:: C H A P T E R S E V E N | LISTEN AS THE CROWD WOULD SING ::
Almost an entire week went by before I spoke to Liam again. I wasn't interested in approaching him and he always avoided my eyes when we passed each other in the hallway.
It was fine. I'd survived without speaking to him for nearly a decade and a half. Never speaking to him again wouldn't kill me. In fact, it was probably the smartest option.
I was still working on the article, and I was actually getting somewhere with the help from Kian's journal. I still felt guilty when I opened it, but as I reminded myself, it wasn't like I was planning to publish parts of it in the newspaper. I was just using it to better understand Kian. That didn't mean that the article was anywhere close to being done, but I'd managed to get an extension.
On the downside, I had to watch my back way more than I usually did. Meg was on the warpath, and she was downright determined to get me back for dragging her to Mrs. Brennan's office.
Because you didn't think that Meg was the one responsible for the extension, did you?
And just to clear things up, I'd only gotten the extension after battling with Headmistress Harrison and Mrs. Brennan about it. I'd claimed that if they wanted me to do a good job on the feature, they were going to have to give me more time.
I was expecting to pay for my audacity any day now.
Several of the Inheritors were sitting in the back row — which was odd — when I slipped into the French classroom. Liam was among them, but he didn't look up when I found my spot next to the window. I was careful to check my seat before I sat down. The Inheritors had been known to film me sitting on a whoopee cushion. It didn't sound that bad, but it had been — especially after they had posted in on Facebook. And Instagram. And Vine. And basically any other social media site in existence.
"Nice shoes, Reed," Eva called. "Did the Salvation Army have a sale?"
I flipped through my binder miserably. Cliché or not, the insults still stung.
"Isn't her hair just darling?" Meg cooed. "It's, like, the colour of chocolate."
"Or shit," added Eva. I could hear Skylar guffawing. I inched down in my seat. Skylar was a borderline have not who only managed to fit in with the Inheritors because he did whatever they told him to do and he could be considered somewhat cute. He made my stomach twist in disgust. And fear.
It was then that I noticed the terrible smell that seemed to be coming from underneath my desk. Cautiously, I felt under my desk until my fingers accidentally touched something slick and soft.
I didn't have to be a rocket scientist to connect the dots. They'd spread poop on the bottom of my desk.
The bell rang and other students entered the room. I kept my hand tucked below the rim of my chair, hoping that no one would notice the telltale brown stain on my fingertips. My cheeks were hot, sweat trickled down my neck and I kept my eyes on my binder.
I was angry. Liam had clearly not meant his shitty apology written on his shitty little apology note. Had I heard anything from him this class? Anything? I certainly hadn't heard him say, "hey maybe we shouldn't stick cow shit under Reed's desk."
This was shaping up to be one of the best French classes ever. And class hadn't even started yet.
Mrs. Fraser hurried in with her binders tucked under one arm while her after-lunch coffee was clutched in her other hand. I was hoping that it would keep her occupied until class ended and I could get rid of the Inheritors' latest prank.
Yeah, no such luck.
Class had barely been in session for two minutes when Meg raised her hand. "Mrs. Fraser," she called. "Something smells in here."
Fraser's head snapped towards Meg. "What kind of smell, Miss Tuxford?" I nearly bit through my tongue at the simpering smile on her face. With Meg's daddy in charge of the school board, she was practically foaming at the mouth to keep Meg happy. I was willing to bet that she could murder someone in this class, and Fraser would let her get away with it.
Which was good for Meg, but bad for me.
"Like, um ..." Meg glanced at me, a wicked smile spreading across her face. She pointed towards the window. "It smells like manure."
Fraser walked down the aisle closest to me, her hooked nose twitching as she sniffed her way towards my desk. I closed my eyes, praying to Fate or God or whoever was in charge of the universe to get me out of this mess before I embarrassed myself.
"Miss Elliot! Are you aware of this awful smell?"
"No, Mrs. Fraser," I said. Her sour, little mouth pursed in a line and she glared at me.
"That's one strike," she snapped.
"What?" I asked as she held up two fingers.
"This is French class, Miss Elliot."
I wanted to scream. Meg hadn't gotten in trouble for speaking English. Fraser was speaking English. But why was I the one who was getting in trouble?
I glanced down at my lap and didn't say anything. It was easier that way.
"It's because she doesn't bathe, Mrs. Fraser," said Meg. "The town turned off her water because she couldn't pay the bill."
"No," I whispered.
A third finger came up. "Last strike, Miss Elliot!"
My cheeks burned. If I was brave, I wouldn't be a scared, lonely girl who didn't know how to pack a punch, but someone who knew how to fight back.
"No," I would say, but louder. "It is because you spread cow manure on the bottom of my desk, Meg."
"Third strike, Miss Elliot!"
I would narrow my eyes at the crotchety woman. "Where's Meg's third strike then?"
When I would hear said bully's gasp of outrage, I'd know that I was toast. Someone like me didn't throw someone like Meg under the bus.
Well, I'd decide, I might as well go the whole nine yards.
"Discrimination like that isn't something that St. Benedict likes to promote, Mrs. Fraser," I imagined myself stating as I lifted my chin. "Every student has equal opportunities — something that Headmistress Harrison is especially fond of emphasizing."
Holy shit, I would wonder, what was I doing?
