by Gina Finley
“No,” I say, stumbling over my words. “I mean, yes. But other things had happened before that.”
“Did she at any time strike you?” he asks. “Yesterday or the day before?”
It takes me a moment, then I shake my head. “No. She didn’t strike me. But she did–”
“Miss Byrne,” he says, holding up a hand. “Striking another student is forbidden. Even if it were self-defense of some kind, I’d still have a difficult time justifying that kind of behavior on this campus. You signed the student code of conduct at enrollment and it strictly forbids fighting on campus or physical violence toward another student.”
He’s already made up his mind about me. There’s no point in putting up any kind of fight. And, technically, he’s right. I hit Whitney without being provoked. At least physically.
I lean back in the chair. “I understand. I’m sorry.”
“Actions speak louder than words,” he says. “I’ve also been made aware of another incident.”
“Another incident?” I ask.
He looks down at the notepad on his desk and adjusts his glasses. “Were you at the home of Dashiell Hamilton last night?”
I blink several times. “Yes.”
“Did you encounter another student named Jason Miner while you were there?” he asks.
My stomach flip flops. “Yes.”
He purses his lips for a moment. “I have four eyewitness accounts that claim you assaulted Mr. Miner last night.”
The flip flops in my stomach stop and I feel like I’ve been tossed off the side of a building. “What?”
“I’ve confirmed that Mr. Minor is out absent today because he’s receiving treatment for an injury to his hand,” he says. “I’m told you caused the injury.”
“I did not,” I say.
He eyes me across the desk. “Were you not in Mr. Miner’s presence last night?”
I look at him, baffled. “Well, yes. I was.”
“So you admit you were with him,” he says. “And this is after you’ve already admitted that you struck another student yesterday during the lunch hour. Correct?”
“Yes, but–”
“I have witnesses,” he says, cutting me off. “And you’ve just admitted you saw Mr. Miner last night. Let’s just stop right here, Miss Byrne, before you dig yourself a deeper hole.”
I look down at my lap again, tears stinging my eyes. I wipe hard at them, angry at myself for crying. I am seething that he won’t let me get a word in edgewise.
He clears his throat. “Now. Normally, you’d be expelled and sent on your way. And I’m still contemplating that as the outcome here. Quite frankly, Miss Byrne, your two victims are considering criminal charges against you for your actions and if they follow through on that, then I will have no choice but to remove you from Diamond Cove. For now, however, you will be put on an in school suspension.”
“What is that?” I ask, my fingers digging into my thighs.
“You’ll be allowed to come to school, but you’ll be in one class for the duration of the day,” he explains. “You’ll receive instruction there, you’ll do your work in there, and you’ll eat lunch in there. You will not be permitted to leave for any reason than to use the restroom. When classes are over, you’ll be expected to leave campus immediately. You may not participate in or attend any extracurricular activities. You’ll be in the ISS program for two weeks, at which time we’ll reevaluate how you’ve performed during that time and move forward from there. Is that clear?”
“I guess,” I mumble.
“You guess?” he says. “Miss Byrne, I’d be very careful here. You are incredibly fortunate that you haven’t already been removed from this school. I don’t know what your behavior was like at your previous school, but this will not be tolerated here. You’ve now used up your one strike. You will not get two more. Are you clear on that?”
I hesitate, then nod. “I am. Yes.”
He clears his throat again. “Good. I’ve left a message for your father so that he’s aware of the situation, but I have not heard back from him. All in good time. You will report to Mrs. Jackson in a moment and she will send you down to ISS with a chaperone.” He pauses. “Do you have any questions for me now?”
I have about a million questions for him, but it’s pointless. He’s not going to listen to me and he doesn’t really want me to ask him questions anyway. All he wants from me is to nod and to give in. For a moment, I consider standing up, giving him the finger, and walking out of the building.
But I know that my dad sacrificed to get me in here and to pay the ridiculous tuition and I don’t want to let him down. I know that none of this is fair, but the only choice I have right at this moment is to deal with it.
“No,” I tell Winchester. “I don’t have any questions.”
He nods. “Good. I’ll be checking on your progress. Now, please go see Mrs. Jackson and she’ll see that you get to ISS. I hope you have a much better rest of your day.”
I stand, pick up my bag, and leave his office without saying another word. I can’t begin to explain the rage inside of me. I know that Dash has orchestrated all of this. I don’t know how he’s done it, but I know he’s the one responsible.
Mrs. Jackson is at her desk and she hands me a new blue slip of paper with my name on it. There is a timestamp and a signature. “You’ll take this to the instructor in the ISS classroom. He’ll check you in and get you situated.”
I sigh. “How do I find the classroom?”
“You’ll be escorted down there by a student chaperone,” she explains. “You aren’t allowed to walk there by yourself. Did Mr. Winchester explain all of the rules?”
“Uh huh,” I say. “Yeah, he explained them.”
She nods. “Okay.” Her eyes drift over my shoulder. “And here’s your chaperone now.”
I turn around.
And I’m not surprised.
Because Dash is standing there, smiling at me.
