Jericho Jaxon Read online

  “You’ll have so much more fun helping me with the trailer cleanup.”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “Do I have a choice?”

  “You always have a choice.” The words sound unconvincing even to me.

  “My first day as a high school graduate, and I didn’t even get to sleep late.”

  Now I’m the one doing the eye-rolling. “Eleven is late.”

  “I should have known when you put us on a strict bike-riding schedule when we were five years old how this friendship was going to go.”

  “You love every minute of it. You need someone to kick your butt every so often, and I’m happy to be the one to do it.”

  “We clearly have different definitions of every so often, but I will agree that you perform a needed service. Without you, I probably would have slept my entire adolescence away.”

  He touches the horseshoe dangling from the chain around my neck. “This is new.”

  “A gift from my mother.”

  He frowns.

  “My aunts gave it to me. Along with a note my mother left for me.”

  “A note?”

  “Don’t get too excited. It was one sentence: ‘Don’t trust the man of your dreams.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  I shrug. “I wish I knew.”

  He takes in a deep breath. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  I open the trailer door and slowly step inside. Then I gasp. Loudly.

  “What’s wrong?” Gunner’s voice is filled with concern.

  “This place . . . my trailer . . . it’s . . .”

  “It’s what?”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  Squeezing around me, he pushes his way into the trailer. “Oh. My. God.”

  We both stand in the entryway, mouths agape, staring at the completely remodeled interior. Everything is spotless. The appliances and furniture look brand new.

  “I don’t understand what happened,” I utter in disbelief. “You saw what I saw, didn’t you? The last time we were here?”

  “The place was a complete wreck.”

  “How did this happen? And how did it get repaired so quickly?”

  “A better question is, Who made it happen?”

  We look at each other. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I ask, even though I have a good idea that we’re both thinking the exact same thing.

  “If you’re thinking it has something to do with Nico, then yes, I am thinking what you’re thinking.”

  “But why? Why would he do this? All of this work must have cost thousands of dollars.”

  “Do you think he’s related to your father in some way? You said they have similar physical characteristics.”

  The thought did cross my mind. “It’s just so weird. It’s like the opposite of robbing someone. Instead of breaking and entering, it’s breaking and renovating.”

  “Technically, I think it would just be entering and renovating since your door doesn’t have a lock.”

  “It’s still creepy. I feel violated.”

  Gunner runs his hand along the sleek new kitchenette counter. “This is all high-quality stuff.”

  “It is nice. Whoever did it, did a great job.”

  “Maybe you should just consider it a gift.”

  I heave a sigh. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I? The work has already been done. Our next project, though, is to get a lock on the front door.”

  “Our project, huh?”

  I plop down on the newly upholstered leather sofa. “Your life would be so boring without me in it.”

  He sits down next to me. “Wow, this is comfortable.” He leans back and rests his head against the back of the couch. “Is it time for a nap yet?”

  I poke him in the ribs. “You’ve only been awake for an hour. You can’t possibly be ready for a nap.”

  He gives me a look that screams, “Are you kidding me?”

  “It’s always a good time for a nap.”

  “I have a question for you.”

  He raises his head and sits upright. “What is it?”

  “Did you ever wonder why . . . we never . . . ?” I’m not sure exactly how to phrase the question.

  “Got together?” He raises an eyebrow.

  “Yeah.” Tension fills the air between us. It suddenly feels incredibly awkward. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “It’s a reasonable question. I’m sure your aunts, my parents, and most of our classmates at Cordia have wondered the same thing.”

  Before I realize what’s happening, Gunner leans over and places a soft kiss on my lips.

  It feels nice, but that’s it. I don’t lose my breath. I don’t get butterflies in my stomach. There’s no electricity. Not even a slight spark between us.

  Kissing Gunner is like kissing a cuddly puppy.

  “Does that answer your question?” he says.

  I nod. “Pretty much.”

  He takes my hand in his. “We’re friends. Best friends. We always will be. But that’s all we’ll ever be.”

  I’m not sure whether I feel sad or relieved. Maybe a little of both.

  I lift the business card from my desk and look at it for what feels like the hundredth time. I don’t know why I’m having such a difficult time picking up the phone and dialing.

  Maybe it’s because I’m not sure what to say that won’t make me sound desperate for employment. I’ve never applied for a job before. It feels so awkward.

  But I have to do this. I need a job, and this is my only lead.

  I take in a deep breath as I pick up my cell phone. Then I slowly exhale as I dial Dr. Mary Roth’s number.

  “Optimal Mind Institute,” a pleasant voice says.

  Is it too late to hang up? My heart is thumping so hard and so fast I feel like there’s a rave going on inside my chest.

  “Is Dr. Roth available?” I squeak. Great. I sound even younger than eighteen. I sound like a five-year-old with a stuffed-up nose.

  “May I tell her who is calling?”

  “Jericho Jaxon.”

  “Just one moment.”

  I debate ending the call. Maybe she’d just think we got disconnected.

  Before I have a chance to hang up, an older voice says, “This is Mary Roth.”

