Page 66 of Hateful
I flit from the western bleachers to the northern ones to get myself closer to the away team lockers, and that’s when I see her: Headmistress Robin, her back to me, arms folded, talking sternly to the girls’ team.
I’m momentarily drunk with relief.
And then just as immediately embarrassed.
“If I catch anyone making fun of that boy,” she’s saying in a low voice, “there’ll be hell to pay. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Dean Robin,” they all chorus back at her, but from the looks the girls exchange, it’s already clear that’sallanyone is going to be talking about.
The girls all turn and head inside. I recognize the girl who ran the third leg; she’s already leaning over to whisper to the girl next to her. Headmistress Robin sighs and turns toward the bleachers, rubbing her fingertips on her temples.
“Headmistress?” I croak out, my voice hoarse from the bile that scraped it earlier.
Her head snaps up and she squints around. I start to step out from beneath the bleachers with my arms clasped over my stomach, pressing the all-important B Folder against me.
That’s when she spots me.
“Alex,” she says quietly. She moves toward me, takes me by the shoulders, and pushes me gently back beneath the bleachers. “Are you all right? What happened out there?”
“I guess my teammates—” I growl through the word, “thought it’d be funny to give me pants that fell apart.” I have to stop for a second to compose myself. “Do you think anyone saw that I’m—that—”
“No,” she interrupts me softly. “I don’t think so.” She hesitates, then very gently pushes a bit of hair back from my forehead. It feels very … motherly. I suddenly get a fierce pang in my stomach as I miss my mom, my dad, even mybrothers.
My eyes fill with tears. “I just want to go home,” I whisper. I barely know what I’m saying anymore. “I don’t want to be treated like this.”
“Oh, dear.” The headmistress pats my shoulders. “You’re so strong. You’re doing so well.”
I take a few gulping breaths, determined not to break down in front of her. “I got it.”
“Yes, you do. You’ve got this.”
“No, I mean—I got it. The folder.”
Her eyes sharpen. “What?”
I slide the B folder out from beneath my hoodie and her fingers reflexively tighten on my shoulders before she removes her hands altogether, reaching for it. The motherly spell is immediately broken, but the wave of homesickness doesn’t fade as quickly.
“Everyone was out here,” I explain, my voice coming out as a croak. “Even the dean. They were all distracted.”
Her hands open and close eagerly. She slowly reaches toward the folder as if scared I’ll pull it away at the last second, but I thrust it straight into her hands. I don’t want it. I don’t even want to know what’s inside.
She grabs it and looks into my eyes.
“Thank you, Alex,” she says. “This is a big step toward making sure you’re not treated like this again.”
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to suppress a sob and try to nod stoically. Headmistress Robin’s eyes light up as she looks down at the folder. She holds it gingerly, almost reverently.
“This will helpimmensely,” she sighs happily, but something about her tone seems off.
“And … and …” I stammer, “you think you can help me if you’re wrong? If someone noticed …”
She stops me with another, far less reassuring, squeeze on the shoulder. “Of course, Alex.”
But her words sound hollow. They do nothing to quell the rising surge of uncertainty in my gut.
Did I just make a terrible mistake?
Maybe I should have checked what was in the folder after all. Maybe I just gave her something I shouldn’t have.
