by Eden Beck
“No.”
This time I’m ignored, my father turning to my mother to immediately start planning out what’s to happen to me once they’ve pulled me out of Ridgecrest.
So, I repeat myself again, more forcefully this time.
“No,” I say. “I’m not leaving Ridgecrest.”
I fix the dean with a stare of my own. “It is up to me, isn’t it? I’m not a child anymore. I’m eighteen. It should be my choice to make.”
There’s a silence that settles for a moment as all eyes turn to the dean.
“Technically …” the dean starts, after a moment of his own. “It is up to you, Aubrey.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen my father so angry.
He turns straight to me.
“If that is indeed what you choose to do, understand, support ends here. You screw up, you’re on your own. Not just at Ridgecrest, but out there, in the real world. You figure out a job, an apartment, whatever it is. You make this bed, and you lie in it.”
He jabs a finger toward the window, as if the view of Ridgecrest’s beautifully manicured lawns is going to somehow scare me into submission.
But I’ve had enough of that. If no one is going to believe me anyway, I might as well start telling the truth. I might as well start standing up for myself.
So, it isn’t my father I look to next. It’s the dean.
“Mr. Peters … I want him gone. You have the proof, he’s not safe to have around students,” I say to the dean. “If he goes, I stay, and I don’t tell anyone about the inappropriate staff members lurking around Ridgecrest.”
I sit back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. “There’s got to be some kind of rule about that.”
“That is not for you to negotiate; however, given what we’ve discovered here today, we will be reviewing the terms of Mr. Peters employment … very carefully,” the dean says ominously. “Mr. Peters, you are dismissed from this meeting … for now.”
Mr. Peters silently nods, stands, and slips out the door.
“I can accept that,” I say after a pause.
“But I can’t,” my father snaps. He moves forward to try to position himself between myself and the dean and Ms. Hopkins. “This is not what you’re doing her today, Aubrey. This is stupid. You’re not staying here. You’re coming home with your mother and me.”
I meet his furious gaze with my own cool one.
Not to say it doesn’t take every ounce of courage in me to keep my face composed.
“No,” I say, again. This time, I’m not forced to repeat myself. “I’m going to stay.”
For one second, my father seems to be drowning in his own inability to summon a response.
“Alright, well, I don’t think my opinion here is needed anymore,” My father says, finally. “This is it Aubrey, sink or swim. Just know we won’t be there to rescue you the next time you fail.”
He and Mom stand up and head toward the door.
“I understand,” I say.
My father nods at me and they disappear out through the door. I turn back and meet Ms. Hopkins and the dean’s gaze. There’s a long pause.
“So … do we have an understanding Aubrey?” the dean asks carefully.
“Free tuition for the rest of the year, I’m a model student, I don’t tell anyone about Mr. Peters,” I reply.
This is a deal I’m familiar with.
The dean quietly nods. “Model student, the finest example of what Ridgecrest can provide.”
I smile. “Of course.”
“Well then, I think we’re done here. Aubrey, you should be off to finish up your last period before break,” Ms. Hopkins says, as if I didn’t just basically get disowned and accused of seducing a member of staff all at once.
“You’re right, thank you,” I reply as I stand up from my chair.
I head out into the hallway and all of a sudden, I can finally feel air filling my lungs again. I stagger a moment and catch myself against one of the walls to steady myself.
Sink or swim. It’s time to sink or swim.
And this time, I’m all on my own.
Chapter Thirty-Two
As if I wasn’t alone before.
I was always alone in this.
I should be shaken. I should be upset.
I’ve been branded as a slut after all, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’ve been falsely accused of coming on to a counselor. I’ve been cut off from my parents. I’ve been threatened, abused, and branded a whore.
I should be furious.
But instead, I feel free.
For the first time … I feel free.
For the first time in my life, my fate is in my hands. Actually, in my hands.
And I know exactly what I plan to do with it.
I head straight for the last class of the day—another dumb period filled with useless worksheets to fill out until it’s time for everyone to leave for break. As soon as I enter, Alaska and Clark look like they’ve just seen a ghost. I sit down between them and they bombard me with bewildered whispers.
“What happened?”
“Are you expelled?”
“What are you going to do?”
“What are they going to do?”
“Well, some good news, Mr. Peters and his creepy behavior won’t be a problem for anyone, at least not for a while,” I say.
“Woah, did you get him fired?” Clark asks.
“Not in so many words, but …” I trail off for a second. “I’ll be surprised to see him come back after they complete their investigation. And no, I’m not expelled, in fact, free tuition for the rest of the year.”
“I mean, if half the student’s parents knew that was all it would take to get free Ridgecrest tuition, then someone else might have tried it on with Mr. Peters well before you did,” Alaska says, much to both of our surprise.
Clark and I gape at her, but she just nudges each of us with a wild grin.
“I know, I know, it wasn’t your fault,” Alaska says with a shrug. “But it’s not all good. Now you’re still stuck here with Bridget breathing down your neck and those three douchebags making your life a living hell.”
