Like Jazz (2 page)

The assignment sounded like all the other assignments I’d been given since starting here. Why was the commander involved?

“Yes?” His voice boomed with obvious impatience at my silence.

“Sorry, sir. I was wondering what’s special about the assignment and why I’ll be reporting to you.”

“Because you’re reporting to me, the assignment is special,” he said irritably. Personable guy.

“Yes, sir. Right, sir.” It had been a year, but I still wasn’t very adept at the ins and outs of the politics involved up and down the chain of command and all the yes-sirring it required. He continued to survey me as I waited for him to elucidate. He did.

“A personal friend of mine brought this case to my attention, and there may be PR implications to the foundation if this investigation bears fruit. You will exercise the utmost discretion.” Again, this was nothing unusual. The job required confidentiality.

Evidently noticing I was still dissatisfied with his explanation, Ashby finally threw me a bone. He seemed to choose his words carefully. “In addition, due to certain…circumstances, my friend is no longer…involved in the matter, and I owe it to him personally to leave no stone unturned. I need my best investigator on this assignment. Is there anything else, Detective?” It was obvious Ashby wasn’t used to giving compliments any more than he was accustomed to providing explanations. He wanted to wrap things up.

“No, Commander.” I was extraordinarily pleased to have gained his trust and felt honored he thought so highly of my skills.

“Good day, Detective.” Ashby picked up a pen and bent his head down to study some papers on his desk. I rose from my chair and departed without bothering to hide my satisfied grin.

I let the words “best investigator” swirl through me, the shot of confidence warming me like a fine scotch. If anyone was stealing from the foundation, I’d expose them and put them behind bars. I’d make Ashby proud. The promotion I’d been working toward would be mine.

I would move on from the bittersweet memories of an L.A. long past.

Without a doubt, no one could prevent me from giving this assignment my undivided attention.

Ten Years Earlier

Finally: sixth period. It was the last class of my first day at my latest school—the second week for the rest of the students—and I couldn’t wait for it to be over. Due to my father’s frequent military-related relocations, Claiborne High was my fifth high school already, and I was just starting my senior year.

My father was a colonel in the US Army, the rank below brigadier general. Combining a keen intellect with a strong sense of responsibility to the youth our country sent into conflict, he worked within the US Army Training and Doctrine Command to revolutionize joint-services training. As TRADOC’s deputy chief of the Interservice Training Office, my father believed that not only did combining military training and education make sound fiscal sense, interservice training saved lives by making sure troops, regardless of their service branch, all spoke the same language and had the same skills so they could work together.

As part of such a transformative team, my father sought to be as agile, creative, and adaptive as the soldiers, airmen, and others he helped train. Meaning that unlike most trainers, my father didn’t get assigned to new bases—he volunteered to go wherever and whenever he was needed. His insistence on being as flexible as what he required from his servicemen meant many moves for my mother and me since my parents hated to be separated. The combination of my father reaching the pinnacle of his career, the ever-evolving nature of the threats to our nation, and the proliferation of peacekeeping missions meant that the frequency of our moves increased.

I was able to stay at the same Arizona high school my entire freshman year, including the following summer. As a sophomore in Georgia, I made it through three quarters before we moved. I completed my last quarter of that year and the first quarter of my junior year in Alabama, and spent the remainder of my junior year and following summer in New York. This latest transfer brought us to L.A., where my father continued his work on a joint training collaboration between the army and air force. My new high school was on a semester schedule.

Mr. Wilcox waited until the bell sounded to address the class, providing a brief history of the life of Charles Dickens. As a chorus of groans met his inquiry regarding how many of us had finished the assigned reading, the classroom door opened. A tall, tanned, long-legged girl with high cheekbones, perfectly straight white teeth, pin-cushion lips, and long, wavy auburn hair entered, stopping inside the doorway and smiling brilliantly toward Wilcox. The moment I saw this girl, my stomach did a little cartwheel, leading me to wonder whether I was getting sick.

Interrupted mid-sentence, Wilcox turned to the late arrival. “How nice of you to finally join us, Miss Perkins. I hope the upcoming student assembly will delight us all enough to justify your tardiness resulting from the planning meetings. Perhaps you can further delight your classmates by telling them the main theme of this weekend’s reading?”

