Chapter 47

The line of four girls and one boy that ranged in ages from thirteen to seventeen shifted and squirmed on the dojo floor before Justice and Bridget. If Cee was adopted and added to this group, this would be the biggest unit ever.

Bridget had the floor, but no one’s attention. They were nervous about dinner. If you weren’t on time, you skipped dessert. And they still had to go upstairs and get dressed.

Bridget tried the Momma clap. A few ears perked up. “Please remember the three moves we showed you are quick defense. And only part of what you need. Remember what I said about keeping your eyes open, your spirit open, always noticing the world, even if it’s uncomfortable. In fact, if it makes you uncomfortable, pay even more attention.”

A few nodded, but most had their eyes on the door. Justice gave her too-kind sister the look. Bridget sighed, and with a wave, gave Justice the go-ahead.

Yeehaw. “Sisters!”

All heads snapped up. Romeo’s eyes narrowed.

Huh.

Sensitive.

With a too-high opinion of himself. Probably because of his looks. That striking, tapered edge to his large, amber-brown eyes. As if somewhere buried within his Slavic ancestry was a long-gone relative from China. She didn’t bother to correct her word choice.

He’d learn.

“All for one and one for all isn’t just a motto. Trust us. If we hold you here longer than necessary, it’s because this matters more than dessert.”

They quieted. A few looked abashed. Some angry.

She watched emotions play across their faces. A difference in skin tone, eye color, height, weight, and yet they all had the fire; they were all family.

Bridget took over again. She met the eyes of each, bowed at the waist. “Namaste.”

Five teens tore up and out.

Bridget frowned. Justice hid her smile. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d been trained here and had waited while an older classman went on and on about stuff that seemed irrelevant.

She turned to Bridget, watching the others go with that frown still on her face.

What was that about? Hmmm. “We should get the Troublemakers to rename that unit.”

Justice inclined her head toward the stampeding teens. At the landing, one of the girls used the banister to slingshot herself up the next staircase. “They’re more Fast and Furious than Vampire Academy.”

Bridget smiled. “Yeah, but we nailed the Troublemakers. Those three. Sheesh. They need meditation.”

Justice picked up her towel and cell phone. “Or Xanax.”

Bridget laughed. Her eyes turned contemplative. “Whoever started the idea of letting the older unit be in charge of naming the unit directly below them?”

Huh. Who had started it? Momma had been adopting lost girls since she was twenty-three, for over forty years. The first unit, Fantastic Five, Momma had named. Justice’s unit was the third of seven. “Momma, I guess. But we have the A-Team to thank for our awful name, Spice Girls.”

Bridget shook her head. “God, Tony hates that.”

“You mean Sporty Spice? Yeah. He does. I still think the youngest unit has it the worst. Really, the Lollipop Guild. I guess it’s all part of having a big family. Teasing.”

Bridget frowned. “Things have gotten a bit contentious in these past years. More fights. More issues.”

They exited the gym and stood together in the front hall. “Yeah. I guess. I mean it’s a mansion full of kids. A mansion full of kids, sorted into units based on age, not when they were adopted. We have our own freaking culture. Do you think that’s the problem?”

In the hall, the echo of Vampire Academy teens running around upstairs crashed down the steps. Whoa. Bulls at Pamplona up there.

Bridget glanced up the steps as if she could see the offenders. “I don’t know. Do you think we’re doing right by any of them?”

What? “We saved them. Taught them to fight. Taught them not to be victims. Yes, we’re doing the right thing.”

Bridget’s face heated. “I know. I know that. It’s just…the violence.”

“They have a choice. We all have a choice.”

“Do they?”

A buzzing reminder of Bridget’s earlier words zipped through Justice’s head: If something makes you uncomfortable, pay more attention.

What the hell was up with Bridget? Could she be trying to undo the school, expose it or make it feel threatened enough that covert ops were stopped?

“What would you have us do, Bridget?”

Her lips thinned and tightened, like the boom gate falling across a train track. For a moment, Justice was sure the conversation was over, but Bridget’s lips unclenched. “It’s like with the yoga. I mean, the Sanskrit. Words matter. It’s brain food. So if you give a child thoughts that are like junk food, you have to expect they’re going to have bad reactions. Thoughts can destroy us, Justice.”

“So, what? We should teach them only good, happy thoughts?”

“No. That’s not… Maybe we should teach them how to do a mental detox. The same way we tell them to avoid bad food, we can teach them how to step away from thoughts.”

Oh. Boy. How come when people went all cosmic interface, they forgot what was weird? “Bridge, we’re a school. We can’t go around teaching kids how not to think.”

Bridget’s lips tightened again. A firm, disappointed line on a face that was usually bright and open. She fiddled with the black belt around her gi. “You know, I get that a lot of times you and the others make fun of me. Act like what I do makes me a pie-in-the-sky hippie, but you’re wrong. Meditation allows me to see a macro-view, not just of my own thoughts, but of the thoughts of people around me. It’s incredibly enlightening. It’s almost a superpower.”

A cold knife of fear unsheathed itself and pressed to Justice’s throat. That was very Pinky and the Brain. “So, you’re smarter than the rest of us?”

Could macro-viewpoint Bridget have plotted against the family to show them the error of their ways?

“Not smarter. Just less attached to the thoughts that might keep your mind looping, keep you from seeing the bigger picture.”

“Keep me from seeing the bigger picture? Like we should just hold hands with sex-slavers?”

Bridget looked down. Shook her head. “It’s like with your humanitarian—there are other ways to help.”

“He’s not my humanitarian.”

“He’s not? But he’s okay with all of this? With what you do?”

“He’s implanted, so yeah, I assume he’s okay with it.”

Bridget’s eyes slid sideways toward Justice. “You should definitely ask him.”

She walked away, leaving Justice to stand in the hallway contemplating doubts and bad choices and bad decisions she would never be able to take back.