  My heart races. I wish I wasn’t so nervous. I’ve known Dr. Roth since I was a little kid. “It’s Jericho Jaxon.”

  “Alexander told me that he gave you my card. I’m glad you called.”

  “He mentioned that you were looking for interns.”

  “We are. We’ve actually got a group interview scheduled for tomorrow. I know it’s short notice, but would you like me to add your name to the list?”

  “That would be great.”

  “The interview is at nine. I hope that’s not too early.”

  “Not too early at all,” I assure her.

  “I know you just graduated. Alexander has been sleeping until noon.”

  “I’m an early bird.”

  “Let me give you the address. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine.”

  Chapter Four

  “What are you looking at?” The young woman seated directly across from me in the cramped reception area gives me a death stare.

  She’s wearing all black. The few areas of her bronze skin that aren’t covered in tattoos are adorned with leather and spikes. Her curly dark hair is streaked with purple highlights, and she has a rather large eyebrow piercing that I can’t seem to stop staring at.

  Even though she’s smaller than I am, I have no doubt that she could beat the crap out of me if she wanted to. And she’s scowling at me like she really wants to.

  “I . . . um . . .” I’m at a loss for words, which isn’t like me at all. I’m usually an endless stream of verbal vomit when I’m nervous.

  She continues staring at me. I’m sure she thinks I’m an idiot.

  “I’m Jericho Jaxon,” I tell her for no reason that I can fathom. Maybe it’s because I have no id
ea what to say to someone who looks like she just stepped out of a Mad Max movie.

  “Does it look like I care, Little Miss Muffet?”

  “A tuffet would probably be more comfortable than these chairs.” My attempt at humor is met with an icy glare. What a charmer.

  I scan the nondescript reception area for something—anything—to look at other than that curved barbell over her eye. But the room is bare. There’s not even an outdated magazine lying on the coffee table between us.

  I consider getting up and walking out, but leaving isn’t really a viable option. Dr. Roth would be wondering what happened to me. And I know she knows where to find me.

  When the front door swings open and another person hurries inside, I’m thankful for someone else to look at.

  “Good. I’m glad I’m not late.” The newcomer takes a seat next to Miss Hostility.

  He’s a tall, thin, attractive black man. He looks too young to be a professor even if he’s dressed like one. He’s wearing khaki pants and an Oxford button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbows. He’s even wearing vintage oval glasses. All that’s missing is a leather messenger briefcase to make his scholarly look complete.

  “Have you been waiting long?” the professor-in-training asks.

  Miss Hostility glares at him. At least she doesn’t discriminate. She’s an equal-opportunity malcontent.

  I look around the reception area, but there’s not a clock in sight. So I remove my cell phone from my pocket to find the time. It’s 8:58. “You’ve still got two minutes.”

  He exhales and relaxes a bit. “I had some trouble finding the place.”

  I’m not surprised. The building has no markings other than the street number. Most of the other buildings on the street are stores and restaurants that cater to Cordia University students.

  At exactly nine o’clock, a young woman emerges from a door in the back of the reception area. “Good. You’re all here. I’ll take you to the interview room.”

  The three of us rise from our chairs. Miss Hostility pushes ahead of the professor-in-training so that she’s at the front of our small procession. The professor-in-training falls in line behind her, and I take up the rear.

  We follow the young woman down a narrow hallway past several closed doors. It’s so quiet I can hear her heels click-clack on the tile floor. She doesn’t appear to be that much older than me, maybe in her early twenties, but she’s dressed in what looks like an expensive business suit. She reminds me of a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes.

  At the end of the hallway, she opens one of the doors, and we follow her inside.

  It looks more like an interrogation room than an interview room. Like the ones you see in those detective shows on television. Those cramped boxes with the two-way mirrors where they question suspects for hours until they finally crack.

  Being in such a confined area is already giving me a headache.

  “Have a seat,” the young woman says. “Dr. Roth will be with you shortly.” When she exits, she closes the door behind her.

  I swear I hear a snap, like she’s just locked us inside the room. The two others in the room with me don’t appear to be too concerned, so I take a seat at the table like they have.

  Shortly feels like hours as I stare at the gray concrete wall, but there’s nothing else to look at. And I don’t want Miss Hostility biting my head off again if I happen to glance in her direction.

  When Dr. Roth finally enters the interview room, she looks frazzled. There are dark circles under her normally sparkling hazel eyes, and her long brown hair is pulled back into a messy bun. In the past, I always thought she looked refined, but today, she doesn’t seem that well put together.

  She places the unruly stack of folders she’s carrying on the table in front of her as she takes a seat.

  “Thank you all for being here today. We appreciate your interest in working for the Optimal Mind Institute. I’m Dr. Mary Roth. I’m the director of research for the institute. Our mission is to expand human potential, optimize human performance, and develop advanced mind technologies through perception research and development. We’ll be hiring several interns for the summer. These are three-month, part-time contracts.” She sounds like a robot reciting a programmed script.