It kind of weirded me out how Wilcox called his students by their last names. Did the pseudo formalities make him feel superior, or was it his way of getting us used to the idea that we were fast becoming adults?

As if prepared for that exact question, Miss Perkins’s smile brightened. She surveyed the classroom before delivering her response. Her smile evaporated as her eyes, having pleasurably roamed the rows of seated students, finally settled on me. Her expression changed from confident showmanship to open curiosity.

“I’d be happy to, Mr. Wilcox, but I wouldn’t want our new classmate to feel left out, as she may have missed the assignment. Did I miss introductions?”

Mr. Wilcox followed her gaze to me. “Not at all, Miss Perkins, not at all. I was getting to that. Class, please give a warm welcome to Miss Cassidy Warner, our latest transplant from the East Coast. Miss Warner, welcome to Claiborne High.”

My fellow students turned toward the back corner where I sat, and after what seemed to be a prolonged stretch of silence interrupted only by the sound of creaking furniture, Miss Perkins clapped her hands together and raised her voice. “Welcome, Cassidy!” Within moments, the rest of the class was clapping and wooting, giving me their best welcome. I smiled weakly, mortified.

The quieter and larger the classroom, the happier and more inconspicuous I am. This loud, pep-assembly type greeting was the worst welcome imaginable, the best being my unnoticed presence until, say, week six, when some significant assignment or project would undoubtedly be due, requiring my participation. Like a week-old helium balloon, I sagged into the hard wooden chair beneath the small desk, raised my eyes to the clock above the door, and prayed for the final bell of the day to toll prematurely. My eyes drifted lower and landed squarely on Miss Perkins. She was the Bermuda Triangle, drawing me to her with mysterious force.

Mr. Wilcox attempted to extend my misery by shifting his attention from Miss Perkins to me. “Thank you for your help in welcoming Miss Warner. Miss Warner, I believe we were able to provide you with an advance copy of the syllabus, were we not?”

I nodded, swallowing with difficulty and wresting my eyes away from the girl.

“Excellent. Were you able to complete any of the reading required for today?”

I nodded again and looked back to Miss Perkins. My mouth turned into the Sahara, devoid of all moisture. Maybe I should visit the school nurse.

“Splendid. Splendid. Would you care to give us your view of the main theme of
Great Expectations
, then?”

“Excuse me?” I asked. “Me?”

“Yes, you, Miss Warner. Thoughts?”

“Uh…I…sure, I guess.” I sat up, feeling the color drain from my cheeks as my new classmates stared at me in expectation, some with goofy grins plastered to their faces. My eyes stopped once again at Miss Perkins, still standing inside the doorway, her head cocked slightly to her left, her arms crossed in front of her waist, her lips curled up slightly at the corners of her mouth, awaiting my response. The Sahara hit high noon.

Did my parched state have something to do with this Miss Perkins? She was clearly popular, given the class’s response to her welcoming of me. Moreover, she was impossibly stunning. I’d never laid eyes on such a pretty girl. The simplicity of her outfit (fashionably worn but not tattered jeans; sleeveless, button-down blue blouse to highlight her light-blue eyes; sunglasses resting atop her head that held her hair back; off-white sandals that exposed her painted toenails) accented the classic beauty of her face. The intensely focused but slightly cocky look she bestowed upon me was not something I’d seen among my many high-school mates. But more than that, she seemed to outclass us all with her confident carriage. She was in a league of her own. And she knew it.

I stammered ahead and offered an opinion concerning the importance of conscience and character woven throughout
Great Expectations
, finally finding my verbal footing once I focused my attention away from the Perkins girl.

Mr. Wilcox responded with a nod. “Thank you, Miss Warner, for paying attention to the reading assignment. I can see you’ll be a solid addition to our classroom. Mr. Zimmer, let’s continue with you. Do you agree with Miss Warner, or do you feel there are other themes as important to Dickens as the ones she identified?”