TWENTY FOUR
Dash
She’s not surprised to see me.
She’s smart.
So she already knows.
Mrs. Jackson smiles. “Cara, this is–”
“We’ve met,” Cara snaps, glaring at me.
“Oh, well, excellent then,” Mrs. Jackson says. “Dash, you’ll make sure she gets to the ISS room then?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “I’ll get her there.” I push the door to the office open. “Ready?”
Cara stares at me for a long moment, then pushes past me through the door.
The hallways are quiet and it’s just the two of us. I can feel the anger radiating off of her.
“Didn’t have to be this way,” I tell her as we walk.
“Fuck you,” she says.
“I can make it worse, Cara,” I tell her. “Much worse. You may want to think about changing your attitude.”
“How’d you do it?” she asks. “How did you set all of this up?”
I shrug, my hands in my pockets. “Wasn’t hard. You did hit Whitney. You were at my house last night. And Jason’s already afraid of me. He’ll say whatever I tell him to say.”
She shakes her head. “Unbelievable. And what’s the fucking deal with Winchester?”
I laugh. “My father’s donated so much money to this school they might as well rename it after him. Or me. You’re actually pretty lucky.”
She glares at me again. “How’s that?”
“He wanted to kick you out,” I tell her. “I convinced him that you were worth...saving. That ISS was the way to go here. And that I was sure you’d change your ways.”
“He called them my victims,” she says. “My victims. Give me a fucking break.”
“I warned you.”
She stops suddenly and looks at me. “I could tell my father everything. All of this. What you did to Jason. How you set me up. That all of this is bullshit.”
“He’ll be out of a job before you’re even done explaining, sweetheart,” I tell her. “
You don’t want to do that.”
“He won’t care,” she says. “He cares more about me than his fucking job.”
I smile at her. “But you care more about disappointing him.”
She looks away.
I’ve pegged her perfectly and she doesn’t even know it. She feels responsible for her dad and she won’t disappoint him, even if it means enduring the humiliation I’m putting her through.
“You won’t say anything, Cara,” I tell her. “I know you won’t. And that’s the right thing to do. We don’t need to be enemies. I don’t want to be enemies.” I pause, looking at her. “I want much better for us than that. I think you know that. But you need to get on board. And you need to realize that I’m in charge here. I can make good things happen for you, Cara. But I can make the bad things happen, too. As you can see.”
I can see her running all of the scenarios through her head.
I let her run them.
She’ll come to the only conclusion that makes sense.
“This is it,” I tell her and point at the room.
She looks at the door.
“Cara,” I say.
She turns and looks at me.
“You can hate me all you want right now, but it won’t do anything for you,” I tell her. “The best thing you can do right now is let go of it and acknowledge what’s true.” I put my hand under her chin. “I own you. I run you. And I’ll do what I want with you. Those can be good things. But you need to stop fighting me. Now.”
She looks away from me and pulls her chin from my hand.
“I’ll be here at the end of the day,” I tell her. “We’ll talk after school. And you can let me know what you decide.”
She stares at me for a long time.
Then she turns and disappears into the classroom.
TWENTY FIVE
Cara
I walk into the classroom annoyed. Bad enough that I have to be in here, but it’s the extra insult of having Dash serve as my chaperone to bring me here. Which I’m sure is what he wanted.
The teacher is a guy in his forties with crew cut and a face that looks like it forgot how to smile. He gives me a hard stare from behind his desk when I walk in.
I hand him my slip and he reads it carefully. Then he lays it down on his desk and taps a couple of keys on his laptop. “Alright, Byrne. You’re on the roster. I’m Mr. Anderson. Here are the rules. Do not be late. Do not leave early. Your instructors will provide work for you. You’re expected to work while you’re in here. No phones for any reason. You need to use the bathroom, let me know and we’ll get you there. Follow those rules, you’ll be good. If you don’t, I’ll let Winchester know and you’re on your own. Clear?”
I nod. “Yeah. Can I ask a question?”
He nods.
“What do I do today?” I ask. “I’m guessing it’ll take my teachers a day to get me assignments and work, so what do I do in here today?”
“Do you have work from your classes from the past two days?”
I think for a moment. “A little bit, but not enough to fill up the day.”
“Start with that,” he says. “I’ll email your instructors and will get you some work for the remainder of the day. If you finish what you have before I hear back from them, let me know.” He gives me a very tight smile. “I’ll find something for you to do. Clear?”
I stifle a sigh. “Yeah.”
“Sit where you like,” he says. “Plenty of open seats. I’d recommend not sitting next to anyone, though. Less temptation to talk and get yourself in a situation you don’t want to be in.”
“Right,” I tell him. “Okay.”
I turn to the desks in the room. It’s five rows of eight desks. I count four other people in the room. Two guys are in the front, with their heads down, reading. There’s a girl in the middle, typing on a laptop.
I look at Anderson. “Can we use laptops?”
He nods. “Yes. WiFi is disabled in here, so you won’t be able to connect to the internet. As long as you have access to what you need, you can use one.”
