Never His Girl (Kings of Cypress Prep #2) - Rachel Jonas Page 0,10

are drawn to a stack of rose-colored papers with a bold title on top—THE PINK LIST.

And what’s printed right beneath it?

#1 Blue Riley

There are nineteen other names below mine, but I’m suddenly hearing Parker’s words echoing inside my head, telling me I ‘topped the list’. I had no clue what that meant at the time, but now I’m seeing the statement wasn’t some kind of twisted metaphor.

There really is a freakin’ list.

I reach toward the stack, but not quickly enough. Dr. Pryor swoops in with the swiftness of a ninja, swiping the entire pile into her trashcan. Right after, she hits me with a very stern look.

“It’s just high school nonsense. Don’t let it get you riled up.”

“But I don’t even know what it is,” I explain.

“And you’re better for it.”

I’m sure she believes that, but in a place like this, knowledge is power. The more I know, the better I understand how things work at Cypress Prep.

“I only want to know what The Pink List is. I mean, my name’s on it. Don’t I deserve to know what it’s about?”

That look doesn’t leave her and I’m almost sure she’ll ignore my request, but she surprises me when she takes a single sheet from the trash, placing it on her desk with a heavy sigh.

“It’s a ranked slut list,” she states boldly, not being one to sugarcoat things. “The kids put them out every year around this time. I confiscated this bunch and suspended the kid I caught with them, but fair warning, there will be more.”

I stare at the sheet, at my name printed in plain, bold letters.

“Kids can be cruel, Ms. Riley. But their opinions of you, or any of the other girls on the list for that matter, means very little in the big scheme of things. I need you to promise me this won’t break your focus. I’m doing everything I can to—”

“I’m focused,” I cut in, crumpling the sheet as I meet her gaze. Sure, I keep my face expressionless, but in truth, seeing this crushes me just a little more.

Dr. Pryor holds my stare a moment, perhaps searching for insincerity, but she’ll never find it. I’ve stuffed all the bad things down as deep as they can be buried.

“Well, I’m glad you’re still up for a fight,” she continues, “because that’s exactly what it’ll take to get these scholarships back on track.”

The next moment, she slaps my file on her desk and I zero in on the word stamped dead in the center, bright red letters that read: PROBATION.

My heart sinks reading it.

“I was given orders from administration to take action this morning and, unfortunately, my hands are tied.”

“But I … I don’t understand.”

I’m trying not to freak out, but that ship has already sailed.

Dr. Pryor crosses one leg over the other, leaning into her seat. “I warned you when you arrived that you’re under a microscope. They don’t care about the details surrounding that video. All they see is a blight on the school’s public rep. A blight inflicted by a student from outside district lines, no less. Unfortunately, this incident has labeled you a liability.”

“They can’t do this,” I choke out, feeling my throat tighten as tears threaten to fall.

“They can and they have,” she retorts. “All they needed was a reason.”

I should probably be embarrassed knowing she, and all the staff, have seen the footage, but I’m too distraught by that single word stamped on my file to care.

Probation.

My eyes burn from fighting to keep my composure, but I force myself to meet Dr. Pryor’s gaze.

“And what about West? Is he even getting a slap on the wrist?”

“Barely,” she says outright, again not sugarcoating a thing. “His parents are tight with Headmaster Harrison’s family and, from what I’ve heard, Mr. Golden got out ahead of this pretty quickly, clearing West of any and all responsibility.”

“What the fu—” I catch myself, but not the tears. They’re flooding my eyes and, finally, one streams down my cheek.

The anger and hatred I feel for him multiplies exponentially, and I swear I’m mad enough to actually spit fire right now.

Dr. Pryor leans forward, resting both elbows on the edge of her desk while I wipe my face.

“I hate to pile more onto your plate than I already have, but… there’s something else we need to discuss.” She pauses and I imagine it’s only to give me a chance to focus.

“What is it?”

“Semifinals,” she says flatly. “They’re coming up quickly and, in light of recent events,