Luck (5 page)

“Which way did he go?” he asks.

“I think he went that way,” I answer, pointing the way I saw him run.

I expect Tristan to go after him, but instead he starts pulling me in the opposite direction.

“Why aren’t you going after him?” I ask, as we walk quickly towards the stairs.

He doesn’t slow down as we run down.

“Because, Katerina, you’re my number one priority. I have to protect you at all cost,” he says.

“Why?” I ask, pulling Tristan to a stop. “Why am I so important? I’m nobody. I’m not even American. I’m the daughter of a Russian terrorist.”

“Because we can’t do this without you,” he answer. “Katerina,
you
are the key. You have to stop him.”

“Stop him?” I ask.

“Your dad. He’s not just after the president’s son,” Tristan says. “This is about so much more than that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is why your mom wanted you in America,” he says. “Nobody knows. But I can’t keep it from you anymore. Your dad’s group is wanting to attack on American soil in a big way. If he does, it will start a war between Russia and America. A very long, very bloody war. We can’t let that happen. As long as you’re here, he won’t attack. We have to find a ways to bring down your dad’s group without causing a war.”

I feel dizzy at his words, but he pulls me forward. We run down the last set of stairs and out the exit. In the parking garage, I see Tristan’s car. He opens the passenger door for me, I sit and he shuts the door. Before I can even blink, he’s in the driver’s seat and we are leaving the hospital.

As I reach over to put my seatbelt on, Tristan slams on the brakes and I hit my head against the side of the window.

“Augh!” I grab my head, a knot already started to form.

“Sorry,” he says, then takes off. I’m pushed back against the seat. I quickly put on my seatbelt, not wanting to get injured anymore.

Tristan weaves in and out of traffic, running red lights, and eventually we get on the interstate to head back to campus. He relaxes once we’re on the interstate, but he doesn’t slow down. At one point, we passed a cop. I thought for sure he would pull us over, but he didn’t. I guess you get to drive fast when you’re a spy.

“Can you slow down?” I ask, holding onto my seat.

“No,” he answers.

My mind starts racing, thinking about the night Eduard died.

I can still hear his screams, echoing in my head.

I pull my knees up to my chest and tell myself it’ll be okay. Tristan is a good driver. We’re not going to die. I’m safe. We’re safe.

“Are you okay?” Tristan asks.

I focus on my breathing. “Fine.”

He slows down. “I’m sorry, Katerina. I forgot about your brother…”

He reaches a hand over and takes one of mine. I realize how big of a deal it is for him to touch me. It also makes me feel about one hundred times better.

“Thank you,” I say.

“For what?” he asks.

“Knowing how to handle me. How to calm me down,” I answer. “For taking care of me.”

He looks uncomfortable. “Don’t worry about it, Katerina. It’s my job.”

I am his job.

I pull my hand away from his and hide my face in my knees.

Tristan is complicated and I’m not sure I will ever understand him. Yet, something about him makes me want to try.

Not fair.

“What happened?” Damon asks, rubbing his thumb gently over the bump on my head. His soft touch makes me shiver.

When I don’t answer, he looks at Tristan.

“She hit her head on the car window,” Tristan tells him.

“How did she do that?”

“We kind of took off in a hurry. I didn’t exactly give her time to buckle her seatbelt,” he explains. “I braked a little too hard and…”

“Why didn’t you let her put on her seatbelt?” Damon asks, raising his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Tristan says, sarcastically. “I was a little busy making sure a Russian terrorist wasn’t going to
kill
her to worry about a stupid seatbelt.”

Damon, who looks like he’s about to blow a gasket, turns to me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I tell him, hoping that they two of them stop fighting. Then I look at what Damon is wearing. “What the heck are you wearing?”

Damon, who looks slightly embarrassed, rubs the back of his neck. “I… ugh… it’s 80’s day. Remember?”

I laugh. Then wince at the pain in my nose.

Damon went all out for 80’s day. He’s wearing a pair of bright colored red jeans. They’re tight, but not skinny jean tight. Which is good, because I despise those jeans. He’s wearing a pair of green Converse, which are normal enough on their own. But he’s got on a purple shirt and a jean jacket. The jean jacket has the sleeves cut off.

