by Pam Godwin
“No!” Her jaw hung open, her breaths bursting out. “My brother gave me that! It’s a three-thousand-dollar tennis bracelet.”
“Now it’s worthless. Just like your uniform.” I tossed it toward the trash can in her room and handed the scissors to Carrie. “Which dorm did you steal the food and scissors from?”
Tinsley stared at her bare wrist, her eyes stark with rage.
“I have infinite patience, Miss Constantine. But right now…” I looked at my watch. “Twenty-one people are going to be late for Mass because of your selfishness.”
Her rebellion was expected, but she was pushing it too far, and she knew it.
“Last room on the right.” She pointed behind her.
“Return the stolen items,” I said to Carrie. “Quickly.”
As she raced off, I leaned in and put my mouth in the space beside Tinsley’s ear. She smelled like lemon drops and vanilla. And stolen cookies.
“I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.” I breathed in her stillness, her helpless fear. “Mommy Dearest forked over a lot of money for you to be here. You’re stuck with me for a year.”
“The best way to motivate me is to tell me it can’t be done.” She turned her face toward mine, the sputter of her exhalations peppering my lips. “Save us both the trouble and send me home.”
Her mouth was too close. I could taste the sugar, the delicious sin that awaited on the other side of that narrow inch. It was just a twitch away. A short, compulsive motion.
Our gazes held, and in that sliver of impermissible nearness, I felt my teeth tearing into the poutline of her lips. I tasted her blood, heard her whimpers, and saw her beautiful pain.
The tread of footsteps ripped me from the reverie.
As Carrie hurried toward us, I straightened, and Tinsley released a held breath.
“Carrie.” I kept my voice smooth and unaffected. “Explain to Tinsley why Catholics practice fasting before Mass.”
“Physical hunger strengthens our focus and creates spiritual hunger for the Lord.”
“Thank you. You can go. Tell Father Isaac to head to the church. Tinsley and I will be a moment.”
“Okay.” She backed toward the stairwell, tossing me a coy smile. “It’s really good to see you again, Father Magnus. I look forward to your Advanced Calculus class this—”
“Mass started two minutes ago.”
“Right.” She spun and took off down the stairs.
Tinsley leaned against the doorframe of her room and slid her fingers along the placket of buttons between her breasts. “What are you going to do to me?”
“That’ll come later. It’ll be unpleasant, but try not to worry about it.”
“What do you mean?” Her fingers quivered, and she lowered her hand.
Delayed consequences had the best effect. The anticipation, the not knowing, was a consequence in and of itself. But it was nowhere near the punishment she would be receiving this afternoon.
A glance into her room confirmed she had four undamaged uniforms hanging in the closet.
“You have sixty seconds to follow the dress code and meet me in the stairwell.” I strode toward the exit.
“Are there any sharp objects along the way?” she asked my back. “So I can throw myself on one of them?”
“Fifty seconds.” I entered the stairwell and leaned back against the wall, seeking the coolness of the bricks.
As I lingered there, my thoughts tried to twist in a dangerous direction. Fifty seconds was too long to stand idle while surges of hot lust became reacquainted with my body.
My reaction to her made no sense. There was nothing even remotely attractive about the little imp.
The lie pricked my heart. Tinsley Constantine was inconceivably beautiful from every angle, unpredictable at every turn, and had a mouth on her that wouldn’t quit. She challenged me, shocked me, and twisted me up. Even if she was just a child.
She’s eighteen. Legal age of consent. Technically, an adult.
That meant Caroline’s parental rights were nonexistent. Tinsley could leave Sion Academy, screw every male in the state of Maine, and there wasn’t a damn thing her mother could do about it. Except cut her off. Caroline could and would take away Tinsley’s trust fund, financial support, and the roof over her head.
Maybe her mother wouldn’t disown her if she were expelled from Sion, but she was taking a huge risk trying to find out.
