by Eden Beck
If I’m lucky, I’ll be here at Ridgecrest for at least another semester. I’d prefer not to have to hide under the shadow of Bridget’s thumb the whole time, spending each moment looking over my shoulder to see if she’s waiting there to ruin everything for me again.
Sinner and the saint. Sterling’s not wrong. I can’t stop trying to be that vision of perfect that I’ve always been told I was supposed to be. But life just won’t let me have it. Do I really want it? Or is it just something that’s been drilled so deep into my brain I can’t figure out where I end and the bullshit begins.
I notice Warren slowly glancing off to his side, his head barely tilting as he looks over at Bridget’s paper, which is carefully turned just enough that it’s in slight view.
Everyone has secrets, so why do I pretend like mine are so special?
Chase is scribbling away at his own paper, but even from here I can tell that his test was finished five minutes ago. He’s tracing back over the lines again and again.
Everyone is afraid of something that’s inside them. Even if it might be a good thing, we spend our whole lives having a narrative about who we are written for us by people outside of us that we become too scared of who we actually are because it doesn’t fit the box.
I finish signing my name at the top of my paper and walk to the front of the class to drop it on the professor’s desk. The last final is complete, but the real test is coming.
I have to confront Bridget before the end-of-summer break, before I lose the gall to do it.
But that means I have to confront her today.
Chapter Thirty
The moment the exam is over, the professor excuses us all for a short break before we probably have to spend the rest of the class doing some kind of busywork for the remainder of the period.
Since, you know, we can’t be trusted with an extra two hours of free time.
That’s Ridgecrest.
Bullying? Fine. Leaving campus to party on weekends? Not their problem. Counselor kisses a student? Assign them extra time to work one-on-one.
But god forbid we have cell phones or are left to our own devices before dark.
I’m too anxious to leave, so I spend the entirety of the break zoning out while Alaska tries to tell me where she and her family are going during her one week home from this penitentiary. A general air of ease spreads through the rest of the class as they filter back from their break fifteen minutes later, their voices growing loud enough to start drowning out my own thoughts.
I pay no attention to what anyone’s saying until the three boys re-enter class, snickering. I turn away and focus on my work, ignoring them for a moment until I realize Bridget is nowhere to be found.
I seem to be the only one to notice, however, even when the professor returns.
But that isn’t the strangest thing.
We’re given some random worksheets to complete, just as I’d expected, but it isn’t soon before I begin to wonder if it’s my imagination, or if I’m hearing my name spoken in whispers from across the room. I keep catching my classmates looking at me with strange, bewildered expressions before just as quickly looking away once they realize they’ve been spotted out of the corner of my eye.
I turn to Alaska and Clark, but both of them just shrug in my direction.
I must be imagining things.
I’m just nervous, nervous enough that by lunchtime, there’s a knot in my stomach.
Can I really do this? Can I really threaten someone like this?
I practically bolt out of the classroom as soon as the bell rings. I don’t slow down until I get to the lunch room, hoping that Bridget hasn’t managed some sort of last-minute hail-Mary to get out of this place early.
But Warren is still here.
She has to be too.
Sure enough, it’s only a moment before I spot her.
She’s at the far end of the room, laughing at something in her hand with a group of girls.
It isn’t until I see her that I suddenly feel the strange chill in the air. Everyone has started staring at me, and the lunchroom grows quieter, hushed murmurs replacing loud conversation.
Now I know this isn’t just nerves. Whatever’s going on, I’m not imagining it.
Just then, Alaska and Clark run up to me, eyes wide.
“Have you seen this?” Alaska asks, shoving a piece of paper in my hand.
I look down and all of a sudden, the lunchroom disappears as my heart splashes into my stomach.
There, staring at me in strange, blurry, pixelated form is a photo. Of me.
And Mr. Peters.
Kissing.
“What the hell, this is impossible!” I exclaim. But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie.
It is me. It has to be me.
I was there, after all, when it happened.
“It sure looks like you …” Alaska says.
“Bridget …” I start to say, as I beeline straight for her at the other side of the room.
She looks at me with a smug smile as I approach.
“This is … just … wow Aubrey … and after your whole speech about what happened the last time. What a load of shit,” she says. She tosses her hair over one shoulder as she glances at the girls behind her. “See, what did I tell you? I’m never wrong.”
“What the hell Bridget, how did you do this?” I ask, seething. I crumple the paper up, only to immediately spot more copies being passed around the table nearest us.
I feel bile rise in the back of my throat. How many copies did she make?
“Woah, I didn’t do anything, Annabelle literally just handed this to me ten minutes before you walked over here,” she says.
I look at Annabelle, who nods.
“Where did you get this from?” I ask, waving the sheet of paper in her face.
She takes a half step back, batting the sheet away with a grimace. “It was Warren,” she snaps. “He printed them at break. I’ve just been handing them out.”
Well, that explains the snickers. The strange glances.
My face flushes red at the thought. There I was, sitting in class trying to figure out what to do about Bridget as she herself was circulating these photos around campus for hours.