And his hair.

He’s got it parted weird, and poofed up really tall.

“Did people really dress like this?” I ask Tristan.

“Why are you looking at me?” he asks. “I’m only four years older than you. I wasn’t alive in the 80’s.”

“Oh, right,” I say, realizing how stupid it was to ask him. Most of the time, I feel like Tristan is my own age. But for some reason, right now, he seems a lot older.

Out of curiosity, I reach up to touch Damon’s hair. He’s so much taller than me that he has to bend down. When he bends down, I’m surprised that his hair stays up. When I touch it, I feel it’s hard as a board.

Wow. That’s a lot of hairspray.

I raise an eyebrow, questioning him.

He shrugs. “One of my bodyguards did it. Apparently he was really into rock music.”

I giggle again, and wince at the pain in my nose. I’ve really got to stop laughing.

“So, you punched Katerina,” Damon says to Tristan, frowning at my discomfort.

“On accident,” I say, defending Tristan.

Damon doesn’t look convinced.

“You can punch me if it would make you feel better,” Tristan says.

“No way,” I say. “If anybody gets to punch you, it’s me.”

He smiles. “I’d love to see you try.”

“You think I can’t?” I ask.

Tristan, with his smug smile, shakes his head. “Maybe you
think
you could.”

I put my hands on my hips, getting a little angry with him. “
Excuse me, but if I’m not mistake I did put you on the ground today. I can do it again.
”

“My Russian isn’t that advanced. Either slow down when you speak or switch to English, please,” he says.

“I wasn’t aware that I switched languages,” I say, calming down a bit.

Damon laughs behind me. “You’re kind of hot when you get angry.” Then he looks at Tristan. “She knocked you down?”

Tristan grins, like he’s actually proud of me for doing it. “Yeah, she did. I still have no idea how she got one over on me.”

“I didn’t mean to do it,” I say.

“I think our training sessions are getting too rough,” he says. “I really didn’t mean to punch you.”

“Maybe you could not punch her next time,” Damon says. “That would be great.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Tristan says. “She’s getting really good. And I wasn’t paying attention like I should have been. I usually know if she’s going to block the punch or not. And this time, she didn’t.”

“We should probably get to class,” I tell Damon, who looks like he’s about ready to punch Tristan again.

“Schools out. It’s two,” he says, looking at the time on his phone. “Maybe we can hang out though.”

“What did you have in mind?” I ask.

Damon puts his arm around my shoulders and starts walking away from Tristan and his bodyguards. We both know they’ll follow, but for a moment it’s nice to pretend like we’re normal teenagers.

“I was thinking we could watch the best movie made in the 80’s,” he says.

“And what would that be?” I ask.

“Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” he answers, like it should be obvious.

“I’ve never see it,” I say.

He stops in his tracks. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not much for American entertainment. I had a friend who was really into this show called Jersey Shore. It made me want to never watch any American TV show or movie ever again,” I say.

“Ugh that show is awful. I can’t believe they made six season of it,” he says. “But don’t let it scare you off. Aside from reality shows, Hollywood has done some great things.”

“Whatever you say.”

I follow him to his dorm room. I’ve never been inside it before, but his room is bigger than mine. And he doesn’t have a roommate.

So.

Not.

Fair.

But then again, I don’t have six bodyguards either. Just one.

Tristan says something to the other bodyguard and he, along with four of the guys, leave. The other two stand by the door.

I look at Damon, feeling a little awkward.

“Are they going to come with us on our first date?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“Unfortunately,” he says. “But trust me, Katerina, we will be having so much fun that you will forget they’re there.”

Doubtful.

I don’t think I could ever forget that there are seven people watching us almost at all times.

“Do you ever get tired of never having privacy?” I ask.

“Yeah. But my dad won’t always be president,” he says. “Once he’s done with all this, I’m going to try and live a semi-normal life.”

“But won’t people recognize you?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Maybe I’ll live somewhere else. I doubt anybody in Russia would know me.”

