Rites of Passage (2 page)

“Stop by after the Worms meet their cadre tonight, okay?” Jonathan says to Evers. “We're having a party.”

“I'll be there. Thank you, sir,” Evers says, bumping fists with Jonathan.

Lyons is already a few steps ahead. Jonathan moves on, ignoring me like he has all summer. It wasn't always this way. Back in Germany we'd been thick as thieves—the three McKenna amigos. But all that changed when Amos hung himself and I decided to come here.

It's another ten minutes of awkward silence with Evers until Dad's car pulls up.

“Can I help you, sir?” Cadet Evers's voice pulls me back to the here and now. “Oh, Colonel. I didn't realize. It's an honor to meet you, sir.” He brings his hand eye-level and salutes my father. “I'm a friend of your son.”

Dad salutes back. “Well, then, the colonel should have taught you how to dress your shirt properly and iron your trousers. You're representing your school today, Cadet Evers.” Dad looks my way. “Get in, Sam.”

Evers's eyes get just a hint wider as he realizes who I am. There's no way to miss the embarrassment and anger on his face. He quickly fixes his shirt, though it's still not up to regs, and checks his clipboard. Then he looks at me once more before turning toward Dad. “Pull on through, sir. You'll want Stonewall Hall, third building on your right. Cadets will meet you there with further instructions.”

Dad nods but doesn't take his foot off the brake yet. “When you get a break, take a rag over those shoes, too. I should be able to see myself in them.”

“Yes, sir.” On his walkie-talkie before we've even pulled through the gate, Evers is probably telling someone at Stonewall Hall to roll out the red carpet.

I can't help grinning as we pass by.

 

The rest of the day is exactly what Dad warned me about: a lot of boring standing around doing nothing. Cadets carry my footlocker up to the top deck of the barracks and even put it in my room for me. Dad helps me unpack undershirts and underwear, rolling them to regulation length and putting them into drawers, and we hang up the few white shirts I've brought along. There's nothing else to set up; we're not allowed to have TVs, phones, or anything, really.

The cadets make friendly—or at least not awkward—conversation with Dad as we walk around campus, but they don't even glance at me. Once I passed through those gates I became nothing. Less than nothing. I'm a recruit—a Worm (the “friendly” word recruits are known as until we're recognized as cadets sometime around Christmas) at the DMA. That's it.

We find the laundry and get my standard issue uniforms to carry back to the barracks. At least I don't have to walk in the gutters yet. It's the only place recruits are allowed to walk on campus, right where the rain washes away into the drains, where the leaves will collect when the seasons start to change. Walking on the sidewalk is something to be earned, like everything else around here. Like getting to live on the first floor of a building, being able to walk across the grass or leave campus whenever we want, having a television in our room, and wearing civilian clothes. Everything's earned here. And I'm determined to get every little privilege I can.

The whole time, Mom stays in the car.

“Attention, recruits.” The voice over the loudspeaker echoes across the parade ground. “You have five minutes to say good-bye to your families. When your time is up, you are officially recruits at the DMA and you must abide by all rules forthwith. Any recruit caught not walking in the gutters will be given demerits. Any recruit caught not saluting or properly addressing members of the Corps of Cadets will receive demerits. Dinner will commence at seventeen hundred hours. There will be no talking in the mess hall, in accordance with Fourth Class rules and regulations. After mess, you are to report to the armory for your swearing in.”

There is a pause before the voice continues, giving some of the less focused recruits a chance to freak out. “You now have three minutes. Family members, we look forward to seeing you during Parents' Weekend in October. Thank you for coming.”

I turn to Dad, ignoring the stinging in my eyes. My arms ache to reach out and hug him, to feel his arms around me, supportive and loving. But he's in uniform. You don't hug the LTC when he's in uniform. “Tell Mom bye for me. Tell her I love her.”

Dad looks at me, lips tight, sizing me up. Then he nods. “Make me proud, Sam.”

He's said it now. The one thing I've been telling myself it's not about since I agreed to this stupid dare in the first place.