“Oh, so you got your twin to do it then?” I say, turning back to Bridget.
“Seriously, this is the first time I’ve seen this photo. I swear,” Bridget says, biting her lip to try to wrangle back a smile.
What I would give to wipe that smile off her face.
And I almost do. I almost announce her secret right here, right now, in front of all her friends—when the perpetrator of this latest stunt finally shows up himself.
I spot Warren swaggering through the door to the dining hall. He locks eyes with me and walks over.
“You like my artwork? I’m thinking of starting a photo series: Sluts of Ridgecrest,” he says with a grin.
“How did you do this?” I ask, waving the photo in his face.
“Right place, right time and a well-placed bribe to the sweaty guy who watches the surveillance tapes,” he says, the grin widening with menace, threatening to split his face. “Really, Aubrey … you did know you’d be found out eventually, right?”
As I try to gather my thoughts, I hear footsteps approaching behind me. I spin around to see Ms. Hopkins and the dean striding toward me. Ms. Hopkins is ripping papers out of the students’ hands as she approaches.
“Come with us, Aubrey,” Ms. Hopkins says sternly as the dean looks on with a disapproving look.
Only thing left now is to hear how much of the blame they’re going to place on me.
I feel the eyes of every student as I walk toward them and back out of the dining hall. We walk across the campus and it feels as if a spotlight is following me. Looming closer and closer is the admin hall.
Is this it?
It sure feels like it.
I should have taken my chance to ruin Bridget when I still had the chance.
Chapter Thirty-One
I sit in the chair in Ms. Hopkins’ office, the stiff wood beneath me like a rickety cage. She stares at me from across the desk, silent for what feels like an eternity. Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door behind me.
I know who it is before I even turn around.
This isn’t the first time I’ve played this game, after all.
Mr. Peters enters the room, looking ashen-faced. In turn, Ms. Hopkins stares at him with an icy look that could freeze hell itself.
“Mr. Peters, sit down please.”
He takes a seat, shifting uncomfortably and avoiding eye contact with me.
Yeah, that’s right. It’s starting to look like you didn’t get away with it after all, isn’t it?
“Before her parents arrive, I will give you a chance to defend yourself in private,” the dean says.
Before my parents arrive?
I feel a horrid chill settle over me. This really is the end, then.
They were set to arrive tomorrow to pick me up for break. But if they’re coming today … one day early …
Mr. Peters clears his throat and speaks with careful, calculated words. “It was an … unfortunate incident. You know as we work very closely with the students that there’s a level of emotional connection that can develop.”
For the first time, he dares shoot a look in my direction. There’s no guilt on his face. Any he might feel, he’s hidden well behind a mask of mock surprise.
“Well, with Aubrey … it became apparent that that connection had developed beyond what was appropriate. As she was leaving my office that day, she … expressed her feelings in a fleeting moment. I called it off immediately but one of the students must have captured it.”
I could vomit by the time he’s finished speaking, but it isn’t the contents of my stomach that spews out of my mouth. Instead, it’s my voice.
“Liar!” I shout.
And somehow, that’s even worse.
I clamp my mouth shut as soon as the accusation has tumbled out. But not soon enough, apparently.
“Enough, Aubrey!” Ms. Hopkins says sternly. “Mr. Peters, why did you not report this to us immediately?”
“I—” I start, only to be cut off again.
“I said enough,” Ms. Hopkins hisses at me.
The dean just covers his face with his hands for a moment. Mr. Peters takes turns looking between the three of us before he stammers on.
“That was my mistake, I chalked it up to a momentary weakness by an emotional student, I didn’t want to betray her trust by calling attention to the incident. I offered to transfer her to a different counselor, but she assured me it wouldn’t happen again. I didn’t see her again.”
“Even I have to admit I’m having a harder time believing you now than if you’d come to us about this sooner,” the dean says. “Especially when news of her … past behavior … came out earlier this year.”
The way he says it, you’d think I’d been caught spreading a disease.
“Again, that was my attempt to minimize the consequences on Aubrey. It was an error in judgment, I thought the silly rumors would die out, eventually.”
Mr. Peters tries to laugh the last part off, but it only makes him sound like some kind of maniac. He must be aware of this as well, because he tries to stifle the sound in a cough—but he’s too late. Both Ms. Hopkins and the dean exchange uneasy glances.
Before either of them can voice this unease, however, there’s a curt knock at the door.
No one can so much as start to rise from their prospective seats before the door is thrown open and my parents storm in, Dad looking stone faced and Mom biting her lip, clearly holding in either tears or screams.
Or both, knowing her.
“Hello, thank you for coming, please take a seat.” Ms. Hopkins motions to both my parents.
They ignore her and instead look at me.
My father turns toward me. “Aubrey … what happened?”
I can feel tears welling up in my eyes and I feel myself shrink under my father’s disapproving gaze.
“I … I’m sorry,” I stammer.
He whirls away from me to the dean.