“I don’t think Russia is a good idea. Or are you forgetting about my dad?”

“Right. No Russia. I guess I could always move to France,” he says. “I speak French really well. Or maybe I’ll learn Korean. I hear South Korea is a very nice place to live. I love their food.”

“I haven’t thought about where I want to live after this is all over. Russia won’t be the same,” I say. “Did you know that I am now an American citizen? Tristan did some magic and I’ve got a dual citizenship.”

“That’s awesome,” he says. “I’d live in America. If you were here.”

“I was considering London. Where my grandparents are,” I say. “Or here, where my aunt is. I still haven’t talked to her.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever talked to Damon about my aunt, who also happens to be the dean of
New Hope Academy
. But I know he knows about it. I’m pretty sure after the incident with Kazimir, Tristan told him everything.

“But you talked to your cousin Jade last night,” he says.

“I did. I like her. She reminds me so much of myself at her age. Except her hair is dark,” I say.

“I bet you were a cute freshman,” Damon says, turning on his TV.

“I was skinny and little,” I say. “Not like a good skinny, either. I was scrawny. And not at all cute.”

“I doubt that,” he says, as he scrolls through his movie collection on the TV. He has a lot of movies. Too many.

“What were you like as a freshman?” I ask.

I hear one of his bodyguards laugh. It quickly changes to a cough when Damon shoots him a look.

“I was scrawny too,” he says, grinning.

In my head, I can’t picture Damon ever being scrawny.

Sure, he’s not buff like Tristan, but he’s also five years younger than him.

“You’ll have to show me a picture sometime,” I say.

“Yeah, probably not,” he says.

“Come on. How am I supposed to know what our children are going to look like if I don’t know what you looked like when you were younger.”

It’s a joke, but that doesn’t stop Damon from smiling like a maniac.

“Our children?” he asks. “You plan on having children with me?”

I open my mouth, then close it, suddenly feeling very self conscience.

“Let’s get through our first date before we start naming our future children,” I say.

He pulls me closer to him. “I bet our children will be beautiful.”

Heart.

Melting.

Okay, just when I think I couldn’t possibly like him more, he goes and says something like that. How could I not fall in love with a guy as sweet as him? It’s inevitable.

FIVE

Pajama day.

Savannah looks ridiculous.

She’s literally leaving her hair as it was when she woke up. It was messy before bed, but now it’s sticking up all over and her bun that once sat on top of head head has fallen to the side. She’s got on a pair of Darth Vadar pajama bottoms, a storm trooper t-shirt, and wookiee slippers.

And to think, I had already trained with Tristan, showered, fixed my hair, and dressed before her alarm went off.

Why anybody would want to go out in public in their pajamas is beyond me. I don’t even leave my pajamas on around the house. I get dressed and fix my hair every single morning, because you never know when somebody might stop by the house.

As we walk to the dining hall for breakfast, I see that Savannah isn’t alone. Pretty much every single person we meet is in their pajamas. Most of them have at least combed their hair.

Still… pajamas!

“Where is your school spirit?” Tristan asks me, as he walks with us towards the dining hall.

“What is school spirit?” I ask.

“You realize this whole week is about school spirit, right?” Savannah asks me. “I mean, it’s called spirit week for a reason.”

“I don’t get it, though. Why dress up and do all this ridiculous stuff?”

“Because it’s part of your high school experience,” Tristan answers. “One day, you’ll wake up and be working a full time job, wishing you were back in high school.”

I laugh at the irony of his statement.

“Where is your pajamas?” Savannah asks Tristan, as if just noticing he too is in normal clothing.

“I don’t wear pajamas,” he says.

Savannah’s face turns red at his comment.

“Then what do you wear to…” I let my voice trail off, realizing
why
Savannah’s face is now red. My own face warms. “Never mind.”

Tristan laughs.

We walk into the dining hall, grab breakfast, and sit at the table.

“What happened to your face?” Kaiden asks.

My nose is still swollen, both of my eyes are black, and I still have a huge knot on my forehead.

“Tristan happened,” Damon answers, frowning when he sees me. “You look terrible.”

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound offended.