character. It is your future, and what you do in the
days to come will define your existence.”

I stare at him incredulously. “Surely you
can’t be serious? After all that I’ve done? My past-”

“
Is like smoke.” He cuts me off and pauses
for emphasis. I can tell he wants to make sure he’s got my
undivided attention. “Grey, elusive-”

“
Suffocating?” I offer, refusing to be
silenced so easily by his obtuse metaphors and old world manner of
speaking.

“
I’m quite serious, you know,” he replies
reproachfully, his gaze softening even as the words pass his
lips.

I feel a slight twinge of guilt at my
insolence, and, as I meet his eyes, I can see them pleading with me
for understanding. I owe him so much, and yet I can’t bring myself
to terms with this latest request. He’s never asked much of me and
has given far more than I could ever hope to repay, even if I lived
five lifetimes. Unsure of what to say next, I sit quietly waiting
for him to continue.

“
You must let go of the past now. It is
your future—who you are today, tomorrow, and the choices that you
make going forward— that will define you.”

“
If only it were that simple,” I trail off
wistfully, my mind wandering to other times, other places I dare
not think of often. Deep down I know that I will obey his wishes
out of respect, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it or that my
heart will be in it.

“Enough of this!” Aldo admonishes, bringing
me back to the present. “You made a promise to me. You will honor
your word.”

Again, not a question, but an order. And why
shouldn’t Aldo determine my fate? If not for his grace, I wouldn’t
exist. His harsh words are the kick in the butt I need. I’ve lost
my focus. I have to push aside the distractions and be strong. If
not for myself, for Aldo. For the others.

“I never said this would be easy,” he reminds
me quietly. “Crossroads will make you stronger. In time you will
begin to see yourself as I do. You are a survivor Katia. You will
go on to do great things. I know this.”

“If you believe, then it must be so,” I
return smiling. He knows I don’t believe it, but why not humor him?
My next words are far more solemn. “I will buckle down. I know what
I need to do.”

“Good. Now tell me about your classes.”

The
weeks begin to pass more quickly, as I fall into a routine. Class,
train, study, sleep. Repeat. I’m in a funk and can’t seem to shake
it. While I’m excelling in my classes, the sessions with Anya are
becoming increasingly frustrating for both of us. It’s clear she’s
not happy with my progress. Our conversations are superficial at
best, and I still can’t seem to let my guard down with her or
anyone else here. I haven’t spoken with Aldo in a couple of weeks.
I know he’s busy with his obligations to the Council and don’t want
to bother him. It makes for a lonely existence.

The only bright spot in my schedule is my MMA
class. I do my best to ignore Nikolai, and it seems to be working
so far. We’ve been learning Taekwondo moves, and Garcia has
promised that this week we’ll get back to sparring. It’s only the
promise of physical combat that has me smiling today. I welcome the
opportunity to expel some energy and am bored with practicing the
maneuvers. I want to hit something already.

“Cha-ryeot!” Garcia barks, calling for
attention. Over the last few weeks, I’ve come to realize that
Garcia will never do anything halfway. He insists that we learn not
only the moves but also the correct Korean commands and decorum for
the practice of Taekwondo. Fortunately, he continues in English.
“As promised, we’ll be sparring today. Pair off. Each of you needs
a partner for today’s exercise.”

I glance around and realize that my
classmates are partnering up with ease. I’m the only one who hasn’t
bothered to make friends within the class. I’ve been too focused on
the material. And, it probably doesn’t help that Marcus and I threw
down so violently on the first day.

“Since we have an odd number of students, you
and I will be working together today,” Nikolai informs me,
approaching confidently.

“Lucky me,” I return dryly.

“I think we both know that luck has nothing
to do with it. None of your classmates want to work with you,” he
says simply. “Not after that showing with Marcus.”

I glare at him in return.

“They’re not gutsy enough to challenge you,”
he whispers in my ear conspiratorially, his words blending in with
the other sounds of the training center. His breath is sweet and
hot against my cheek causing my stomach to churn nervously. My
pulse quickens, and I tell myself it’s just adrenaline preparing me
for the impending fight.

“So, I’m being punished for being
proficient?” I ask sweeping my hair into a messy ponytail as I eye
him skeptically.

“And here I thought you’d consider our
partnership an opportunity. You won’t get better by sparring with
opponents you can easily defeat,” he points out. Apparently he’s
unfazed by my total lack of interest in being his partner. “I’m the
best match for you. Unless you can’t handle it?”

I know he’s trying to get a rise out of me,
and I refuse to fall for the bait. He’s right. If I want to be the
best, I’ve got to defeat the best. I haven’t seen him fight yet,
but his position as Garcia’s assistant speaks volumes.

“Jun-bi?” I challenge him.

“I’m always ready,” he replies bowing.

I don’t dare take my eyes off of him, as I
move into a fighting stance. I force the sounds and movements of my
classmates from my mind. Right now it’s just Nikolai and I on the
mat. While I haven’t assessed his skill level, I know it surpasses
my own and that I must be alert. I don’t have to wait long for him
to break the tension. Nikolai goes on the attack immediately.

He’s on me in a flash, swinging his left arm
in a hammer fist blow intended for the right side of my head. I get
my arms up to block the attack but leave my midsection exposed.
Nikolai anticipates the lack of protection and counters with his
left hand delivering a palm heel to my solar plexus. I’m thrown to
the ground by the force of the blow and slide off the edge of the
mat pathetically. Any butterflies I’d felt moments before have
vanished. The nerves in my abdomen now burn painfully from the
force of the blow, but I can’t quit despite having made such a
stupid beginners mistake. As I scramble to my feet, I am even more
certain that the attack was premeditated and that he’ll favor his
right hand.

“Ready to surrender?” he asks cheerfully.

“Never.” I probably don’t stand a chance of
beating him, but I’ll go down swinging.

This time I attack first with a flurry of
closed fist punches that end with a spinning hook kick. He blocks
all of my advances easily and delivers a knife hand blow to my
lower back, again dropping me to the ground. I roll quickly from
his reach, anticipating a downward kick which meets only the mat in
the absence of my body.

He’s extremely fast and agile which causes me
to miss often. It’s also becoming obvious that even when I do
manage to land a blow, the damage I’m inflicting on his rock hard
body is minimal in comparison to what he’s dishing out. I remember
my training with Viktor and tell myself that this is no different.
Except maybe it is. I’m certain Viktor never wanted to hurt me. I’m
less sure about Nikolai’s intentions.

I jump to my feet again playing defense. I
just need to stay calm and let my training guide me as it did on
the first day of class.

“I thought you were going to teach me
something new?” I taunt him, circling slowly.

“There are many things I could teach you, if
only you weren’t so stubborn,” he returns calmly. So much for
goading him. He’s just as cool and collected as when we first
stepped onto the mat.

“And here I thought stubbornness was one of
my better qualities.”

I try another series of kicks alternated with
hand attacks hoping that the moves will give me an edge. No such
luck. I manage to land an elbow strike to his rib cage and several
blows to his arms and torso, but I can’t get a clean shot to his
head or any of the pressure points. The end result is that I find
myself returning to the mat over and over again, the recipient of
many well executed attacks by Nikolai.