The Long Game
Page 18
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
The Emilia I knew would have refused on the spot. The girl sitting in front of the headmaster’s desk did not.
“I understand you intend to apply to Yale next year.” Raleigh hit Emilia exactly where it hurt. “Hardwicke has enough students apply each year that the admissions committee relies heavily on the recommendations of our teachers and staff. You want to put your best foot forward. This”—the headmaster nodded toward a phone he’d placed in front of Emilia—“is hardly your best foot.”
I stepped forward, drawing Raleigh’s attention to me. Emilia didn’t even turn to look, her eyes locked on the front of the headmaster’s desk, her head bowed.
“Ms.—” the headmaster’s voice boomed with disapproval, but he still hesitated when it came to my name.
“Kendrick Keyes,” I supplied. Headmaster Raleigh flinched slightly at each of the names. Ivy Kendrick. William Keyes. Like it or not—and most days I didn’t—those names meant something at this school and in this town.
“This is a private conversation,” the headmaster informed me. “Unless you want to face disciplinary action yourself, I strongly suggest you leave the way you came. Immediately.”
“Just like you’re strongly suggesting Emilia drop out of the student council race?” I asked. “Remind me: Was there alcohol or any kind of illegal substance in that picture? Was Emilia holding a drink?”
“I will not warn you again, young lady.”
“There’s really no way of telling what’s going on in that picture, is there?” I continued. I’d never done well with warnings. “She could have the flu. She could have just pulled an all-nighter. Someone could have slipped something into her nonalcoholic beverage of choice.”
“Stop, Tess.” Emilia’s voice was hoarse. “Please. Just stop.”
The phone on the table buzzed. An instant later, mine did, too. Emilia didn’t move, but the headmaster did. He picked up the phone. A few seconds later, I heard a video start to play.
“Look at her. She’s so wasted! Say ‘wasted,’ Emilia!”
Whatever Emilia said in response was incomprehensible. Her speech was slurred past all recognition.
In the present, Emilia lifted her head. Her shoulders shook. I crossed the room and went for the phone, hitting stop as several boys were snickering offscreen and one nudged her with his foot.
“I’ll step down.” Emilia forced herself to look at Headmaster Raleigh.
“I think that would be wise,” he said quietly.
“And what about the boys in that video?” I asked. “The ones taping a girl without her consent? What about the person who’s sending these texts?”
Now that he’d gotten what he wanted out of Emilia, Headmaster Raleigh seemed less concerned with my presence in the office. “Every effort will be made to find the origin of these texts,” the headmaster promised.
“And if I told you that John Thomas Wilcox told me that he’d sent the picture?” I asked.
Emilia was the one who answered. “It would be your word against his.” She shook her head. “He said, she said.” Robotically, she turned back to the headmaster. “If that’s all, I’d like to do some studying before my next class.”
CHAPTER 15
I didn’t see Emilia again until World Issues. The moment Dr. Clark told us to break into groups, Emilia asked to go to the bathroom. I had two choices: stay and be interrogated by both Henry and Asher about what had happened in the headmaster’s office, or follow Emilia and risk having my head bitten off.
I chose the latter.
When I asked for permission, Dr. Clark assessed me silently. “Off the record,” she said, “if what I’m hearing about how this situation with Emilia was handled is true, I disagree with it on every level.” She nodded to the door. “Go.”
I went.
When I got to the bathroom, Emilia was standing in front of the mirror, applying lip gloss. “Don’t worry,” she told me, an edge in her voice. “I’ll still count your favor paid in full.”
I stepped forward. “That’s not why I’m worried.”
Emilia put the cap on her lip gloss and turned to look at me. “You don’t get to be worried about me,” she said vehemently. “You don’t even like me.”
She’d told me once that Asher was the likable twin. He was the one people trusted. She was the one who had focus. The one who did everything right.
“You weren’t drunk in that picture,” I said softly. “Were you?”
“I understand you intend to apply to Yale next year.” Raleigh hit Emilia exactly where it hurt. “Hardwicke has enough students apply each year that the admissions committee relies heavily on the recommendations of our teachers and staff. You want to put your best foot forward. This”—the headmaster nodded toward a phone he’d placed in front of Emilia—“is hardly your best foot.”
I stepped forward, drawing Raleigh’s attention to me. Emilia didn’t even turn to look, her eyes locked on the front of the headmaster’s desk, her head bowed.
“Ms.—” the headmaster’s voice boomed with disapproval, but he still hesitated when it came to my name.
“Kendrick Keyes,” I supplied. Headmaster Raleigh flinched slightly at each of the names. Ivy Kendrick. William Keyes. Like it or not—and most days I didn’t—those names meant something at this school and in this town.
“This is a private conversation,” the headmaster informed me. “Unless you want to face disciplinary action yourself, I strongly suggest you leave the way you came. Immediately.”
“Just like you’re strongly suggesting Emilia drop out of the student council race?” I asked. “Remind me: Was there alcohol or any kind of illegal substance in that picture? Was Emilia holding a drink?”
“I will not warn you again, young lady.”
“There’s really no way of telling what’s going on in that picture, is there?” I continued. I’d never done well with warnings. “She could have the flu. She could have just pulled an all-nighter. Someone could have slipped something into her nonalcoholic beverage of choice.”
“Stop, Tess.” Emilia’s voice was hoarse. “Please. Just stop.”
The phone on the table buzzed. An instant later, mine did, too. Emilia didn’t move, but the headmaster did. He picked up the phone. A few seconds later, I heard a video start to play.
“Look at her. She’s so wasted! Say ‘wasted,’ Emilia!”
Whatever Emilia said in response was incomprehensible. Her speech was slurred past all recognition.
In the present, Emilia lifted her head. Her shoulders shook. I crossed the room and went for the phone, hitting stop as several boys were snickering offscreen and one nudged her with his foot.
“I’ll step down.” Emilia forced herself to look at Headmaster Raleigh.
“I think that would be wise,” he said quietly.
“And what about the boys in that video?” I asked. “The ones taping a girl without her consent? What about the person who’s sending these texts?”
Now that he’d gotten what he wanted out of Emilia, Headmaster Raleigh seemed less concerned with my presence in the office. “Every effort will be made to find the origin of these texts,” the headmaster promised.
“And if I told you that John Thomas Wilcox told me that he’d sent the picture?” I asked.
Emilia was the one who answered. “It would be your word against his.” She shook her head. “He said, she said.” Robotically, she turned back to the headmaster. “If that’s all, I’d like to do some studying before my next class.”
CHAPTER 15
I didn’t see Emilia again until World Issues. The moment Dr. Clark told us to break into groups, Emilia asked to go to the bathroom. I had two choices: stay and be interrogated by both Henry and Asher about what had happened in the headmaster’s office, or follow Emilia and risk having my head bitten off.
I chose the latter.
When I asked for permission, Dr. Clark assessed me silently. “Off the record,” she said, “if what I’m hearing about how this situation with Emilia was handled is true, I disagree with it on every level.” She nodded to the door. “Go.”
I went.
When I got to the bathroom, Emilia was standing in front of the mirror, applying lip gloss. “Don’t worry,” she told me, an edge in her voice. “I’ll still count your favor paid in full.”
I stepped forward. “That’s not why I’m worried.”
Emilia put the cap on her lip gloss and turned to look at me. “You don’t get to be worried about me,” she said vehemently. “You don’t even like me.”
She’d told me once that Asher was the likable twin. He was the one people trusted. She was the one who had focus. The one who did everything right.
“You weren’t drunk in that picture,” I said softly. “Were you?”
