Page 76 of Hateful
“Come on,” Rafael says, gently prodding me ahead of him. I must be looking like I’m ready to bolt, because for just one second he slips his hand into mine and gives it a good squeeze. That single, simple gesture is the thing I need to push me forward into the crowd—and not bolting straight away in the opposite direction.
Jasper and Beck are among the crowd as we approach. Beck stares unabashedly, his mouth hanging open while Jasper’s gaze roams from my face to my toes and back up. The other students notice them and turn and follow their gaze, prompting heads to begin turning all around. They all want to see what The Brotherhood is gawking at.
The dean notices the abrupt shift in attention. I freeze awkwardly in the hallway, my skin crawling from the weight of the sheer number of eyes on me.
“Here she is,” the dean says, gesturing. “Now, I think it’s about time we move along. I think we’re making her nervous!”
He’s the one who laughs nervously at that. He laughs alone.
A few more faculty have joined with the dean—two professors, one of which I actually have a class with. The rest look like they’ve been trying to force the rest of the students back to the dorms … or somewhere. Just away from here.
The last two professors here in the entrance hall start trying to usher the parents out, even though they donotlook happy about it. I hear a lot of whispered promises, hushed tones, and hissed remarks, all of which are punctuated by hasty, angry glances over in my direction.
Is it reallythatbig of a deal that a girl is here at Bleakwood?
And even more important, possibly, is how did they all even find out so quickly? Did Headmistress Robin really call them all here just to humiliate me?
As if the entire student body finding out wasn’t going to be enough.
As soon as the parents walk past him, the dean’s face falls into a stony expression and he beckons for me to come over to him. I nervously oblige. Beside him, Headmistress Robin stands with her arms folded over her chest. Her lips tug up at the corners in a smug little smile.
For a moment, I imagine how it would feel to slap that smile off her face. Even in my head, however, it doesn’t solve the glaring problem in front of me.
“Follow me,” the dean says as I approach. He shoots a warning glance at Rafael when he starts to follow. “Just her.”
My stomach drops. I look over my shoulder pleadingly at Rafael, wishing he would disobey; but he just shakes his head minutely at me. No more help from Rafael today.
At least maybe this means whatever happens to me, he might actually be safe. The thought’s a small comfort.
I follow Dean Withers and the headmistress down the hall toward the dean’s office, my heart thumping the entire time. I keep imagining different punishments awaiting me. Expulsion is the most likely, but he’s going to have to do it in such a way as to make it seem like it isn’tjustbecause I’m a girl.
Or maybe that’s all it is. Maybe he just didn’t want to do it in front of everyone—for my sake.
The dean stops outside his office door and pushes it open before standing to the side and beckoning us in.
“Ladies first,” he says flatly.
The headmistress grins and saunters in with her hips swaying. I scurry in after her, doing my best not to look over at the student records room, as if one glance will somehow reveal the fact that I’ve been inside it.
The dean comes in last and pulls the door closed.
No one speaks as he walks the short distance to his desk, but I’m sure we’re all experiencing different kinds of silence. The dean’s silence seems to be tense and angry, judging by his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Headmistress Robin’s silence is probably exactly like her, relaxed and smug. She’s gotten what she wanted. The folderandmy secret.
Meanwhile, I, having just been exposed as a girl in front of possibly the whole school, am in a silence so full of dread and terror that I’m surprised I haven’t passed out on the spot.
The distance from the door to the dean’s desk isn’t very long, but it seems to take years for him to cross it. There are two chairs across from his. Neither the headmistress nor I move to sit in them. Instead, we stand further back, me hovering awkwardly near a trophy case, her standing a little closer to the desk.
The dean sits down and leans on his desk. He works his jaw as a vein appears on his temple.
“Alexis,” he says.
“Just Alex,” I repeat, resignedly this time.
He nods. “Whatever it is … it has been brought to my attention that you were accepted into this school on false pretenses. That you are, in fact, a girl, and have been lying to everyone for almost a full academic year.”
Hearing him say it seems a tad redundant.
I glance between him and the headmistress.