“What exactly is the situation? You were very brief on the phone.”
The dean clears his throat. I’m pleased, however little that matters, to see Mr. Peters shrink back as well.
That’s right, not so high-and-mighty now.
“It appears that your daughter engaged in some very inappropriate conduct with her school counselor. There is a photograph capturing the behavior that has circulated around campus. It’s a very unfortunate situation,” the dean explains. He opens his mouth as if to continue further, but my father apparently has other plans.
“I thought the point of sending her to Ridgecrest was to avoid this sort of thing?” he snaps.
“I understand your disappointment, but we have done nearly everything at our disposal to prevent this behavior … but your daughter still managed to circumvent our best efforts.”
I feel my nails begin to dig into my palms as I watch their words tumble from their lips like bloody waterfalls. No one asking me what happened. No one asking for my confirmation, simply trading anecdotes about the kind of person they know me to be.
No one believes a slut. No one believes what they believe to be a lying slut. No one believes …
“I didn’t do it!” I yell suddenly, sending the room into shocked silence for a moment. I stare straight at Mr. Peters. “He’s lying.”
“Aubrey, we’ve talked about this, and we have a photograph …” Ms. Hopkins starts.
“Mr. Peters came onto me. HE kissed ME, after I TRUSTED him,” I snarl. To hell with it all. If I’m going to be expelled, well then, I’ll be damned sure they hear me out first. “That photo should be proof of that. Do I look like I’m enjoying it?”
Even though the faces around me haven’t changed, I do notice eyes flickering to the photo again. My mother looks like she’s going to faint the moment she lays eyes on it. My father just looks like he’s about to explode.
“I don’t know what she’s talking about … clearly she’s in denial of the issues she’s still facing …” Mr. Peters stammers.
I swing back around to Ms. Hopkins. “How many female students have asked to change counselors since Mr. Peters started?” I ask, heart thumping.
“I don’t …” Ms. Hopkins starts, then she pauses. “One moment.”
She gets up and walks over to a filing cabinet. She unlocks it and flips through file after file until she pulls one out of the drawers while the rest of us look on. She walks back over to her desk and opens the file, scanning it carefully alongside the dean. Both their faces have grown sterner when they finally look up.
I’m pleased to see the color starting to drain from both of their faces.
In turn, my own heart feels like it rises up to beat at the top of my throat.
The dean is the first to clear his own throat.
I notice that, as he speaks, he does not look at Mr. Peters. Just like a jury returned to deliver a guilty verdict.
“It appears that a … not insignificant … number of female students have requested transfers to different counselors over the last few years. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason for it … but we would be remiss not to examine this phenomenon more closely.”
Now his eyes do flicker over to Mr. Peters, and no one misses the curl of disgust that tugs down the corner of his mouth.
My father slams his palms down on the desk, his eyes alight.
“Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly what your investigation is going to turn up,” my father snaps. “That’s what these places do.”
For one second, I watch as his hand twitches closer to Mr. Peters. I think he’s going to lash out at him, and I’m horrified—but not as horrified as I am when he instead straightens himself up and stares at me instead.
“It still stands that we must decide what to do with Aubrey.”
And just like that, all h
ope of being believed trickles away even faster than the hope of it swelled up inside me.
“This whole situation doesn’t negate the fact that it seems as if Aubrey still has no control over keeping herself out of untoward situations,” my father says darkly.
“Seriously, Dad? What was I supposed to do? He’s my counselor, I had to see him …” I say through the knot in my throat.
“And before it was the TA, who you had to see for homework. While I don’t doubt that these men had poor intentions, I cannot believe that something like this can happen twice with no involvement at all on your part.”
“So, what do you want me to do? What CAN I do?” I ask. I plead.
“Admit your involvement in this, show some remorse. I’m tired of the excuses from you Aubrey. You need to own up to your failures so you can finally start to change,” My father says, stone faced. “Or we will have to come up with a different solution to this problem, away from Ridgecrest.”
So, I lie as a way to “save face” and I’m branded That Slut who needs saving, or I tell the truth and I lose my last lifeline to Brown and the future I’ve worked so hard for.
“No.”
The word rings out solo, like the star of a show taking a final bow, the final refrain of a song. Everyone stares at me.
“Why not?” my father asks, staring me down. “You know staying here isn’t going to be an option anymore, right? Now that you’ve gone and blabbed, you’ll be lucky if Sisters of Virtue only cuts your funding. I wouldn’t be surprised if you get slapped with a lawsuit for breaking that NDA.”
“How could they?” I snap back. “When they are the ones trying to hide what happened. I’d like to see them try.”
“Aubrey …” Mom starts, speaking to me for the first time.
“Before you say anything, as this incident did happen with a member of the staff, we would like to assist with the rectification of the situation,” the dean says, glancing between us. “We’d be willing to waive tuition for the rest of the year if that allows Aubrey to reset her time here at Ridgecrest.”
“No way in hell,” my father snarls. “The only thing that makes sense is to get Aubrey as far away from here as possible.”