Because of course this is for him.

It's always for him.

After all, when you're a girl and your dad's pretty much the most badass lieutenant colonel there ever was, there's no way you're ever going to be able to make him proud.

Unless you do something stupid.

Like agree to be one of the first girls to enroll at a previously all-boys military academy.

TWO

AT THIRD MESS, THE THREE OTHER FEMALES WHO'VE ARRIVED
and I get through the line quickly and sit at the first table designated for Alpha Company—the group of recruits I'll eat, drill, and sleep with the whole year. We've got three assigned tables and the boys choose to fill up the rest of them before even beginning to sit at ours. Even then, they leave an obvious no-man's-zone between us and them. The barrier of empty seats tells me everything I need to know about my “brothers.”

All five of the incoming females have been assigned to the same squad—for ease, I guess. That way only one company has to have female bathrooms and go through special assimilation training. We're still missing one, but while I eat, I size up the others.

Directly across from me sits someone who should be a runway model, not a cadet. She's wearing the same clothes as the rest of us, but she owns those clothes. There's not one stray blonde hair out of place. Pearl earrings and makeup complete the picture. Not quite your average camouflage and push-up kind of recruit. She's the girl my mom probably wishes had been her daughter. The one next to her doesn't look like she weighs more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. Tears sit in her eyes, waiting to spill over. Her hand shakes so much that the fork she holds clatters against her plate. I can't see her lasting the week.

Beside me sits the only one I think might make it through the year with me. Her brown hair is cut super-short already and she looks like she's got some muscle to back her up. Maybe she's planning on trying out for the rugby team.

The guys are easier to figure out, in my opinion. After living with Jonathan and Amos and dealing with their stupid friends, I call 'em like I see 'em. The ones who are ready for this already have military haircuts—shaved at the sides and buzzed on top—a “high and tight.” It's the only haircut I've ever seen on Dad.

The ones who aren't going to make it are easy to spot. Their eyes bug out and scan the room like they're looking for the quickest escape. Maybe it was a scholarship that brought them here. Maybe, like me, they're part of a military family. Some have been court-ordered here because they can't go back to public schools. But whatever the reason, they're not going to make it. I've picked out two so far, and I'm on the fence about three others. I kind of feel sorry for them, but right now they're not my problem.

The guy who will definitely survive sits closest to us. He's got light brown hair and a spray of freckles across his nose, and winks at me, his teal eyes sparkling with mischief. I try not to return the smile. But it's hard. If I lose my concentration here for even a second, the upperclassmen will sense blood like sharks in the water.

I eat slowly, knowing that nothing bad will happen until after the swearing in. When Jonathan went through recruitdom he emailed me every week, giving me a blow-by-blow account of what happened. That was when there was no chance I'd be able to be a recruit myself. Now he refuses to talk about the DMA—like it's some kind of state secret. I wish Amos had been in the car this morning to bring me here, to say good-bye to me. I wish he'd said good-bye at all.

“Good evening, recruits. I'm Cadet Colonel McKenna, your leader here at the DMA.” Thankfully, Jonathan's voice over the intercom interrupts my train of thought before it goes to all the bad places. “You have fifteen minutes to finish dinner and meet me in the armory. I look forward to starting you down a path of success here at the Academy.”

I swallow the last of my water and walk my tray up to dump it.

The model follows along with me. “Do you know where the armory is?”

Against my better judgment, I whisper, “Yes. When we leave, just follow me.” I send a prayer to whoever is listening to make her
not
be my roommate. It may not seem like a big deal to talk, but we've already been ordered not to. I scan the room, looking for any sign of upperclassmen or that someone's watching to report the first females at the DMA already breaking rules.

“I'm so turned around I don't even remember where our barracks are.”

She's not going to need to know if she keeps on like this. Only thing she's going to need to remember is the way out the front gate.