When the bell finally rang to notify us we could leave for the day, I stayed seated and closed my eyes. I slowly breathed in and out for a few minutes as I listened to my classmates file out the door toward their post-school lives, their excited chatter and laughter slowly fading down the hallway. Usually at ease in the classroom, I continued to consider my health. Was something going on with me physically? Lost in the rhythm of my breathing, I heard a voice above me.

“Hi. I’m Sarah. Cassidy, right?”

My eyes flew open. This Sarah, better known to me as Miss Perkins, stood in front of me, slightly angling her neck to gaze down from two feet above me. I immediately stood, bizarrely thinking I had to take action to avoid any lingering remembrances of her commanding presence above me.

“Yeah, but I prefer Cazz. Like jazz, with a
C
.”

Sarah extended her hand. “Well, hello, Cazz with a
C
, welcome to Claiborne. Would you like the grand tour?”

I couldn’t connect the dots, so mesmerized by her proximity and the feel of her smooth, warm hand in mine. “Tour?” I gulped, withdrawing my hand.

“Tour. You know, the lay of the land here. Or did someone already point out all our attractions to you?”

Since my previous brief walk-through of the halls and main facilities by the assistant principal had neglected to introduce me to Miss Sarah Perkins, at least one attraction had been left out of my initial tour.

That did it. Something was definitely off—I was suddenly thinking like a boy.

“Ah, tour. I’ve seen some of it, thank you.”

“Glad to hear we’re not neglecting you then. We tend to be a bit harsh on our new arrivals. Hopefully we’ve learned from past mistakes. If you’re feeling lost or want someone to talk to, come find me.” Sarah took my hand with both of hers. “Anytime.” She gave me a huge grin, squeezed my hand slightly, pivoted on those cute sandals, and gracefully exited the classroom.

My eyes never strayed from her departing figure as I dropped back into my seat. Once this strange fact dawned on me, I promised myself to check the nurse’s office hours if this unusual daze, this sudden distractedness, didn’t improve tomorrow. I was probably coming down with something.

Heading out of the classroom at last, I hung a left down the bank of blue lockers, then right at the stone drinking fountain as I made my way to the library, past the entrance to the senior parking lot. I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye and noticed a couple embracing. I saw the back of a tall, broad-shouldered, crew-cut-haired guy whose head was tilted down and moving languidly back and forth. A pair of hands fidgeted at the back of his neck, teasing the hair above his collar. A girl’s body faced toward his, feet clad in the cute off-white sandals I’d just taken stock of. I kept walking as Sarah pulled slightly away from the guy and reached up on her tiptoes to give him a final kiss. I had almost passed out of eyesight when I heard my name.

“Cazz! Cazz, over here.”

I turned toward the voice and saw Sarah waving me over. I took a deep breath and walked up to the pretty couple. The tall blond boy with the crew cut grown out slightly longer than that of my dad’s army colleagues’ had dark-blue eyes, prominent cheekbones, and a strong jaw. He was a good six inches taller than Sarah, who was about my height, which made him at least six-four. Although broad shouldered, he wasn’t thick like a linebacker, but he clearly spent many hours in a gym, sporting well-defined biceps and triceps. The combination made for a very handsome boy.

“Cazz, this is Dirk Clemens. Dirk, Cazz Warner. She just transferred here.”

Dirk made a display of gradually checking me out from head to toe and back again. “Nice.” He drew out the word, and Sarah elbowed him in his abdomen. Dirk chuckled and held out his hand with a welcoming smile chock-full of straight white teeth. “I mean, nice to meet you, Cazz. Where you from?”

I took his hand, returning his firm grip. “All over.”

Dirk slightly furrowed his brow without changing his smile, seeming confused by my answer.

I withdrew my hand and clarified slightly. “We move around a lot. Nice to meet you, Dirk.” I glanced at Sarah. “Thanks for the intro.” I started off toward the library.

“How was the first day?” I heard her ask, and I turned around again.

“Odd.”

“Odd?”

“Odd. High school is cliquey and usually no one talks to the new girl. You guys…” I shook my head and shrugged. “It’s weird.”

Dirk laughed. “That’s because this one here’s running for student-body president and goes out of her way to know everyone by name so they’ll know who to vote for.” He playfully poked Sarah’s shoulder.