I nod and turn back to the room. There’s a guy in the back row, far left corner. He looks up and I realize I’ve met him.
Parker. From the bleachers. Still all dressed in black.
He lifts his chin in recognition and the corner of his mouth turns upward in a very small smile.
“Have a seat,” Anderson says. “Get to work.”
I walk to the back of the room and sit in the last row, opposite from Parker in the far right corner. I set my bag down and unzip it. I have no idea what I’m going to work on, but I’m going to look busy so that Anderson stays off my back. I pull out a notebook and the syllabus for my history class. I find the reading assignment, then pull out my textbook. I glance at Anderson, but he’s staring at a laptop, typing slowly. I glance over at Parker.
He’s looking at me, then raises his eyebrows. I shrug. The corner of his mouth comes up again and he goes back to whatever he’s reading.
I do my best to actually focus on what I’m reading, but it’s no use. My mind is racing and I’m pissed that I’m sitting here. It takes me an hour to read ten pages, which is both irritating and a waste of time.
After the hour, Anderson stands and looks at the room. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be back shortly. You may not leave the room and you may not use your phones. Clear?”
There is some mumbling and Anderson leaves the room.
The two guys in the front keep reading and the girl in the middle reaches into her bag, checks her phone, then drops it back in the bag and goes back to her computer.
“Didn’t expect to see you in here,” Parker says.
I look at him. “Why’s that?’
He shrugs. “Don’t seem the type.”
“I’m not,” I tell him. “I shouldn’t be in here.”
He laughs. “That’s what they all say. Here and in prison.”
“No, I really don’t belong here,” I tell him. “It’s bullshit.”
He shrugs. “But you’re here.”
“Yeah. Why are you here?”
He glances toward the other three in the room. “There may or may not have been a particular substance found in my locker.”
“And they didn’t just kick you out?”
He smiles. “They don’t like to lose that tuition money and they sure don’t want the public knowing that there might be illicit drugs in the lockers of these hallowed halls.”
I laugh. “That sounds right.”
“Are you here because you decked Whitney?” he asks.
I don’t say anything.
“Everyone knows about it.” He looks at the girl in the middle. “Ash. Doesn’t everyone know about Cara punching Whitney?”
“Yep,” Ash says without turning around. “Everyone knows. And the sane people celebrated it.”
Parker nods. “See? Everyone. That why you’re here?”
“Partly,” I tell him. “It’s a long story.”
“Usually is,” he says. “Anderson’s gonna be back in a minute. He usually bails out for a little longer in the afternoon. He’s alright as long as you look like you’re doing something.”
I nod. “Okay, thanks.”
He leans back in his desk and stretches his legs out.
“How long do you have to be here?” I ask.
“Another week, I guess,” he says. “It’s fine. This is actually better than classes. I can read and it takes me, like, half an hour to do homework. Better than listening to teachers or shitty ass rich kids taunt one another.”
I laugh. “Yeah. Maybe so.”
The door opens and Anderson steps back into the room. I look back at my book as his eyes sweep the room. He nods, then sits back down behind his desk.
I glance back over at Parker.
He rolls his eyes.
I smile and turn back to my textbook.
Might not be awful in here after all.
TWENTY SIX
Dash
> I look at Tyler. “What are you talking about?”
It’s lunch and we’re grabbing sushi at a Japanese place two minutes from campus. We’re sitting on the back patio and if the waves didn’t look like shit, I’d bail the rest of the day and go surfing. But the water is flat and the wind is cutting hard across the surface, which doesn’t make for a whole lot of fun.
And now Tyler is questioning me and I don’t like it.
He shifts in his chair. “I don’t know, man. Someone else pulled this shit with you, you’d be merciless. You’d be setting up seventeen different ways to bring them down.” He eyes me. “What’s the deal with this chick?”
I frown at him. “There’s no deal.”
“Dash, come on,” Fox says, picking up a roll with his chopsticks. “Chick openly talks shit to me in class. Sneaks into our fucking car and knows exactly what went down. Then you’ve got her over and you’re hanging in the pool with her? And don’t get me wrong.” He grins at me. “She’s fucking fine and I’d no problem hitting that. But, dude. She’s been trouble for two days. Why aren’t you just cutting her loose?”
I look at Shane.
He stares at me, which tells me he’s got the same questions.
I grab one of the rolls off the plate in the middle and drop it on my plate. “She’s in ISS for two weeks. Winchester threatened to expel her. What else are you looking for?”
Tyler and Fox exchange a look.
“Uh, maybe actually expelling her?” Tyler says. “Maybe following through on your threats with her?”
“Why the fuck are you so worried about her?” I ask, moving the roll around in the wasabi on the plate. “The fuck does it matter?”
They exchange another look.
“Because she was there, man,” Fox says. “She saw us go into that house and she knows what we were doing. That’s not cool. She’s a threat.”
“She’s not a threat,” I tell them. “I have it under control.”
“What if you don’t?” Tyler asks.
I set the chopsticks down. “Are you fucking serious here? When the fuck have I ever not had things under control?”