“I don’t understand why you even let people like her in here,” Gloria says. “If I wanted to go to school with thugs, I would have gone to Faulkner. People pay good money for their kids to get an education with other good, southern families.”
“Oh,I’mthe thug?” I ask. “What about the assholes who run this place—your boyfriends? Is your Sopranos squad from a goodsouthernfamily? Or are they exempt because they brought truckloads of laundered money to town?”
“Watch your language, Ms. Apple,” the principal warns. “We welcome students from all over the country, not just the South. And we try to avoid baseless accusations and stereotypes based on people’s region of origin.”
I roll my eyes. “So, you admit they’re thugs, but it’s okay as long as the money keeps flowing this way. Let’s just not assume they’re in the mob.”
“Why don’t we stick to the topic at hand,” the principal says, licking his lips nervously and adjusting his tie again.
So, I got it right, and he doesn’t like it.
“This has nothing to do with them,” Gloria agrees.
“It always has to do with them,” I say with a sigh. After all, it was Royal who put the roaches in my locker and started this fight. But Gloria wasn’t even involved in that. She put herself in the middle to get his attention off me.
“That’s why you hate me, right?” I press. “Because you’re threatened that I’d dare to wear clothes you wouldn’t, and it might catch the attention of the guy you’ve been trying to land for the past year. You’re frustrated because you can’t keep his attention and terrified that someone who can will come along and grab him out from under you.”
Gloria huffs. “I have bigger concerns than who some guy likes,” she snaps. “Royal’s not my boyfriend. He can do whatever, and whoever, he wants. This is about you not knowing your place.”
“Oh, and you know my place?” I ask. “Please, enlighten me. And then I’ll tell you yours.”
“This is impossible,” she says, appealing to the admins. “Can’t we just go back to class? We said we were sorry. Neither of us have serious injuries, and neither of our dads want legal action. What they want is for us to get an education.”
The principal sighs. “Go back to class, Ms. Walton,” he says. Then he turns to me. “We still need to address the issue of the stolen cockroaches with you.”
I want to laugh. Who the fuck would want to steal a cockroach? They can go to our old place in the trailer park and get all they want for free. But I know better than to run my mouth to these assholes. They might pretend they’re treating us fairly when the daughter of one of their top donors is in the room, but now they’re going to lay it out for me. I’m not here because someone paid them millions. I’m here on a scholarship. I’m a charity case. If I fuck up, they can rip that away with a snap of their fingers.
They proceed to tell me just that, but in slightly more subtle terms. Only slightly, because a dumb bitch like me from the ghetto side of Faulkner couldn’t possibly understand if they’re too obscure. They could save their breath. I know way more about how the world works than half the kids at their posh school. But I shut my mouth and let them wealth-splain to me like I’m the uneducated white trash they take me for.
At last, I agree to write an apology letter to Mr. Harris for stealing his cockroaches for a prank—why I would prank myself is a question the school doesn’t want to address—and to work off any loss of money caused by missing cockroaches. Because I can’t resist, I have a little fun with them by telling them I can bring them a whole jar full of roaches from my house on Monday. They react as expected.
By the time they’re done lecturing me, it’s time for my last class of the day. Thank fuck they don’t keep me until class has started and force me to walk in with everyone staring. I still get plenty of stares, and everyone starts murmuring to each other when I walk in, mostly because Gloria is in the same class.
It's a relief to slide into my seat at one of the round tables in my comp class. Since the first day, when Dixie welcomed me at their lunch table, I’ve been sitting across from Susanna and Quinn in this class. A third girl I don’t know well, who also sits with them at lunch, rounds out the four-person table. That’s the thing about a small school. It’s hard to avoid anyone. I’ve only been here a week, and looking around, the room is full of already-familiar faces. The three people in my group, Baron and the Black guy who sits with them at lunch, and one of the Walton girls are all in this one class.
“Have y’all talked to Dixie since lunch?” I ask my table.
“She has student council on Fridays,” Susanna says.
“I know,” I say. “I ran into her out near the bleachers.”
The girls exchange looks, and I know I hit on something. “Did she say what she was doing there?” Quinn asks.
I shrug. “I think she was talking to Colt.”
“Oh, well, you know Dixie,” Susanna says with a forced laugh. “She’s nice to everyone.”
“Even social pariahs like me and Colt,” I say lightly.
“Just… Don’t mention Colt Darling again, okay?” Quinn says, lowering her voice and casting a furtive glance over her shoulder to where Baron Dolce sits with his buddy and Gloria Walton. “Dixie’s had it pretty hard at this school, and she’s finally in a really good place. And that… Situation… Wouldn’t go over well with some people.”
“Got it,” I say. “Didn’t see a thing.”
Colt is a Darling. Damn. So many fucking puzzle pieces to fit together.
“So, anyway,” Susanna says. “Who’s going to the game tonight?” They go on talking while we work on our assignment, and I turn over the information in my head, trying to piece together all the tidbits I’ve gotten since I started here. There’s so much history between everyone, so much I don’t know. It feels like I’ll always be two steps behind, always trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces.
Part of me knows that I should try harder here, and not just academically. I should make friends. I could use them. I could find out the answers to all the questions cluttering my brain. I could find someone to have my back instead of melting away when shit goes down, leaving me standing alone. I could go to the football game with these girls, slowly working my way into their group.