gliding across the smooth surface of the desk. I pluck the figurine from its perch in front of her monitor—a jubilant Mickey Mouse—the rush of adrenaline swallowing the itch of discomfort from my meeting with Collins.
It’s in my pocket only a split second before she returns.
Mine now.
“Here you go,” Mrs. Abernathy says, strolling back in the room. “All set for you to start tomorrow. Do you have any questions?”
She holds out the file folder I’d brought to her with my school records. My schedule is on top. “I should be able to manage, but you’ll be the first one I come to if I have any questions.”
“Any time, honey.”
I flash her an appreciative smile before walking out of the office and heading back into the empty halls of the school. The administration here is going to watch my every move—or at least, they think they will. It’d be a heavy weight on my shoulders, except that I know what having your every move watched is actually like. This won’t be a cakewalk, but if I can curb my impulses until graduation, I can handle it. Probably.
I stuff my hand into my pocket, feeling the smooth ceramic figurine. Okay, maybe curbing my impulses will be a bit of a challenge. And I’ll have to keep my grades up while also working overtime to make sure I produce on the field. And I’ll have to tiptoe around Vandy Hall.
Who am I fucking kidding?
I’ll be lucky to make it to the end of the season before getting kicked out of here for good.
3
Vandy
“As you can see, my proposal is to do a deep dive into some of the fallacies of the private school system, particularly the lack of diversity at Preston Prep.” I take a deep breath. “As you know, a long-standing social club was disbanded last winter after a cover-up of illegal behavior, vandalizing school property, and bullying a member of the school community. The bullied person is black and identifies as genderfluid, making him a sitting target at a school that had previously ignored such behavior. I thought an investigation into why the school finally felt now was the right time to shut down the Devils, and if that action will really make a difference if the school itself has or hasn’t made any changes in welcoming diverse students.”
I finish in a rush and my heart hammers in my chest, like I’ve just run a race. It’s a bit strange, actually feeling things again. Without the pain pills, every emotion feels sharper and unused, clumsily rushing into all my cracks. I know the topic is risky. It’s calling out the school on a long-held weak spot, but when the headmaster took action against the Devils, and Hamilton Bates made it clear he was finished with the group, it showed that maybe, finally, it was time for change.
With his elbow resting on the desk and his forefinger tapping on his chin, I wait for Mr. Lee to react to my story idea.
“It’s an interesting concept, Vandy.”
I breathe, shoulders losing some of that tight tension. “Thank you.”
He pauses for a moment, seeming to choose his words. “You don’t worry about this sort of topic coming from—well, to put it as delicately as possible—someone who’s the exact opposite of a target for discrimination here?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You mean, because I’m white and cis and straight.”
He makes a complicated head bob. “For starters. You also come from a wealthy family, particularly one that has significant influence in the world of journalism. You see where I’m going with this.”
I only just barely stop my jaw from dropping. “Mr. Lee,” I begin, battling down a bitter laugh. “First of all, I’m not able-bodied. Second of all, I’m not a guy. I’m not sure if you’ve been watching lately, but being a female student at this school can be actual hell.” I level him with a look, and I don’t need to say any names, but I could. The Adams girls. The Playthings. Even Sydney. “That said, you’re absolutely right. Despite my adversity, I am incredibly privileged, which puts me in a position to put voice to these issues without fearing for my own security. So, to answer your question, no. I don’t worry.”
He nods, sighing. “You’re not wrong about that, I suppose.” His lips form a thin line. “The problem is, I’m just not sure it’s the right…tone…for the Chronicle this year.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
He exhales and shifts in his seat. “What happened last