“Give Mr. Osman a tour of campus, Marie.” His tone indicates finality. Mine sounds a lot closer to brutality.
“He burned my house down!”
Headmaster Cheap Suit sighs. “Your delusions are getting to you.”Here we go. “How many times do we have to tell you thatyoustarted it while you were high on whatever drug you could get your hands on, and you don’t remember what you did.”
“I have an alibi!” I screech.
I amnotinsane. I know what happened that night, and it sure as hell wasn’t me who started the fire.
“We all saw the pictures, Miss Whitlock. They wereverytelling.” His condescending tone grates my spine. Not only does everyone think I’m a drug addict, but they’ve also labeled me as a “slut” as well. “That boy doesn’t have any memory of you coming into his bed.”
My cheeks heat. I don’t want Kohen to hear about any of this. He has enough ammunition he can use against me. He doesn’t need more. Everyone at St. Augustine probably thinks I started the fire as well. Hell, my own mother probably does too. I wonder how long it took her to realize that her hovel burned down and food wouldn’t come without effort anymore.
This conversation won’t get me anywhere except in solitary or paying the fines for a false report. Either I deal with this shit head-on or go into a negative balance with my dignity.
At the end of the day, no one is going to believe my version of the story. The worst crime the son of the legendary Yusuf Osman has ever committed—well, as far as they know—are a couple speeding tickets, and jaywalking. God forbid anyone thinks that the kid who stick-and-poked a flame on his middle finger and a match on his inside wrist would ever do anything like commit arson.
Also, why would they trust the junkie? The blood tests they took when they arrested me came back off the charts for basically every drug known to man. On the other hand, the full-time bad boy and part-time goody-two-shoes that’s the youngest member of the Osman family just flashed some cash, and the pearly gates were open for him once more.
Ask not what you can do for the system, but what the system can do for you. “If I become hisbuddy, I won’t be locked up after dinner,” I barter. I don’t spare the fucker a glance. He isn’t worthy of proper acknowledgment anymore.
“Fine.” McGill signals for the security goons to release me, and I have to fight the urge to rub the pain away from their firm grip. “But a single misstep andallyour privileges are revoked.”
I give myself two days before they lock me up straight after class, only to be released for class or piss breaks. “Fine.”
I roll my shoulders back, take my backpack off the ground, throw it over my shoulder, and walk out without checking to see if Kohen is following. “Look at me, touch me, or so much as breathe in my direction, and I will throat punch you.”
“I’m counting on it.”
My insides twist as if they’re hosting a parasite tuned only tohisvoice. I wish he were ugly or short or had a terrible voice that grates on my nerves. But he’s the epitome of my ideal type—save for being an asshole who, oh, I don’t know,burned down my house—and he ticks every box on my list.
He doesn’t talk for once as I show him around campus. A couple times, the side of my face burns from the weight of his stare, but not once have I let myself turn to check.
Suppose I keep staring at his face and imagine what he’s packingunderneath the green uniform blazer, white shirt, black tie, and pants. In that case, I might forget about his numerous sins—unlikely, but he’s never been this quiet or followed any of my requests before, so I’m worried this is all a trick. Or who knows? Maybe he’s all melancholy from being trapped here too.
The people in here suck, but I’d be a damn liar if I said this place looks as depressing as it feels, given how eerily stunning it actually is. A gothic, mid-century church is on the outskirts of the grounds, right by the cemetery. The rest of the school buildings sit somewhere between 1600s convent and modern contemporary—depending on which part of the school you end up.
The modern part was joined to the gothic a couple years back, and now the entire Science and Social Science Departments are in there.
There’s a state-of-the-art gym at the back of the campus—but no pool. Wouldn’t want to have any drownings. Apparently, death by lake isn’t a concern though. There’s also a running track, tennis court, and football field, and they’re currently building an ice hockey rink. I’m not sure how the hell they have the budget for any of it, but I definitely won’t be enjoying the perks of anything but the back of the church.
My new friend, Charlie, told me that back in the day they used to run this place like an asylum, doing all sorts of dodgy treatments. I guess it’s not that much different nowadays since we have mandatory sessions with the shrink, along with getting medication shoved down our throats, if ordered.
I give the lake in the middle of campus a wide berth, hoping that the jackass doesn’t notice I’ve intentionally avoided the little bridge even though it would make our walk faster. I don’t know how anyoneenjoys swimming or Jacuzzis. The thought of being submerged underwater with no certainty of when the next whiff of oxygen will come is unappealing, to say the least.
In hindsight, maybe if I learned to swim, I’d jump off a wharf thinking I could take Poseidon on.
The wateraspect of the lake makes me more uneasy than the prospect that there are a bunch of dead, evil nuns rotting at the bottom and that the Sacred Lady of the Lake will come out to drag naughty students into her depths.
Me and the Lady can throw hands out on land if she intends to kill me. What happens after is none of my concern.
The door slams shut behind me as we enter the corridors. My eyes cut to Kohen, imagining storm clouds following him to every beach he visits. I’m itching to know what he’s in for. To find out what kind of strings his dad pulled to get him in here instead of prison when he should have graduated already. I was lucky since I “celebrated” my eighteenth birthday in this shithole last month, so Ijustmissed the cutoff to be tried as an adult. So what’s his deal?
I glance at the camera above his head as if I can see if someone will come running if I try to murder him. But none of the cameras are recording because that’s a premium parents pay extra for—the less damning evidence against their spawns, the better. Honestly, I don’t even know if it’s working.
“Where’s the girls’ dormitory?” Kohen ruins the peaceful silence, filled only by our footsteps on the marble floor.
“Wherever the boys aren’t.”
