“Can you go with Principal Stevens, please?” I heard her soft words, but they didn’t register.
This was usually the part where the class would make stupid comments about how much trouble I was in. But everyone just kept quiet as if they all knew what was happening. When I envisioned people finding out about Saint and me, I’d bravely told myself I’d handle it maturely. Now, I felt like a coward wishing for Saint to come save me, to relieve me off this pressure that was hurting from my neck to my lower back. My hands began to shake, and I fisted them tight.
“Miss Singh?” Miss Scott repeated.
Meeting her gaze, I got to my feet. Still trembling, I struggled a second or two to grab my bag before I finally latched onto it. I glanced at Cian as I passed her, and she held my hand in a quick squeeze before releasing it. When I reached the door, whispered hisses followed me out and I was sure I heard someone say, “do you think she knows.”
Five words that had me on a tailspin and while I didn’t want to find out what lay ahead of me, I forced my legs to follow Principal Stevens down the empty hallways to his office. When we got there, I had no idea why I was expecting to see Saint or my father. Yet, except for the secretary, the chairs outside the principal’s office were empty.
Inside, he gestured for me to take a seat before sliding into his leather chair on the opposite side. While he fiddled with some paperwork, I glanced around. Still impressed by his fancy office I’d been in only once. The day I arrived here. The large mahogany desk sat in the middle of the room backed my jade wooden shelves filled with books and golf trophies. I wondered how many of those books he actually read or were they just for show. One wall with large windows covered by dark green blinds looked out onto the sport fields while various framed certificates and photos covered the other.
“Do you know why you’re here, Miss Singh?” his usually booming voice, a gentle rendition I hadn’t heard before. Shaking my head, I gripped the armrests of the seat and waited. “Are you aware that Mr Sinclair is...” he trailed off.
At the concerned look on his face, dread gripped my chest in its cold fingers and I fought to breathe. What happened to Saint? Why wasn’t he here? My pulse skyrocketed at a speed that would probably render me unconscious if it carried on.
He reached for his phone, taking his time to slide through screens.
What the hell, I silently screamed.
Then he leaned forward. “Miss Singh, there’s a video that’s been making its way around the school. Several teachers received it as well. And judging by your calm, I’d say you haven’t seen it yet.”
Calm? What calm? I was dying on the inside. And what freaking video? Oh, God, what was happening. Did someone record Saint and I having sex. Hot embarrassment passed through my body, heating my skin to a point that I was desperate for a glass of water.
The door opened then and in walked Miss Anderson, the guidance counsellor. “Levana.” She touched my shoulder lightly and I looked at her hand like it were a hot piece of coal.
I want this over with now, not affectionate touches.
She slipped gracefully into the seat next to me. At Principal’s Steven’s nod, she sat sideways in her chair so she could look directly at me, her eyes filled with the usual compassion Miss Anderson was known for. “Levana, what I’m about to tell you is a delicate matter. While we’ve done everything possible to curb it before it got out of hand, I don’t think we achieved that.”
Okay, we’ve established there’s a video, can you move on please.
“Are you aware that your mother and Mr Sinclair are in a relationship—”
“What?” I shrieked.
She began speaking again. I looked at her, but all I could see were the changing expressions on her face. All I could hear was the muffled sound of her talking, like an annoying mosquito buzzing in my ear searching for a spot to suck the blood out of me. Because that’s what I felt like—like someone was taking a knife to my body, slashing, ripping, piercing. I felt the blood slowly drain out of me.
I couldn’t breathe.
Anxious, I slapped a hand to my chest, pounding, rubbing, trying to help me breathe. I felt hands on me. Calm, gentle words. Dampness on my cheeks, my chin. Pain in my jaw. Soured dryness on my tongue. And my heart—it felt like it was exploding, my pulse racing. I was falling. My legs nothing but rubber. My sight—nothing but obscurity.
“Levana, listen to me. You need to breathe,” those warm, tender words surrounded me. Drawing me out of the darkness. “Breathe, sweetheart.” Pulling me into the light. “Breathe.” Slowly, I focused again. I was lying on the floor. Miss Anderson’s gentle face above me. “Breathe, sweetheart.” Her smile soft, encouraging.
“Is she all right,” Principal Steven’s echoed around me.
“She’s in shock,” Miss Anderson replied, then to me. “Can you sit up?”
With her help, I moved back up into the chair. “I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassment making me nauseas.
“Nothing to worry about,” she rubbed my back in slow circles.
Accepting the glass of water, she held out, I took a sip, set it on the table and shifted my gaze between the two of them. Unfortunately, the earlier dread resurfaced quickly, pulling me down like a swirling vortex. What did they mean by Saint being in a relationship with my mother? If there was a video, maybe someone had mistakenly identified me as my mother.
“The video,” I whispered.
“Are you sure you want to see it?” Miss Anderson looked from me to the principal then back at me.
I nodded wanting to make sure. Yet, when Miss Anderson held out Principal Steven’s phone to me, I hesitated, uncertain how I’d react if it was indeed someone else they’d caught on camera with Saint. Taking the phone, I stared at the blue screen for a second then pulled a deep breath before pressing play.
