Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“So over it.”
When I get to sixth period, the sister sends me out with a pass to the headmistress’s office before I’ve even sat down. A few minutes later, I’m looking into the stern eyes of the Reverend Mother, who points a bony finger and says, “Sit down, Ms. Tresscott.”
Her bleak, austere office offers two industrial metal chairs that look like they were pillaged from a prison dumpster. Her desk is an oppressive force in the room, like it was carved from a single massive trunk of an ancient redwood. In the dimly lit space, the deep wrinkles of her pale, hardened face play tricks with the shadows.
I take a seat in one of the uncomfortable visitors’ chairs and watch as she settles behind her desk.
“I feel remiss I haven’t spoken to you sooner,” she begins with no pretense of friendliness. The Reverend Mother is an intimidating presence, and she likes it that way. “How do you feel you are settling into St. Vincent’s?”
I should be terrified of her, so I don’t know why that question strikes me as funny.
Yeah, good, Reverend Mother. After two months of dodging near-constant harassment, I finally made a friend. But I keep that to myself.
“Fine,” I say instead.
“Are you certain? I thought that was the case too, as none of your teachers mentioned you were having any troubles. But there is some concern among the sisters that you’re beginning to present a disruption in class.”
“Weird. Because up until a week ago, I’m not sure I’ve said more than ten words at one time since the semester started.”
It’s rich of them to pin the problem on me when Ainsley and her copycats have been the instigators to every interaction. Short of throwing myself out a window, how was I supposed to avoid that?
“Sister Katherine informed me of an exchange between you and two other students in class last week. And I’m told there was an altercation in the cafeteria today. Evidently, in both instances there was some disturbing language involved.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Well, for the record,” I say calmly, “Ainsley was the one shouting slurs.”
I can’t remember if I called her a cunt out loud, or if that was just in my head, so I keep it to myself.
“Perhaps you have an impression of devout women as delicate things, but I assure you, Ms. Tresscott, the women here are not fragile. And we do not tolerate disobedience. If your outbursts continue, you will find yourself in front of me again. That’s not something you should look forward to.”
I give a sarcastic laugh. “So Ainsley gets to keep being a heinous bully, and I’m supposed to shut up and take it, right? That’s how this goes?”
“If you don’t wish to have me call your father,” the Reverend Mother says flatly, “I suggest you take our conversation to heart and return to class.”
I go back to class, where I stew for the rest of the hour, wondering how it is that the bully walks away scot-free while her victim is chewed out for finally showing a backbone. After the bell rings, I head to my locker, where Sloane is on me before I’ve had a chance to switch out my books for sixth period. Pouncing like a cheetah and digging her teeth into my ankle.
“You got sent to the office?” she demands with that strained tone of frustration she inherited from Dad. “I just heard some chicks whispering about it at their lockers.”
“So?”
“So? What the hell, Case?”
I slam my locker shut and walk away, only to have her chase me.
“Would it kill you to spend some time in your own life instead of hitching a ride on mine?” I ask with an irritated sigh.
Her eyes flash. “Okay, you know what? You’ve been a fucking brat lately, and I’m sick of it. What’s your deal?”
“Oh my God, Sloane. You’re not Mom, and I don’t need a keeper. I’m fine. Also, you don’t need to wait for me after school today. Jazmine’s driving me home.”
Before she can stop me, I dip into my classroom and shut the door in her face.
I can’t be responsible for Sloane’s savior complex anymore. If she wants to martyr herself on the tombstone of our mother, that’s her damage. She can leave me out of it from now on. Maybe at one time I needed to lean on her, but it’s become suffocating. Not to mention exhausting, dragging her guilt around on my back. Everyone keeps telling me I have to get past what happened, but then they won’t let me heal. It’s become part of them, like they need me to stay sick so they can congratulate themselves for being so selfless and supportive. If I refuse to be their burden, what will they have to complain about?
At the end of the day, I find Jaz waiting for me outside on the front steps, drawing in her sketchpad. I flop down beside her and fill her in on my lashes from Reverend Mother.