Never His Girl (Kings of Cypress Prep #2) - Rachel Jonas Page 0,16
her desk from the reception area, but she says nothing.
I remember when I got into it with Loren Pete last school year, this same woman sat in that same seat, giving me the exact same judgmental stare.
Her line trills and she answers on the first ring. Then, after hanging up, Scar and I have her full attention again.
“He’ll see you both now,” she announces, eyeing us as we walk past.
I thought I was done with this place, but apparently it isn’t done with me.
I close the door after we enter the large office, decked out with floor-to-ceiling paneling, straight out of the sixties. Place hasn’t gotten many upgrades since then and it shows.
Principal Carpenter peers up from the sheet of paper he’s filling out, but only long enough to gesture for Scar and I to take the two seats across from his desk. Then, without a word, he finishes what he was doing before Scar and I walked in. So, we sit here, staring at the top of his balding dome, and also the huge mustard stain on his tie from lunch. Eventually, he deems us important enough to meet our gazes and I breathe deep.
“Ladies,” he says in greeting.
“Afternoon, sir,” I answer for both me and Scar. She hasn’t said a word to me since I showed up. Not even to tell me who did this to her or why.
Principal Carpenter levels a disapproving glare on me. “Well, imagine my surprise when I got the call from security that they spotted an intruder walking my halls.”
I can’t help but feel confused that this is his concern. “Where was security when my sister was getting chased through the halls and jumped, sir? Isn’t that what we ought to be discussing here?”
He’s clearly unmoved by my question. I can tell as much when he casually grabs a piece of chocolate from his candy jar and pops it into his mouth.
“We’ll deal with that in a moment, but I’d first like to know what possessed you to saunter through the front doors of my building without permission, Riley. In this—”
“With all due respect, Principal Carpenter, I think the more important issue is what you’re planning to do about the kids who hunted down my sister.”
He stares expressionless, breathing deeply, like he’s just run a marathon from his seat or something. When he shifts his gaze toward Scarlett, I relax a bit.
“Who was after you?” he finally asks.
I look at Scar, wondering if she’ll tell him what she wouldn’t tell me.
“There were … too many of them,” she answers. “I didn’t see faces.”
Bullshit. When she glances toward me, it’s because she knows I’m not buying that.
“Hm,” Principal Carpenter groans. “Well, since you miraculously were unable to see who attacked you, do you perhaps know why they attacked you?”
Again, she glances at me, but then lowers her head. “It was about the video. And … The Pink List” she adds, causing my heart to sink. “They were saying shitty things about—”
“Language, Scarlett,” Carpenter warns.
“Sorry.” She takes a breath and starts again. “They were saying nasty things about Blue and I didn’t like it, so … I mouthed off a little bit.”
Mouthed off. I know my sister. She threw the first punch. Not that I blame her. She was smart to tell Carpenter this version instead of the truth, though.
He’s quiet a moment, studying Scarlett. “I can’t issue suspensions without names, so my hands are tied unless you talk.”
“This is important, Scar. You don’t have any reason to defend these kids. Tell him who’s responsible.”
I manage to get those words out, but I’m choking on my own guilt, knowing she went through this because of me. I’d seen the abuse online, but had no idea it would turn into something physical. This triggers a thought, though, and I peer up at Principal Carpenter.
“There were kids bullying her on social media after … after the um … incident,” I say quietly, hating that we even need to have this conversation.
“It’s fine,” Scar cuts in. “It wasn’t the same group.”
In my gut, I know this is a lie. Maybe she’s protecting them because she fears it’ll only make things worse. Honestly, she’s probably right about that.
I swear. Life seriously sucks.
Carpenter grabs a sheet from his drawer and jots something down.
“I’ll need to hear from your parents on this,” he concludes.
“But I’m eighteen. Isn’t it good enough that I showed up?”
He eyes me, shaking his head. “Not unless you’re a legal guardian.”