I refused to be part of it. She was my student, and it was my job to educate and discipline her. Anything else was an abuse of power.
At the sound of her approach, I realized I’d forgotten to check my watch. Had sixty seconds passed? Five minutes? We were already late. At this point, the only purpose in going to Mass was to teach her a lesson.
She couldn’t manipulate her way around the rules. I was far better at this than she was.
When she reached the stairwell, I inspected her uniform. The shirt was tucked in, the buttons closed from throat to waist. Her knee-high socks were pulled up tight, her loafers the appropriate style and color. In the winter, they wore school-issued cardigans. But it wasn’t necessary today.
“Kneel.” I walked a circle around her, noting the tension in her shoulders.
She wanted to argue but did as commanded and lowered to her knees.
“The skirt touches the floor as required.” I flicked a finger. “Stand.”
As she rose, her eyes blazed with outrage. The intensity took me aback. This was more than annoyance about conforming to the rules.
“Get it off your chest.” I crossed my arms. “But choose your words carefully.”
“Okay, well, that thing you just did with the skirt? It’s like so…” She made a sound of irritation. “Patriarchal.”
“Go on.”
“It’s needlessly demeaning. I mean, you can clearly see the length of my skirt without making me kneel for you. It’s an archaic act of shaming so characteristic of a system controlled by men. If I were a male student, I wouldn’t have to kneel during a wardrobe inspection. I wouldn’t even have to wear a skirt. It’s total bullsh—” She took a breath and calmed her voice. “It’s an outdated, sexist practice, one I strongly suggest you discontinue. You know, in the best interest of the students.”
I lowered my arms and stared at her, stunned. In the nine years I’d been running this school, not one girl had presented that compelling argument.
“You’re right.”
“I am?”
“Yes, Tinsley. You asserted your belief confidently, respectfully, and convincingly. You convinced me, which rarely happens. I’ll see to it that the practice is ceased by all staff members at Sion.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I cocked my head. “I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.”
“That doesn’t mean that shaming and humiliation won’t be used as forms of punishment.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows knitted. “Maybe I can assert an argument for that.”
Doubtful. “You can try. Another time.”
I led her out of the residence hall, and ten minutes later, we stood before the towering arched doors of the church. A choir of voices drifted from within, marking the end of the second reading. The service was halfway over.
With my hand on the door, I started to pull it open and stopped, looking back at my charge. “Have you ever been inside of a church?”
“I once took an Anusara yoga class in the house of a well-known witch coven.”
“Okay.” I breathed in slowly. “That’s not the same thing at all.”
“It sure felt churchy with all the stars and crosses engraved everywhere. Though they might’ve been inverted crosses.” She shrugged.
“Your goal today is to listen and observe. Follow my lead and sit, kneel, and stand when I do.”
I escorted her inside and spotted Crisanto at the pulpit, reading the gospel. Students from both campuses filled the pews from the front row to midway back. Boys on one sid
e and girls on the other.
Dipping my fingers in the holy water, I made the sign of the cross. Then, to mitigate our disruption, I slipped into the last row with Tinsley at my side. No one noticed. At least, not right away.
As Crisanto moved on to the homily, one of the senior boys sitting a few pews before us glanced over his shoulder. He started to turn back and did a double take, his eyes locking on to Tinsley.
The little shit openly stared at her, stared harder, and continued to do so as his elbow rammed into the guy beside him. Within seconds, the entire row of senior boys was gawking at her.
I gave them the sternest look I had, but none of them caught it. They were spellbound by the Constantine princess. Maybe they recognized her from the press. But I knew it was more than that. The girl was a knockout. Stunning beyond anything these boys had ever encountered.
Out the corner of my eye, she held her palm out and blew them a kiss.
Some of them scrambled to catch it. None were listening to the sermon.
I angled toward her and growled in her ear. “This is your only warning. Do that again, and you’ll earn another strike.”