“True, and I did promise them I’d be a model student of what Ridgecrest has to offer.”
“So, the plan is off?” Alaska asks. “You’re really going to just let Bridget get away with trying to ruin your life?”
I smile. “No, you weren’t listening, I said I’d be a model student of Ridgecrest. What kind of students do you see around Ridgecrest?”
Alaska and Clark look at each other.
“I’d say a bunch of delinquents,” Alaska says.
“Well now, I wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression of Ridgecrest then, would I?”
Alaska and Clark both grin.
“So, what’s the plan?” Clark asks.
“Bridget’s big party. For all the fuss she made of not inviting us … it seems to me like she was secretly hoping we’d invite ourselves.”
“Nice, easy enough, then what?” Alaska asks.
“I’ve got some ideas, but I’ll need to get Bridget alone,” I say, after thinking for a moment.
“That’ll be tough, no doubt she’ll be surrounded by people the entire time. But I think we can help with that,” Alaska says, sharing a glance with Clark.
He just nods emphatically.
“The whole school still thinks you’re a teacher-trapping whore,” Clark says, just shrugging when Alaska elbows him hard in the ribs. “So, what’s left to lose?”
“You guys have my back?” I ask.
They both nod emphatically.
“Then I’m good, I can take whatever they throw at me for now.”
Alaska and Clark smile reassuringly at me and in that moment, I’m overcome with their care. I’ve never had friends like this, people that really care. But I know that even with their support the next months will be some of the toughest I’ve ever faced.
Hell, that says nothing of the next
few hours.
I may have found some small triumph in my battle with Mr. Peters, with my parents, with the very shame that sent me here to Ridgecrest in the first place … but I’m not done yet.
Not until Bridget has paid for what she’s done. Her and the whole lot of them.
Warren, Sterling, Chase.
They’ve got debts to pay too, and I intend to collect.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The hour of the party arrives with no shortage of whispers surrounding the photos—and my subsequent disappearance—from earlier.
I don’t need a contraband phone to know I’m the subject on everyone’s lips today.
This is Ridgecrest, after all. At this point, I’m practically immune to anything else they might try to throw at me—Bridget and the boys included. I can do it when I know that in just a few hours’ time, if all goes right, it’ll finally mean the end of it.
The end of it all.
Just the thought practically makes me giddy.
Bridget leaves Mason House early, giving me and Alaska plenty of time to get ready without raising an eyebrow.
Alaska slides into a short, black minidress that plunges down in the back, revealing a small tattoo of a compass on her spine.
“When did you get that?” I ask, motioning to the tattoo.
“Eighteenth birthday present to myself. Parents still don’t know. If they did, I definitely would have just been kicked out instead of them spending the money to ‘reform’ me.”
I slide into one of Alaska’s borrowed gowns—a short, red dress and my single pair of heels. I turn and look at myself in the mirror.
The heels were considered sensible when they were paired with my uniform, but they don’t look sensible now.
The dress clings to my hips and chest. It fits like it belongs on me, like it’s a part of me. Unlike my uniform, which felt like a starched frame that I was an almost unwelcome resident in. My hair hangs in long waves against my shoulders and there’s a gleam in my eyes I haven’t seen before.
It’s like looking in the mirror and seeing the devil … and liking it.
“Damn, not bad,” Alaska says from behind me.
“You think?” I ask. “It’s a lot.”
“No girl, if you’re going for some revenge, that’s the dress you do it in,” Alaska says with a smile.
After another quick check in the mirror and we head out of the dorm. Bridget has been gone long enough now that thankfully there’s no chance of running into her ahead of time.
I feel a thrill run down my spine. I’m going to do this.
I’m really going to do this.
Clark is waiting for us outside Mason House, dressed in a smart shirt and well-fitted pants.
“Clark, is that you?” Alaska laughs, pretending to look up and down the sidewalk for some sign the boy in front of us is an imposter.
“Hey, I can bring it when I need to,” he shoots back.
We head off across the quad and to Clark’s car which is parked by the admin building. We pile in, take one last look at Ridgecrest behind us, and head off to Bridget and Warren’s house.
The excitement in the air is palpable. This might just be crashing a party for Clark and Alaska, but for me, it’s so much more.
When we arrive, the full magnitude of Bridget and Warren’s lifestyle sinks in. The enormous mansion is lit up with bright floodlights and twinkling lights adorn the many trees that line the front lawn—so big it makes Alaska’s luxurious cabin look like a forgotten mountain shack.
Other classmates and strangers pile out of cars in the driveway, everyone dressed even more lavishly than should be allowed for people our age.
If a bomb went off here, how much trust fund money would suddenly become available for the world?
It’s a horrible thought, I know, but I suppose it’s just the adrenaline. I feel like if I had to, I could fight a bear tonight.
Maybe not a brown bear or even a panda, but perhaps a medium-sized koala.
Clark parks down at the end of the driveway and we head off toward the house, filing in with another group of late arrivals.
