First to Fail (Unraveled #3) - Marie Johnston Page 0,23

his wife probably had to drop out and raise Dresden.

Dresden showed promise. He was walking in his daddy’s footsteps, but in a blink, I saw the kid underneath who wanted to shine for his own reasons, not the ones ordered by his father. But Dresden was a junior and by next year, the assimilation would be complete.

Sometimes those cases were the hardest. How did I balance a kid’s best interests versus their parents’ wishes? How did I determine which was which?

Either way, Dresden risked his position on the football team with one more failing grade. He’d grudgingly, and with great dramatics from his mother, served his detention. They’d stretched it into two after-school periods for maximum punishment for me.

I wasn’t one to turn to drink after a hard day, but between those two evenings, I’d killed a bottle and a half of merlot. And I hated wine.

I couldn’t wait until roller derby practice Sunday. The release of aggression couldn’t be beat.

Uncrossing my legs, I switched ears. Why hadn’t I used my headset? Frederick Wentworth liked his own voice too much to keep the calls short. A message from Ms. Branson flashed on the computer screen.

Jaycee Halliwell is in the office again.

It was unusual for Ms. Branson to remain cryptic. I tuned back into the man spewing words on the other end of the line. Frederick had made it up to last year’s donations. Did he have an eidetic memory or was he keeping a running tab of all the checks he’d written to the school? Maybe he’d gotten the amounts tattooed on his wife’s ass so he could get a good look at them every other night.

Natalia Shaw, behave. Threading the no-nonsense steel back into my spine hadn’t been easy since that night with Chris. His words about not letting myself be pushed around still rang in my head. They should give me more gumption, decrease my level of fucks to give, or increase the swagger I strutted around the academy with.

Nope. I only played a ruthless assassin, and not even on TV.

It was like those words had had the opposite effect. I had slunk into my office and slammed the door behind me, startling Ms. Branson, if the rattle of the woman’s coffee cup was any indication. After my own high school experience, Priscilla Wentworth’s snide and sometimes outright hostile comments after detention shouldn’t have affected me so badly. Yet I had driven home with my hands shaking on the wheel.

Dresden’s mom was exactly like the girls I’d gone to school with who never let me forget for one millisecond that I got favorable treatment only because I was the owner’s daughter.

Want on the cheer squad? You were so bad, not even your daddy could help you.

I had begged my mother not to intervene.

Ooh, look, you got first in debate. How much did that cost your daddy?

As if my father had even known I was on the debate team.

Aw, that’s horrible. Who threaded a tube through your locker slats and drained an entire liter of sports drink into your locker?

Who exactly?

People just like Frederick and Priscilla Wentworth.

Memories of my epically shitty school experience hadn’t bothered me for years. Why in Minnesota?

Because I had more to hide here. Not just being the granddaughter of Godfried Preston, the mighty founder of Preston Academy, but…Chris. Because all I wanted to do was don my mask and keep seeing him.

But the number one reason I couldn’t was waiting outside my office. I didn’t bother messaging Ms. Branson back. My assistant must think the issue didn’t need an explanation.

Students came first and that gave me enough titanium grit to cut off the speaker on the other end of the line. I rolled out my typical speech when dollar amounts were thrown in my face. “Mr. Wentworth, on behalf of Preston Academy, I can’t thank you enough for your generosity. As you know, the forms you sign when enrolling your child at the academy state that any and all contributions will be used to better the school and will be allocated at the discretion of the school board. As always, your child’s preparation for the future is our greatest responsibility. If you have any concerns, please check the website for the next school board meeting.”

“Ms. Shaw—”

“I’m terribly sorry, but there is a student here to see me. Send all further inquiries to the school board. Thank you for your time, Mr. Wentworth.” I hung up. The school board had hired me for this very reason.