Taking one deep, calming breath, I head toward the headmaster’s office and push open the heavy wooden door. I find him sitting at his desk, his feet propped up, and he leans back in his leather chair. His eyes are glued to a large TV screen that is made to look like a window into a forest. Soft sounds of nature play in the background.
“What can I do for you?” he asks, sounding bored. He doesn’t even look up at me until I start talking.
“I get it, you hate me. Everyone does. But I need clean clothes, and since the laundry services refuse to do my laundry, I’ll do it myself, but you need to at least give me access to wash them.”
“You have a bathroom. Wash your clothes in the sink.”
“My sink is broken, and the janitor won’t fix it.”
He simply shrugs, like he couldn’t care less about the condition of my room. “That seems like a personal problem. I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“You know I pay the same tuition as everyone else, right? You can’t just take stuff away from me.”
Slamming his palms onto the table, he sits up so fast I barely see him move. Startled, I jump back a foot, bumping into a side table behind me.
“Let’s make one thing very clear, you do not come in here making demands. I don’t give two shits about your comfort or how you wash your fucking clothes. Be glad we gave you a room in the dorms at all because there is a nice little shack with no running water or heat at the surface. Would you rather stay there?”
I shake my head furiously, in the universal sign of no, my tongue suddenly heavy in my mouth. The tranquil sound of the forest scene coming from the TV is drowned out by the heavy thud of my pounding heart in my ears.
“If that’s all, you can get the fuck out now.” He’s halfway through the sentence, but I’m already heading for the door. I can’t get away from him fast enough, and coming here was definitely a mistake.
In defeat, I walk back to the dorms, drowning out any snide comments from people I pass. Back in my room, I pick up the bag of clothes and dump them out on my bed. I’ll have to somehow wash them in the shower later using my shampoo, but for now, I pick the cleanest of my clothes and change into them.
The shirt is now wrinkled, and the smell is less than pleasant. I drown myself in perfume and run the comb through my hair until I look and smell halfway presentable. Grabbing my bag on the way out, I head to my history class, which I missed last week thanks to Quinton.
Surprisingly, I find the classroom right away, and thankfully, I arrive a little early. I take a seat furthest in the back, tucked into the corner of the room. Maybe no one will notice me.
I actually make it through most of the class without anyone bothering me. Professor Brush goes over the Cold War, espionage, and other tactical warfare. It isn’t until he touches the subject of treason that I become the center of attention.
“You probably know that officially Julius and Ethel Rosenberg were the only two people executed for treason, after being found guilty of conspiracy to commit espionage. Of course, many more people were put to death, but your high school history books don’t have that information. Lucky for you, ours do. Open your books and take a look at page sixty-nine.”
I unlock my computer and flip the e-book to the page in question. My stomach flips when I see the image. It’s a naked woman, strung up by her arms in the center of the room. Her lifeless body bloodied and beaten.
“The Rosenberg execution by electric chair might have been called inhumane, but their deaths had nothing on some of the lesser-known traitors. As you can see from the image, Clara Morris suffered for days before she died a slow and painful death.”
“You mean Mather?” someone whispers, and a wave of chuckles moves through the class. The professor continues as though nothing happened at all.
“As I was saying, Clara was raped and tortured for an entire week until she finally died. Videos of her punishment were distributed across the dark web to let everyone know what happens to those who betray their own.”
“Maybe we should do this to Aspen,” another guy says, not even bothering to whisper it. I keep my eyes trained on the screen in front of me and ignore more laughter erupting in the classroom.
“Are you even listening, Mather?” A balled-up piece of paper hits me in the side of the head, making me look up.
“Was that really necessary?” I glare at the guy who clearly hates my guts.
“No talking in class, Aspen,” Professor Brush warns.
I know talking back will only make things worse, but my stupid mouth moves on its own. “Are you serious? Everyone else is talking. He threw something at me.” I point at the guy and immediately hear the word snitch mumbled by a few people.
The professor’s eyes turn murderous, and the tone of his voice is menacing. “Marcel was just trying to get your attention since you are clearly distracted,” he defends the guy. “Everyone else is contributing to the class material. You are not.”
“I know a way she couldcontribute…”
The laughter feels like nails on a chalkboard to me. It doesn’t only hurt my ears, it hurts my soul, and I know I can’t spend another minute in this room without losing my shit.
Without looking up, I gather everything in front of me, shove it in my bag, and storm out of the class. The door falls shut behind me, and I break out into a run as soon as my feet hit the marble floor. Fuck this class. Fuck all of them.
I push my legs to run faster, feeling as if I’m not getting away from these people quick enough. I round the corner to the elevators and run full force into someone. Bouncing back, I land on my ass with a hard thud. Pain shoots up my back, making me groan in pain. In the process, my bag slips from my hand and goes flying across the corridor.
“What the fuck are you doing?” an angry voice booms from above me. My head snaps up, and I find Quinton and Ren staring down at me.
Of—fucking—course.