 

The armory is only a five-minute walk, but with seventy-five kids in the incoming class, it takes a little longer before everyone is seated. Upperclassmen stand on a running track suspended from the ceiling, whispering and pointing at various recruits, mostly me and the three other girls. We're sitting another twenty minutes in near-silence, getting fidgety, when Jonathan finally shows. He enters from the back, staring straight ahead. He was born for this. I straighten my back as he marches past me toward the stage.

“Good evening.” His voice booms around the armory. He doesn't even need a microphone.

One of the upperclassmen above us uses the ring I'll wear someday to create a ping against the metal railing. First that solitary ring taps the handrail. Then another. Soon, all the upperclassmen join in, the air filled with the metallic pings. The clink of metal on metal makes me shiver. Not one of them is smiling.

“You are freshman class number one hundred twenty-seven at Denmark Military Academy. It is an honor and a privilege to act as your cadet colonel during the course of this school year. I promise to uphold the Cadet Creed and the standards set by my predecessors at the DMA, a long line of honorable graduates who have gone on to do heroic deeds.”

He lists the names of some former graduates, our father included. Names that are burned into my brain—heroes of my father, and other men who have been legends to me since I was old enough to start hearing war stories. I can't help but smile, wondering where I'll fit in this list after a few years in the service.

“I look around and see some scared faces. I see the faces of our female recruits—one of whom may be the first female graduate of the DMA.” His eyes skim over the four of us, but he doesn't meet my gaze.

Someone hisses behind me. A “boo” echoes off the polished wooden floor. My face warms under the scrutiny. Jonathan ignores it all and continues. “Before me are future military leaders, future Army Rangers, future Marines. Whatever path you choose, we are here to start you out on it. To give you a strong foundation of military readiness and preparation. It is what you learn within the boundaries of Denmark Military Academy that will help you to rise to the top in whatever career you choose upon graduation. The network of DMA grads helps one another in every way possible and you are about to join a brotherhood like no other.”

Recruits shuffle around me, but I keep my eyes on Jonathan.

“Now I invite you to stand and take the oath to the DMA that thousands of cadets have taken before you.”

The chairs around me scrape on the gym floor. I glance to the left. The model's eyes are wide, like she's finally realizing the magnitude of what we're about to do. The tears that were threatening to fall from the mousy recruit at dinner are finally rolling down her cheeks. She dabs her eyes, her hands still shaking. The future rugby star just grins. I smile back, my heart racing.

“Do not say these words lightly. When you swear this oath, you will be held to the same standard as every other cadet at Denmark Military Academy. You are starting a career as an upstanding citizen of this country and swearing loyalty to the land on which you stand. If you are unsure, you may walk out those doors and no one will think less of you. But once these words are uttered, you are at the mercy of your peers and the DMA Code of Conduct. Take a moment to understand the sheer awesomeness of what you are about to do. If you are not ready, leave now.”

The doors through which we entered clang open. Freedom is only fifteen steps away. The theatrics are ridiculous, just made to intimidate, but there is movement to my left and first one, then two, and a third recruit—all guys—walk quickly out into the fading light. We've already lasted longer than some.

Once the doors are closed again and we are trapped inside, Jonathan continues. “Now, hold up your right hand and repeat after me.” My brother's words boom out across the armory. Goose bumps cover my arms and I can't keep the smile off my face. Military bearing be damned. My heart pounds as I finally begin the dare that has consumed my thoughts for the past year. The last dare Amos gave me. The one I can't lose.

“I, Samantha McKenna, understand and will uphold the Denmark Military Academy Code of Conduct. I will not lie, cheat, or steal, or tolerate those who do. As a recruit, I am duty bound to uphold the laws of society, to respect those entrusted over me, to uphold the traditions of the Corps and to carry out my responsibilities as a citizen of the United States of America.”

The voices of my fellow recruits fade around me and in the moment of silence that follows, the energy is electric. It pulses through the room and I can barely keep still. Then the ring tapping starts again. I scan the upperclassmen above us. When I meet Cadet Evers's gaze, something twists in my stomach. I can't look away until, like magic, the tapping stops. When I turn back to Jonathan, his hand is raised to silence the room.