Becoming Anne Again

Chapter Eleven

And here it is. The missing chapter that I stupidly skipped posting. Ta-da!

Mr. Phillip's office was as ostentatious as the man himself, decorated with various degrees and awards framed in gold, so Anne had no chance but to look at the glittering spectacle. Aside from a master's degree, there was, in fact, nothing impressive about the scrawny man who had a particular New York accent that could only be classified as snobbish, perhaps spoken by the kind of man who bragged about his time spent at Yale (which, coincidentally, Mr. Phillips didn't go to.)

Anne shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and despite her stone cold expression, they way he looked at her—disapproving, skeptical, perhaps even disdainfully—made her want to do a great many things that would prove her violent enough to be sent once again back to the group home. And perhaps this threat was the only thing that kept Anne from getting up and wringing his neck, because Anne of the Group Home was not a book she ever wanted to read again.

"Anne Shirley," he said, his nasally tone pronouncing the name in such a way that, much like Mrs. Lynde, she knew he was pronouncing Ann, not Anne. Her lips turned slightly downward, not a full out scowl, but enough to cause Mr. Phillip's to raise an eyebrow. "Anne," he said, pushing his bifocals further up the bridge of his nose. "I think you ought to know that this school has very high standards. I don't know what it was like where you came from, but I expect you to be very well behaved. Do you understand me?"

"Where exactly do you think I come from?" Anne shot back, her eyes narrowed at the man.

"Mrs. Cuthbert," Mr. Phillips said, his mouth slightly agape at the mouth that was on this girl, "I trust that you will back up the school's decisions at home."

"Mr. Phillips, I don't think it's appropriate for you to talk to her like that," Samantha snapped, and the mere words caused Anne to relax a little bit more in her seat. "I just want to make sure Anne is all set for the school year." There were a great many other things that Samantha wished she could say to the awful man, but she was torn between wanting to protect her young new charge at all costs and wanting to ensure that there was no undue tension between Anne and Mr. Phillips, who, as hateful as he may be, would have a significant amount of power over the red head. Unless Samantha got him fired. There was always that.

"She'll be fine," Mr. Phillips snapped, her nose still upturned at Mrs. Cuthbert. He had never had many dealings with the woman outside of perhaps a short greeting in church, but he never would have guessed that the tiny woman would have the audacity to question his authority in front of a child he was supposed to be in charge of. "I'm more concerned with the fact that she's been in a group home for so long, and she has to know there are going to be different standards. Unless you expect me to compromise the safety of this school? There is the Gilbert Blythe incident to consider. He's my student too."

The name Gilbert Blythe left a sour taste in Anne's mouth, and she sunk further down into her seat. Her fingers gripped the cold metal that formed the arms of the church, her pale skin in sharp contrast to the ultra black metal. Ultra black. That was a good word she ought to use more often. "Well then I guess you haven't heard of the Anne Shirley incident," she shot back, without fully realizing what she was saying. Her cheeks were tinged slightly pink, her eyes narrowed, and a little bit of fear was playing in her stomach as she remembered.

Mr. Phillips had no idea she was talking about a real event, and instead took the mouth of the girl as being nothing but ungrateful sass. "Now that kind of talk will not be tolerated! Every student is expected to respect their teachers!"