Page 78 of Hateful
Someone speaks very rapidly in French, and the headmistress laughs softly before responding in the same language. “He wanted to know if I’m your mother,” she tells me with an amused smile.
I fight down the anger that flares up in my stomach. Just the idea is sickening.
A real mother would never betray her daughter.
I don’t know how long we stand there in the entranceway fielding questions, but I know it’s long enough for my legs and feet to start aching. I answer any questions directed at me as simply and as vaguely as possible.
Yes, I’m a girl.
Yes, I like Bleakwood.
Yes, the staff and students have welcomed me with open arms.
I lose track of how many times I answer the same questions. I lose track of how many times I have to lie.
Eventually, even the dean has had enough of his own plan. The reporters are waved away, their final questions shouted over the arms of the security that had to step in to force them out in the first place.
In the moments that follow, the silence feels especially hollow.
The headmistress stands next to me with a self-satisfied smile on her face. She’s seemed incredibly pleased with herself this whole time. I look over at her, and she meets my gaze, her smile widening.
The dean comes back from pushing the reporters out the door. “That’s that, then,” he says with a sigh.
“I was hoping to speak to Alex alone,” the headmistress says quietly. She reaches out and sets a hand on my shoulder. I recoil from her touch, but her hand clamps down to keep me from pulling away.
The dean’s eyes travel over me and her. “Sure. I’ll be in my office cleaning up this mess if either of you need me.”
I hear the unspoken words.But don’t need me.
Headmistress Robin nods and I stand here, my shoulder aching under the pressure of her squeezing fingers, watching him walk away and leave me here alone with her. She turns to me with that hateful grin of hers.
“Let’s go in here, shall we?”
“In—” Before I can get the question out, she steers me toward the nearest classroom.
I stand awkwardly near the door while she walks inside and grabs a chair. I don’t sit. I hover, watching her as she sits and crosses her legs.
“Well,” she says, sighing happily. “Things are going well.”
I have no patience left in me for small talk.
“Why?” I burst out, my voice tearing my throat on its way out. “Howcouldyou? I did everything you wanted, everything you asked!” My anger and rage start to bubble in my stomach and up through my chest. “You ratted me out!”
“Not just you,” she clarifies with a smile.
I freeze. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Such language.” She smooths her pencil skirt over her knees. “The entire school is under investigation, and it’s all thanks to you.”
My heart skips a beat, falters. “What do you mean?”
“Everything you told me about the bullying? I used it. Those records you gave me? I used it.That’sgoing to be fun for me to work with.”
“But what about integrating?” I ask her. “That’s what you told me this was all about.”
She laughs loudly, throwing her head back. It’s almost a belly laugh, probably as close to it as she’s capable of getting.
“Integrating?” she says with a snort. “I don’t want my students anywhere near this filthy school. It was never my intention to let my girls come to Bleakwood.”
