“Jill,” he says. “Wait up.” He stands with his arms crossed, like a disappointed big brother, and walks toward me to close the door. “Take a seat.”
“I’m gonna be late for next period,” I mumble.
“Jill, you’re one of my most promising students. You just failed. I think we need to have a little chat.”
“A littlechat?” I scoff. But when I look at him, he’s not joking. His eyes are wide with concern and his hands are clasped in a little steeple in front of him. His cardigan is done up wrong so one button sticks out at the bottom, and another, shiny and round, pokes out at the top, knocking his collar askew just slightly. Dark circles sag under his eyes, like he had one too many whiskeys the night before, and the middle of his brow needs a good tweezing. He looks so different than he did that night at the gas station three years ago. So much more worn down. Back then he was tickled, amused that he had caught his “firstborns” doing something so outrageous.
Now he just looks rumpled. There’s no way he was a Player, no way they would have let him in. Maybe under all this, atsome point, he hadsomething, but the man in front of me isn’t special.Maybe I’m not either.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Forgot to study, I guess.” I cross my arms, defiant and childish. It feels wrong to talk to authority like this, but after years of sucking up to teachers to throw them off our scent, it also feels like a victory.
Mr. Beaumont sighs and leans back in his chair so the front legs lift off the ground. I wonder if he’ll fall backward. “Look, Jill, I’m not an idiot. You know I went here, right?”
“I’ve seen the yearbooks.” I picture him then, strong and lean, with thicker hair and a varsity jersey. It was only ten years ago. He and Adam would have missed each other only by a few years.
“Listen, Jill. I know what goes on.”
Now I wonder if this is an admission, an acknowledgment of that moment at the gas station and all the other little ones in between. What else has he seen from afar? How much does he know about what we’ve done? For a second, hope creeps into my chest. At least that would mean someone else understands.
“You kids have to deal with a lot,” he says slowly. “More than I did when I was your age. I know how much pressure can be placed on you here. And after everything with Shaila...” He trails off and I can’t tell if his words are coded, if he’s trying to tell me something. “I know how close you two were. I miss her, too.”
Beaumont leans forward, causing the front legs of his chair to knock against the floor. I can smell his breath. Mint trying to mask tobacco. Menthol maybe. He places his hand on top ofmine and his skin burns. I can feel the calluses on his fingertips. It’s too close. I want to run.
But instead, I wait a beat for him to finish, for him to say what I need him to say. That I was right to walk away. That things will be better after I’m out of here. But he doesn’t. That’s it.
“I’m okay,” I say, wriggling my hand out from under his. “Just forgot to study. That’s all.”
“Okay, then,” he says, bringing his hands to rest on his knees. “Why don’t you retake the test on Monday? I know you’re better than this.” He stabs the blood-red 65 in front of me with a thick finger.
“Thank you.”
Beaumont smiles wide, pleased with how all of this has gone, that he’s played the helpful, supportive teacher so well. “You’re so welcome.”
—
I force myself to make it through my after-school Science Bowl and Math Olympiad meetings, and when I finally arrive home, it’s a sweet relief. I shut the front door behind me and lean my head against the wood, never more grateful to be away from everything. Safe. Finally. But not for long.
“Jill. Get in here right now.” Mom is sitting at the dining room table with a glass of red wine. Dad stands behind her with his arms crossed over his chest. The rumpled sleeves of his button-down are rolled up to his elbows and his tie is loose, hanging limp around his neck. “Something you want to tell us?” Mom says before turning her mouth into a straight line.
“Just tell me what you want to hear. I can’t do this today.” I drop my bag and slump into a seat next to her.
She sighs and pats my head. “I knew this school would bea lot for you.” Mom takes a long sip and sets the glass back down. Dad wipes his face with his hands and I can tell he’s exhausted—that he didn’t need this tonight. A wave of shame passes through me. “I know how hard you’ve worked, how you’ve thrived and excelled beyond our wildest dreams.”
My heart sinks with the fraud of it all, the cheating, the grades. I’m exhausted by all the effort to pretend.
“But failing? Jill, this isn’t like you.”
“Mr. Beaumont called?” I ask.
She shakes her head, her dark bob swinging from side to side. “Headmaster Weingarten.”
He only calls when shit gets real. This can’t be good.
