“Unless the headmaster knows something we don't,” Church suggests, still lounging in the doorway to his room. He lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug, and then smiles. It's enigmatic, that expression, and it makes me wonder if my dad isn't the only one who knows more than he's letting on.“I've written a letter explaining all the reasons why I shouldn't have to leave Adamson,” I say later that night, presenting the carefully handwritten note to my father. To his credit, he does take it, pull his glasses out of his front pocket, and start reading. Thank fuck I managed to convince the Student Council—Spencer in particular—to stay out of this. If Dad’s already threatened Church with detention for haggling on my behalf, bringing the whole crew in here won’t do me any good.
Archibald Carson is a stubborn son of a bitch.
My heart soars when he looks up and smiles at me. But then I realize that there's a sort of patronizing air to the expression, and I frown.
“I'm really proud of you, Charlotte,” he says, and I cock a brow. There's a 'but' coming, I just know it. There's always a 'but' with my father. I wet my lips and shift my feet. Please don't be an ass widget, I plead with the universe, inventing another new insult. Ass widget. Heh. I should make t-shirts. “In the past, you would've thrown a temper tantrum, or insulted me to try to get your way.”
“Um, thanks?” I ask, thinking that really his compliment is one of those insults-dressed-as-compliments sort of situations. “So, are you going to at least consider letting me stay?”
Dad keeps smiling, but the expression is tight.
Crap.
“As much as I appreciate you taking the time to come up with a cohesive argument, I'm afraid my answer is still the same. You can go back to Santa Cruz and finish the year out with your old friends, or you can start fresh in Los Angeles with your mother.”
“I already started fresh,” I grind out, trying to keep my temper. Maintaining a calm and even keel has never really been my forte. But I'm trying here, I'm really trying. “Because you got your dream job. You gave me no say in the matter. In fact, you lied to me to get me out here. And now I'm here, and I want to stay, and you're hellbent on sending me away?”
“It's not safe here, Charlotte,” Dad finally says, and I cock an eyebrow.
“I thought that Eugene and Jenica died by suicide,” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest. Dad ignores that comment, pulling his glasses off and setting them on the table.
“It's not that,” he says with a sigh, but I can't tell if he's lying to me again or if he's just really fucking tired. I guess having a kid commit suicide on your watch doesn't a good headmaster make, huh? I almost feel sorry for him.
“Then what is it?” I plead, putting my palms on the table and leaning down. “Do you not want me here? Is that it?” My voice cracks a little, and I realize that even though I haven't admitted it to myself, I'm upset about this part of the equation, too. It's been me and Dad against the world for so long, and now he's just done with me? I just get shipped across the country like an unwanted package?
“Of course I want you here,” he says, but he's already standing up and stacking his cutlery on top of his plate. “But circumstances have changed.”
“What circumstances?” I demand, following after him into the kitchen. One of the windows is open, letting in a cool spring breeze. It tousles my hair as I make a stand behind my father, waiting until he's done rinsing his plate and sticking it in the dishwasher so that he'll turn around and face me.
“You were right all along: you shouldn't have to be the academy's guinea pig. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to the other students. I've gotten numerous complaints about you lashing out.” My mouth drops open. Pretty sure my jaw is just hanging loosely on the bottom of my face. “That, and many students see my treatment of you as blatant favoritism.”
“How so?! You're harder on me than anyone else.” The words just burst from my lips unbidden, but once they're out there, I can't take them back. I wouldn't anyway, considering they're true. That's always been one of my problems with my dad: he's twice as hard on me as any student he’s ever taught. I'm sick of it.
“The private room,” he begins, and I step forward.
“I'll share with Spencer Hargrove,” I blurt, and Dad sighs. “He doesn't have a roommate anymore.” I lick my lips again, doing my best to control my usually unruly temperature. In all of this, Dad’s never once asked me what I wanted to chat about. He literally doesn’t care. Well, fuck him then, I’m not telling him anything. “Problem solved.”