  Something weird is going on. Granted, it’s been several years since I’ve seen Dr. Roth, but people don’t usually change that much. The person I remember was dynamic and full of life. The woman seated in front of us seems completely uninspired. Her speech is dry, her demeanor is dull, and her eyes are lifeless.

  She removes three files from the stack in front of her and places one of them in front of each of us. “Please fill out these applications to the best of your ability. You must sign and date at the bottom of every page of the application. We will need a photocopy of your driver’s license.” Then she rises from the table. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

  She disappears out the door before any of us even has a chance to open our folders.

  “That was odd,” the professor-in-training says.

  I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.

  Miss Hostility glares at him. “Maybe you could shut up so that I can fill out these forms.”

  He scowls. “What’s your problem?”

  “I’m not here to win a popularity contest. I’m here to get a job. In case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t too many places hiring in this town.”

  The professor-in-training shakes his head. “You’re a real trip.”

  There’s an Optimal Mind Institute pen inside the folder, which I use to fill out the pile of paperwork. For once, I’m glad to be young and inexperienced. There’s not a lot for me to fill in. Colleges attended: not applicable. Previous jobs: not applicable. Previous addresses: just one. I’ve lived in the same house my entire life.

  The rest of the stack is release forms and nondisclosure agreements. A lot of legalese that I barely understand. As I sign and date each page, I feel like I’m signing my life away.

  Do I have a choice? I doubt they’ll hire anyone who doesn’t sign every page.

  The professor-in-training is shaking his head as he flips through the paperwork. “This doesn’t feel right.” His eyes meet mine. “Are you signing these?”

  I hold up my stack. “Already did.”

  More headshaking. “I can’t do it.” He points to a paragraph at the bottom of one of the forms. “Did you read this? They accept no liability for any physical injuries or psychological illness that may result from any voluntary experimental procedures. What are they planning to do to us?”

  He closes his folder, places the Optimal Mind Institute pen on top of it, then rises from the table. “I’m out.”

  He hurries toward the door. When he tries to open it, he can’t. It’s locked. He glances back at me, his eyes filled with terror. “Do you really want to stay here?”

  When I glance over at Miss Hostility, she’s busy filling out the forms as if nothing else is happening in the room.

  I’m not sure what to do. Stay and take my chances, or leave with the professor-in-training.

  His forehead is glistening with sweat. He seems to be in full panic mode when he starts pounding on the door. “Let me out! Somebody let me out of here!”

  When the door finally opens, it’s the young woman who brought us in from the reception area. “Is something wrong?” She sounds genuinely concerned.

  “You locked us in this room. Who does that?”

  “The doors lock automatically.”

  “I’m leaving.” The poor guy’s deep voice has risen several octaves.

  “Are you okay? Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?”

  “I’ll feel a lot better when I’m out of here.” He pushes the young woman out of the way and practically runs down the hallway until he’s out of sight.

  “That was strange,” the young woman says as she enters the room to collect his pen and paperwork.

  “Less comp
etition for us,” Miss Hostility says as she hands the young woman her folder and pen.

  I close my application and hand her my stuff as well.

  “Looks like it’s only the two of you for the interview.”

  Miss Hostility glances in my direction. “Are you sure you want to stick around? The door is open. There’s still time to get out of the heat if you can’t take the fire.”

  “I’m good,” I tell her.

  “I wasn’t too impressed with that guy anyway. He looked like a real kiss-ass.” Then she asks the young woman, “How many interns are you hiring?”

  “As many as we can.”

  Why does this sound like a club that will have me even if I don’t want to join?

  “Dr. Roth should be back shortly.”

  The young woman takes off with our folders, but this time, she doesn’t close or lock the door. She leaves it wide open.

  “You can still split.” Miss Hostility gestures toward the door. “Join that other chicken who flew the coop.”

  “I think he’d be referred to as a rooster.”

  She glares at me.

  “As opposed to a hen,” I add.

  “You still have time to chicken out.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not going anywhere. I guess you’ll just have to get used to having me around.”

  The hint of a smile appears on her otherwise cheerless face. “Maybe you’re not so boneless after all.”

  When Dr. Roth reenters the room, she looks a little less flustered. But there’s still something unsettling about her demeanor.

  “JoJo Rodriguez.” Dr. Roth takes a seat right across from Miss Hostility. “Why don’t you tell me why you’d like to work for the Optimal Mind Institute?”

  “I heard you pay well, and I need the money.”

  “I appreciate your candor.”

  Dr. Roth turns her attention to me. “Jericho Jaxon, would you tell me why you’d like to work for the Optimal Mind Institute?”

  “I tried to do some research on the organization, but I wasn’t able to find much about it online. Basically, just what you told us when you gave your introductory speech. I’d like to learn more about what you do here. I’ve always had an interest in psychology and how the mind works.”

  Dr. Roth nods. She seemed to be much more impressed with JoJo’s response. “Some of the research we do here is unorthodox. We like to say that we’re on the cutting edge of mind-expansion research and development. That’s why we require all our employees to sign confidentiality and nondisclosure agreements. What happens at the Optimal Mind Institute stays at the Optimal Mind Institute. Do you understand?”