I can’t help it that it took Mother forever to pack her things and leave the hotel room, complaining the entire time that she didn’t get enough sleep. I, on the other hand, have been up since six, too anxious to sleep.
“Yes, please give us her schedule,” Mother demands. “And we need to talk to Mr. Matthews first before she goes to class. I’m sure he’ll write her an excuse.”
“Of course.” The woman—she must be the headmaster’s secretary—hands over a pale pink slip to me. Mother snatches it out of her grip, glancing over my list of classes, and I stand there, anxiously awaiting a glimpse.
“She wasn’t put in honors English,” Mother says, shoving the schedule in my direction, her irritation clear.
Disappointment fills me as I scan the list. Senior English. World Religions. Math. Advanced French. There’s a free period listed right after lunch, and American Government is my last class. “I’m okay with this schedule,” I tell Mother, but her lips thin and she shakes her head.
“You’re an excellent writer, Summer. Always scribbling in those journals of yours,” Mother says. Her voice is low, but I see the way the secretary perks up.
My cheeks color and I shrug. “It’s nothing. Please don’t change the schedule. I’ll be fine.”
“Let’s have you go into Headmaster Matthews’ office and you can wait for him in there,” the woman says, waving toward a partially open door behind her. “He’s on campus right now but I’ll let him know you’re waiting. He’ll be right in.”
I follow Mother into the cramped office, the both of us settling into the chairs facing the giant, ornate desk as the secretary shuts the door with a quiet click. The moment Mother knows we’re alone, she turns on me, her scowl obvious.
“What do you mean, you don’t want honors English?” she hisses.
“I don’t want to cause any trouble.” I’ve become a mere shadow of myself since the accident happened, not wanting to draw attention. “It’s enough already, don’t you think? That you were able to pull some strings to get me in here.”
“It’s the least I could do, considering how long I’ve known Augie,” Mother mutters, referring to her former lover.
The one who ended up divorcing his wife, thanks to my mother’s years-long affair with her husband. It was a huge scandal. One splashed all over the internet and tabloids. It broke my stepfather’s heart. And then it enraged him.
It was not a pleasant experience.
The door suddenly creaks open and in walks a handsome older man. Headmaster Matthews, I assume. He smiles at us, his dark eyes crinkling in the corners, his grin wide, showing off dazzling white teeth. He shuts the door and moves so he’s standing behind his desk as some sort of barrier, and holds his hand out to Mother first.
“Mrs. Weatherstone, an absolute pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice smooth, his expression pleasant.
She rises to her feet and gives his hand a quick shake. “Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Matthews.”
They both settle in their chairs, smiling at each other and I blink at the two of them. It’s almost as if they’ve forgotten all about me.
“This is Summer,” Mother says, indicating me with a tilt of her head.
“Summer, we are so glad to have you here, attending our prestigious school,” Mr. Matthews says, his voice warm and sincere. “I’ve personally looked over your transcripts, and I’m most impressed with your classes. And your grades.”
“Thank you.” I’m a good student. A little out of control in my earlier years and a little boy crazy, but I’ve always got good grades.
“You had some trouble early on though,” he continues, his gaze meeting mine. “I assume you’ve straightened up since then?”
I stiffen my spine, nodding. “Yes, sir.”
“She’s not enrolled in honors English,” Mother says, and I glare at her. She ignores me. “Summer is an excellent writer. She was on the newspaper staff at her previous school. She’s won awards for her writing. It’s exceptional.”
“Ah, I’m afraid getting into the senior honors English class here at Lancaster is a privilege, not a right. The students in Mr. Figueroa’s class have worked hard the last three years. He handpicks them at the end of their junior year, and there’s only twenty in the class.” Mr. Matthews rests his forearms on top of his desk, his hands clasped. “I’m afraid I can’t just enroll Summer without his consent.”
“Maybe you could talk to him.” Mother’s voice is lilting. Pleasant.
His smile never falters. “I’m afraid not.”
“Maybe you could extend a favor my way.” Her voice becomes a little sterner.
“It’s Figueroa’s class, not mine.”
Her smile is gone. “Maybe I can reach out to Mr. Lancaster and see what he could do for me.”
I want to die. This is so embarrassing. I don’t care about the honors English class. I don’t want to stand out. I definitely don’t want to make a scene. Me walking into a classroom of twenty students who’ve risen up the ranks for the last three years would be a nightmare. They’d automatically hate me.
Matthews’ lips quiver the slightest bit and his gaze dims. “I’ll make it happen.”
“See that you do.” Her smile returns and Mother takes a deep breath, glancing over at me. “Will this alter her schedule dramatically?”
“No. No, it shouldn’t.” He finally frowns as he turns toward the computer on his desk. He starts tapping away at the keyboard, the screen angled just enough toward us that I see my information brought up on the screen.
My transcripts. Notes from previous teachers and my counselor throughout the years. Administration notes take up the most of it.
Summer is disruptive in class. Lashes out for no reason.
Was caught vaping in the bathroom. Two-day suspension.
Caught having sex in the gymnasium. Five-day suspension.
Detained and searched. Found with her mother’s Xanax prescription in her backpack. Two-day suspension.
And that was all by the end of sophomore year.
My stepfather—God rest his soul—put the hammer down after the Xanax incident. He threatened to put me in military school for the remainder of my high school years. I cried and begged, pleaded with him on my knees not to make me go. They enrolled me. It was going to happen.
And then my mother’s affair with Lancaster became public, and he forgot all about me. He focused on my mother instead. We moved out. Found a smaller apartment. The media was so focused on my family, I retreated into myself. Stopped causing trouble at school and focused solely on my schoolwork. Lost all of my friends. Mother worked Jonas over. And over. And over.
Until we moved back into his house in the spring. Yates soon returned, home from college, and he was so glad to see me. He lit candles in his room and forced me to meet him that night. Put his hand over my mouth and his hand in my pants before he—
“Ah, we’ll have to switch a couple of your classes,” Mr. Matthews says, disrupting my thoughts, “but that shouldn’t be a problem.”
He taps a few more keys, angling the screen more toward himself, as if he just realized that we could read everything about me. Mother keeps up the pretense, but I see the tightening of her lips, the clouds in her eyes.