“Are these strikes given with a strap or a cane?” she whispered.
“Shut up and pay attention.”
Five minutes later, she was asleep, her neck hanging at an awkward angle, bobbing her head.
I grabbed a missal from the book rack and dropped the heavy text onto her lap.
She jumped, her arm flying out and nailing me in the chest.
“Sorry,” she mouthed.
Within minutes, her head bobbed again.
And so it went. Through what little of Mass she was actually conscious, she groaned between the kneeling and standing, yawned through the prayers, smiled and winked at the boys, and tested my patience. She did everything wrong.
But she would learn. By the end of the day, she would understand the meaning of a hard lesson.
CHAPTER 9
TINSLEY
My head pounded as I stared at the laptop, the screen growing blurry with each heavy blink. I snapped it closed. After three hours of test-taking, I could barely keep my eyes open.
I stood from the desk and extended my arms toward the domed ceiling, stretching in a yoga upward salute, trying to wake my muscles.
Father Magnus’s classroom had been empty all morning, save for the man himself. For the past three hours, he sat in the row behind me, working on his laptop. He was so eerily quiet, so stock-still, I might’ve forgotten he was there. But that was impossible.
His presence overwhelmed the very air, smothering it with his dark masculinity and the echo of his promise.
It’ll be unpleasant.
He was really playing up my impending punishment, drawing out the suspense and dread. It was working. I envisioned a physical beating with some kind of dungeon-like implement, one I would fight tooth and nail. I would do everything in my power to make him regret keeping me here.
But deep in my gut, I was scared.
Pulling in a breath, I turned to face him.
“You finished?” His low, rich timbre vibrated through me as he lifted his eyes from his work.
“Crushed it.”
I’d considered not crushing it. If poor test scores meant more one-on-one time with Father Malicious, it would give me more opportunities to land a spot on his banned-from-Sion list.
But I couldn’t do it. I didn’t care if I was perceived as disobedient, entitled, or promiscuous. But I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone thinking I was dumb.
My pride could only take so many hits.
He looked at his watch. “You still have forty minutes left. Most students run out of time during these tests.”
“I don’t know what you want from me. I answered all the questions.”
“If you didn’t do your best—”
“Yeah, I know. More strikes. Geesh.”
“Head to the dining hall. After lunch, I expect you back in this room. I teach two classes in the afternoon. You’ll sit through those, and by tomorrow, I’ll have your test results and class schedule.” He returned his attention to his laptop. “Dismissed.”
As I treaded out of the classroom, his gaze burned a hole between my shoulder blades, and I knew. I just knew he was counting down the minutes to whatever punishment he had planned for me.
At the doorway, I peeked back, and sure enough, his eyes were waiting, watching, glowing with anticipation.
With a shiver, I bolted down the hall.
Down the stairs and around a few bends, I found the dining hall easily enough. Starving, I made a beeline for the serving line. If the food was anything like the gooey, homemade cinnamon roll I’d grabbed from here after Mass, I was in for a treat.
Around thirty students and teachers sat at round tables scattered throughout the room. Their conversations quieted when I entered, their eyes tracking my path to the food counters.
I hated that. It didn’t matter where I went or what I was doing. There were always spectators judging me, picking out my flaws, and looking for ways to use me for my family.
Tuning them out, I filled a plate with organic fruit, warm baked bread, and vibrant green salad with grilled chicken. Everything looked so fresh and high quality, made from the best ingredients. Given the outrageous tuition, it made sense that first-class meals would be included.
I grabbed a bottle of water and began the arduous task of finding a place to sit.
Every pair of eyes in the dining hall watched me waffle over where to go. Yet no one offered a seat at their table. Not even Nevada and her redheaded sidekick. They looked away as I approached. Whatever. I didn’t want to be friends with them, either. I just wanted to eat my lunch without having to introduce myself to another group.
“What are you doing, Keaton’s sister?” Nevada asked as I took a seat across from her.