Thanks, I’m sure, to Alaska’s good taste and Clark’s ability to clean up well—no one even gives us a second look.
When we step inside, we are greeted by a giant foyer with a massive crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. More twinkling lights adorn the banister of a sweeping double staircase leading to the second floor.
“Damn, no elbow room in this place, right?” Clark chuckles. “Maybe that’s why Warren never leaves his sister alone at school, she lived in a different zip code at home.”
“Yeah, no kidding, any idea where she might be?” I ask, taking a slow turn around the crowded foyer. “You could get lost in this place.”
Quite happily, I might add.
“Sounds like most people are further in the back, should probably check back there first,” Alaska says, trying to get a look around a particularly tall guy leaning on one of the banisters to see further down the hall.
We head back to the large formal back room, where music thumps and the loud chatter of people rattles through the space.
The energy is a strange cross between a formal cocktail hour and a college rager. There’s a full bar in one corner of the room with pre-mixed cocktails and there’s a line of guys taking shots together. Right beside them, girls dressed like New York City debutants lounge in cocktail dresses while sipping champagne on the settees.
Before I get lost, I manage to spot Bridget at the far end of the room. She’s surrounded by a group of guys, laughing and waving her hands around flirtatiously.
Like any of them even have a shot, I laugh to myself. A girl like Bridget is looking for more than just a few laughs.
One guy moves in a bit closer and the smile on Bridget’s face fades. Then, suddenly, Warren steps in from seemingly nowhere and motions to Bridget to join him over with another small group. Bridget politely excuses herself from her admirers and joins him.
“Damn, that’s near perfect choreography,” Alaska remarks. “They’ve got this down.”
“Must be some sort of twin telepathy,” Clark says. “Anyway, who wants a drink?”
“Wait, I gotta figure out how to get to Bridget,” I say.
“Sure, but don’t you want a little extra courage before that happens?”
I pause for a second, but honestly, it’s a few seconds less than I ever have before. “Okay, I’m in.”
We head to the bar and Clark mixes and pours three drinks, handing one each to me and Alaska. He raises his glass and Alaska and I raise ours in turn.
“To one very strange first semester among fellow delinquents,” Clark toasts.
“May we never become the boring adults they want us to be,” Alaska adds.
“And may we always be the best kind of disappointments,” I say.
We “cheers” in unison and take a drink. The cocktails are fantastic, sweet with just a little burn—a sure sign that Clark’s experience as a bartender is overdeveloped for his age. I do my best to casually watch Bridget and Warren from afar, trying not to draw attention. Bridget and Warren continue to laugh and talk with different groups of people, looking a lot like royals holding court.
“So, what’s the plan?” Clark asks, after a long minute of watching from afar.
“We gotta get watchdog big brother away without either of them noticing we’re here yet. I dunno, create some kind of diversion?” Alaska says.
Suddenly, Alaska spots someone across the room.
“I’ve got an idea, wait here,” she says. She strides over to a small group of guys and starts gesturing and talking to one of them. After a few minutes, she smiles and nods and then makes her way back over to us.
“What did you do?” I ask, peeking around her shoulder at the guy she was just clambering over.
Alaska smiles. “I mean, there’s one big advantage to a school for troubled kids. There’s a delinquent for every need,” she says with a
laugh. “Adam there is in my science class, and guess what he ended up at Ridgecrest for?”
“What?”
“Arson.”
“Wait, what? No … Alaska! We needed a distraction, not a disaster!” I say in a panicked whisper. I start turning around in a frenzy, looking at the tightly pressed bodies all around me. Too many bodies. Too close.
I feel my breaths begin to shorten.
“Relax, he has some fireworks on him, that’s all,” she says, reaching out to squeeze my arm in a moment’s reassurance. “He was going to set them off at some point any way, I just asked him to do it sooner rather than later. With any luck, it’ll pull most people outside, including Warren.”
I can feel my heart start to beat a little faster.
“Relax, it’ll all go fine,” Alaska says.
But it’s not that easy to just relax.
I scan the party again, realizing I haven’t seen Chase or Sterling yet, which seems odd. Then, I notice the flicker of a cigarette outside on the patio. Sterling’s unmistakable leaning outline is pressed up against a column as he takes another drag.
I should have known.
I take a deep breath as another idea forms. Instead of aiming to get close to Bridget, I head out to the patio.
As I open the door and step outside, I feel Sterling’s eyes notice me. He slowly turns.
“Well, well … Who invited you?”
“Does it matter?” I ask, returning his glare with one of my own.
He just leans back a little and looks me over as the smoke streams from between his lips.
“Well, you’re here now. So, what’s up?” Sterling asks when he finally takes another drag, not taking his eyes off me.
“Didn’t want to miss out on the party of the year,” I say, though I’m not sure I sound at all convincing. For a moment, the only sound between us is that of the party. It’s all a mesh of shouted conversations and music thumping through plaster and drywall.
“Can I have a drag?” I ask, motioning to the cigarette in his hand after the moment has dragged on a little too long.
Sterling raises his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”