Coach Morris takes the opportunity to chime in. “I saw you during the regional game. You’ve got a lot of talent, son. Your biggest obstacle will be figuring out how to not squander it.”
While the coach drones on about expectations for the upcoming season and repeating the championship, the ball of tension in my stomach slowly starts to uncoil. I can handle these guys. They’re soft and malleable, nothing like the hardened, severe staff at the academy. These guys sit up here in their ivory tower and think they can control student behavior with shit like ‘difficult talks’ and academic probation.
I bet I could have them eating out of my hand by next semester.
I find my eyes drawn back to the crystal devil, and my knee starts bouncing. It’s about the size of a baseball and would fit perfectly in my—
“With that, we’d like to welcome you back to Preston Prep, Mr. McAllister.” The tall man stands up and I snap to my feet—at attention—a touch too instinctively. I’d think I should really see about shaking these habits, but I can see from the satisfied gleam in the Headmaster’s eye that he likes it. I shake the hand jutting toward me. His grip is firm, and I match it with a strong shake in return. “Mrs. Abernathy will get your schedule together and give you any other information you need to matriculate for your senior year.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, just to see the spark of sick approval in his eyes. Easy. “I appreciate you giving me a second chance, and I’m eager to get involved here, in whatever capacity you need me.”
The nod he gives me makes it clear I’ve been dismissed, but when I reach the door, he calls out my name.
“Reynolds…one last thing.”
I stop just short of doing an authentic about-face. Don’t want to ham it up too much. “Yes, sir?”
“It goes without saying, but Vandy Hall?”
I feel my face shutter, something deep in the pit of my chest withering up at the way he looks at me.
“You do not speak to her, you do not look at her, you do not breathe anywhere in her general vicinity.” A deep line forms between his eyes. “That poor girl has been through enough and she seems to finally be getting better. Just because her family has agreed to let you attend Preston Prep does not mean you can disrupt her world.”
The words land like a punch in the gut. “Yes, sir. I have no problem with that.” Except for the fact she lives next door and is my best friend’s sister. That’s not a goddamned landmine or anything. Even though my next words are spoken with the same fake deferential tone, they’re no less sincere. “The last thing I want is to cause Vandy any more pain.”
“Good.”
The next moment finds me standing in the outer office, dismissed, trying fervently to stop my hands from shaking. I bury them in my pockets and take a series of deep, controlled breaths.
Mrs. Abernathy, the registrar, doesn’t notice my discomfort. She types somethin
g into the computer and says, “I’ve got you all lined up, Reynolds. Let me just go get the copy of your new schedule.”
I’m still rattled when she walks to the adjacent room, leaving me alone. I look around, searching her desk. Not much there except papers, a cup of pens, a souvenir figurine, a keyboard, mousepad, parking pass, and folders.
I look at it for a long time, hands fisting where they’re buried in my pockets. No one is around. I inch forward, and reach out, the tips of my fingers gliding across the smooth surface of the desk. I pluck the figurine from its perch in front of her monitor—a jubilant Mickey Mouse—the rush of adrenaline swallowing the itch of discomfort from my meeting with Collins.
It’s in my pocket only a split second before she returns.
Mine now.
“Here you go,” Mrs. Abernathy says, strolling back in the room. “All set for you to start tomorrow. Do you have any questions?”
She holds out the file folder I’d brought to her with my school records. My schedule is on top. “I should be able to manage, but you’ll be the first one I come to if I have any questions.”
“Any time, honey.”
I flash her an appreciative smile before walking out of the office and heading back into the empty halls of the school. The administration here is going to watch my every move—or at least, they think they will. It’d be a heavy weight on my shoulders, except that I know what having your every move watched is actually like. This won’t be a cakewalk, but if I can curb my impulses until graduation, I can handle it. Probably.
I stuff my hand into my pocket, feeling the smooth ceramic figurine. Okay, maybe curbing my impulses will be a bit of a challenge. And I’ll have to keep my grades up while also working overtime to make sure I produce on the field. And I’ll have to tiptoe around Vandy Hall.
Who am I fucking kidding?
I’ll be lucky to make it to the end of the season before getting kicked out of here for good.
3
Vandy