Chapter 2
Icould hearthe muted sounds of people talking like I was underwater. I kept rising to the surface only to shy away and sink farther into the depths that promised a comfortable reprieve. Only when a high-pitched bell sounded and my head jerked up from my desk in alarm, did I realize that I'd fallen asleep mid-class. The students around me began piling their books into their bags and filing quickly out of theroom.
My AP English teacher, Mrs. Williamson, paused by my desk, a frown on her face. I stiffened, afraid she had caught me sleeping. I smiled pleadingly up at her hoping she wouldn't see fit to give me an after-school suspension that I not only couldn't get a ride home from, but didn't have time for because I had an impending shift at the diner. Instead, she handed me a yellow scrap ofpaper.
"The front office called for you," she said. I looked at the paper that asked me to report to the front office by 1:20pm.
My eyes rose to the clock hanging above Mrs. Williamson's whiteboard as it clicked just past 1:17 pm. I snatched up my backpack, my arms loaded down with binders and books, as I ran from theroom.
I passed through the stragglers left behind in the hallways as they headed for their next class, and hoped this didn't have anything to do with the ever-growing list of detentions I kept receiving for falling asleep in class. It was almost the end of the year. Surely the administrators wouldn't do anything about itnow. It wouldn't look good on my transcripts if Ididdecide to apply to the local community colleges. At the moment, I wasn't really sure what my planswere.
I opened the front office as the clock there flipped to 1:22 pm. Mrs. Donovan, the principal's secretary, looked up and smiled warmly, giving me some relief as I approached herdesk.
"Hi, Mrs. D, I um..." I handed the yellow paper over. "I was told to come here." She took the pass and checked one of the little boxes on theside.
"Alright, Dear. It'll be the third door on yourleft."
"Am I in trouble?" I asked. Mrs. D looked surprised by my question, her thin, blonde brows rising above eyes stroked with thick lines of eyeshadow, further reassuring me that I had nothing to worryabout.
"Of course not, Dear. Go on backnow."
I nodded and followed her directions down the hall to the right of her desk. There was a plaque on the third door on the left that read:Conference Room. I hesitated briefly about knocking before I lightly tapped my knuckles on the door and eased itopen.
The blinds on the pair of windows at the end of the long room were drawn up, allowing natural light to flood the otherwise bland room. A man in a navy suit stood against the glass directly across from the door, staring out at the outdoor amphitheater next to the student parking lot. During lunch, it would be filled with students as they ate andgossiped.
When the man didn't acknowledge or even seem to notice my entrance, I waited a beat before coughing lightly to alert him. His profile, outlined by the light, didn't move except for the corner of his lips that twitched. Finally, he turned and raised an eyebrow in my direction, rich, coffee-colored eyes meeting mine with asmile.
"Ms. Hampton,welcome."
When his whole body twisted away from the window, leaving it open for the sunlight to stream in and warm the rest of the sparsely decorated room, he seemed bigger – wider. There was, in fact, only one real piece of furniture in the room, a long wooden conference table with various chairs – some mismatching – crowded around itsedges.
He came forward, approaching as I fidgeted with the books and papers in my arms. "Here, let me take that for you." I resisted the urge to jerk away in surprise as he took my books from me and placed them gently on the table before reaching to slide my backpack strap down my arm. He set it on the floor. "Have aseat."
We both sat at the end of the table farthest from the window. I focused on him instead – and myconfusion.
"Where's Principal Buchanan?" Iasked.
Instead of answering, he simply smiled and sat back. I didn't recognize him as anyone I knew from the school – a teacher, one of the many assistant vice principals, or counselors. Even if I had, he didn't look old enough to be in any of those positions. He didn't look the type to be hired on at a high school either. His hair might have been shoulder length, but I couldn't tell because he had it all pulled back in a ponytail. It left his entire face on display, the width of his jaw line, the frame of his cheeks. I imagined that he was of Native American heritage with those high sharpcheekbones.
"Ms. Hampton," he began, "you don't know me, but my name is Bellamy Woodstone." He paused, his eyes zeroing in on my arm. I looked down, groaning inwardly at the huge purple bruise the size of a child's hand peeking out from my t-shirt sleeve. It must have come from the ditch this morning. My eyes drooped at the reminder of my lack of sleep. I reached up, tugging my sleeve a littlelower.
"Okay?" I blinked, waiting. "Is there something I can do for you, Mr.Woodstone?"
His eyes refocused onto my face. "You can call me Bellamy," he said. "I'd like to call you Harlow, if that's alright with you?" I nodded and was rewarded with another dazzling smile. "Wonderful. Now, I'm sure you're wondering why you've been called down here – I can assure you, you're not in anytrouble."
"Thenwhy–"
"Because I needed to speak with you alone about the options for your future." He reached back, towards the table, picking up a manila folder I hadn't seenbefore.
"According to your guidance counselor here, your GPA is almost a 4.0,correct?"
"It's a 3.7," I said. Confusion rolled through my mind. "Is that what you called me down here to talk about? Reaching a 4.0?" I had been trying, but between the diner and my mom, studying had taken abackseat.
He glanced up from the folder. "No, a 3.7 is actually quite high, much higher than most of your peers. You're in the top fifteen percent of your class, if not the top ten percent. No, I called you down here to discuss why you haven't applied to a college. With your grades, you are almost guaranteed at least some financial aid or academic scholarships." He flipped a page. "And I see that you actually won some school wide awards on writing – so the entrance essays shouldn't have been a problem. Your transcripts reflect nothing more than detentions every now and then. What were those detentions for?" He looked up from his folder, those severe, almond eyes watchingme.
"I, um...they were for sleeping in class," I said, staring at mylap.
"Hmmm." He didn't sound upset as he continued to flip through my file. "Why did you stop gymnastics?" My head snappedup.