“Don’t be an asshole. You know my name.” I tucked into my salad.
“Everyone gets a nickname. That’s how this works.” She looked at something behind me and raised her voice. “Isn’t that right, Droopy Daisy?”
I twisted in the chair as the girl in question entered the dining hall. Her shoulders drooped. Her hair hung in stringy brown strands. But it was her disfigured face that had likely earned her the mean nickname.
Skin sagged from her eye sockets, pulling the outer corners of her eyelids downward as if there were no bones to hold the flesh of her cheeks in place. At first glance, I wondered if her face had been melted in a fire. But her misshapen mouth appeared to have no lower jaw or, at least, a severely underdeveloped one.
The deformity didn’t obscure her expression, though. If anything, her twisted features underscored the infuriation and hurt that burned in her eyes.
If I were a good person, I would lay into Nevada for being a nasty bitch and find a different table to finish my lunch. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t afford to make enemies with these girls. Not until I secured my exit out of here.
So I kept my disapproval to myself and inhaled my food.
“Droopy Daisy is the big sister on your floor.” Nevada nibbled on a carrot, studying me. “Watch your back. She’ll rat you out for using more than two squares of toilet paper.”
“Good to know.”
“I’m Alice.” The redhead leaned back and tapped her nails on the table. “You owe me a box of cookies.”
Shit. I hadn’t thought about who I might’ve stolen from this morning before Mass. But given the amount of food she had stashed in her room, she wasn’t hurting for cookies.
“I’ll pay you back.” I shrugged.
“Pay me back by introducing me to your brother Winston.”
Gross. “He’s twice your age.”
“Exactly. And he’s fucking gorgeous.”
“He has a girlfriend.”
“Tell him to visit you without the girlfriend. I’ll take care of the rest.”
She didn’t have a chance in hell with Winny. He was obsessed with his little playt
hing, Ash Elliott, and far too busy to drive to Maine. If anyone visited me, it would be Keaton.
I wasn’t about to share any of that with her. So I stood and grabbed the uneaten bread off my plate. “I have to get going. See you guys later.”
According to the schedule posted on the wall, I had thirty minutes to kill. Fresh air and sunlight drew me outside, and before I knew it, I was strolling off the paved path and through a thick copse of shade trees.
In about a month, Maine would be as cold as the North Pole. But today, the autumn air felt glorious, the canopy of leaves afire in hues of golds and reds. It made me crave cider and fuzzy blankets and home.
There were so many things I didn’t like about Bishop’s Landing, such as the pretentious parties and fake smiles. But I missed my brothers and sisters, the comfort in familiarity, and my freedom.
Here, I was imprisoned by a wall, an actual electric fence. The cage felt smaller and smaller by the hour, closing in and making it hard to breathe.
If I went along with this, if I accepted this school and finished the year here, what then?
My mother would offer up her virgin princess like a sacrifice to the wealthiest, most powerful family she could find, thereby transferring control over my life to yet another asshole.
If I didn’t take hold of my future now, I never would.
A dirt trail cut through the grove. I nibbled on the crusty bread and strolled along, lost in thought. Until movement caught my eye.
Something wriggled in the leaf litter. I held still, squinting, and spotted a narrow white face. No, two faces.
Two tiny gray fur balls, about five inches long, clung to a fallen branch. With black beady eyes, Mickey Mouse ears, and rat-like tails, they were the cutest opossums I’d ever seen.
“Awww! Are you littermates?” I searched the area for more and realized they were likely orphaned.
They were too young, too wobbly on their little toes. Opossums this small lived in their mother’s pouch. I didn’t know how they would survive the winter out here, let alone the next few days without food and shelter.
I knelt beside them, and oh my heart. They were so precious with their little pink noses and twitchy whiskers. They didn’t seem afraid of me. In fact, their heads lifted from the branch, their snouts reaching toward my hand.