My mouth would be possessed with some sort of badass attitude that I had no idea existed because Reed Elliot didn't stand up for herself! She let other people walk all over her like she was their own personal Persian carpet. Without thinking I looked over at Meg — and was yanked out of my daydream.
Wincing, I dropped back into my seat, but it was too late. Fraser pulled me out of my seat and glanced under my desk.
"What is the meaning of this?" Her voice shook with fury. Vaguely, I wondered why adults always asked that when they were angry. Because wasn't it clear that I had no idea why there was poop underneath my desk?
Well, I did, but Fraser didn't need to know that.
She'd already stalked back up to her desk. Glaring at me, she ripped off a detention slip and scrawled her signature across it before she held it out.
Swallowing nervously, I grabbed my bag and binder, grabbed the slip and was halfway out the door when I heard a chair scrape loudly across the floor.
"Is there something you need, Mr. Sinclair?" Fraser was back to sounding like a simpering idiot.
"Oui," said Liam as I turned around to watch. He grinned at me. "Aller au enfers, vielle vache!"
There was an audible intake of breath as Liam sailed down the aisle and pulled a detention slip off of Fraser's desk. He grabbed my hand as he yanked me out the door.
***
I didn't forgive him. I couldn't forgive him, and I hoped he knew that arguing with the Headmistress for me wasn't going to change a thing.
"Honestly, Headmistress Harrison, it was just a petty prank that Reed wasn't a part of." Liam's cobalt eyes glinted earnestly as he leaned forward in his chair. "She had no idea."
"Are you aware of who spread cow manure on the bottom of Miss Elliot's desk?"
They were talking like I wasn't even there. It was ironic because I was the one with a detention slip, not Liam. Despite what he'd said to Fraser, he'd gotten away with insulting her in front of the class while I was in trouble for breaking the three-strike rule and something that wasn't even my fault.
Oh, how money can blur the line between right and wrong.
Liam didn't even hesitate. "I have no idea." My fists clenched, my nails digging into the soft flesh of my palm. I didn't feel any pain, except for the harsh sting of betrayal that I had no right to feel. Why was he protecting her?
Headmistress eyed him shrewdly before glancing at me. "Perhaps you can explain the circumstances, Miss Elliot?"
"I broke her three-strike rule," I said softly. "But I don't know anything about the manure."
Her eyebrows crept up her forehead. "So why are you in my office, Miss Elliot? Mrs. Fraser must have a piece of the story that I don't."
"Reed didn't spread manure on the bottom of her desk," Liam interrupted loudly. "Why would she? It's social suicide to do something like that."
Headmistress' sharp eyes snapped back to Liam. "I have a feeling that you know more than you're letting on, Mr. Sinclair."
He shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pale grey hoodie. It was an unassuming sweater, but it probably cost as much as my monthly budget for food. I also wasn't entirely sure how he had gotten away with blatantly ignoring the dress code directly underneath Headmistress' nose. I guessed that it probably had something to do with his notoriety.
"Maybe," he said. "But I'm sure my father wouldn't be very pleased to hear how two students were pulled from class because of a silly problem."
Ah. The magic words.
Headmistress and Draco—I mean, Liam—stared at each other warily. The power shift was about as subtle as an earthquake. Headmistress may have been a clever and formidable woman, but even she couldn't hold up against money and power. It was a disheartening reminder that intelligence could only get you so far.
"I see," she said, her voice icier than before. "You're free to go, Miss Elliot, Mr. Sinclair."
"That was a dick move," I snarled when we reached the hallway. "Why do you people think that you can get away with treating someone like dirt?"
He glanced at me as we stopped in front of the side doors. "You could just say thank you, you know."
"Or I could turn you into a ferret and bounce you around this hallway."
Liam snickered. "I should've known. You're a Potterhead."
It was surprising that he knew anything about Harry Potter, but it didn't distract me from the fact that my anger was returning full force—not that it had ever been absent—but it was growing stronger after watching how he thought he could get out of trouble. "Keep talking and I'll peg you as someone who hoards kitten plates and pink cardigans."
He gave an exaggerated wince. "That's a low blow, Reed."
"And one you deserve," I said, turning to go. His hand caught my wrist, and I smacked it off without thinking. "Don't touch me."
"Reed—"
"Just leave me alone, okay?"
"Why?"
His question caught me off guard. "Because."
"That's not an answer." He sounded unsuitably amused, and there was a small grin on his face—until I rounded on him.
"You want the truth?" I spat bitterly. "Because I can't guarantee that you'll like the answer."
Liam's smile was gone now. "It's better than the lies."
I held up three fingers, putting down the first one. "You're an Inheritor."
He looked bewildered. "What does that have to do with anything?"
I tilted my head to look up at him. "You can't be serious."
"I'm perfectly serious. I don't get it."
I closed my eyes. "I was fifteen when I got a scholarship to St. Benedict. I was so excited to be accepted. To be noticed, acknowledged. I didn't even care that I had to buy my uniform from the second-hand shop." I slid down the lockers, landing on my backside with a dull thump. Liam sat beside me, but he looked graceful while he did it. "When I walked into the cafeteria, everyone looked at me like I was some filthy thing you'd find on the bottom of your shoe. It's such a little thing, to stand awkwardly in the middle of the cafeteria, but it hurts."
"Reed—" he interrupted gently, but I was on a roll. I wasn't going to stop.
"And that was just the beginning," I said. "In the past few years I've had water, mud, mystery gunk dumped on me. I've been called poor and trashy so many times that I've begin to think that's all I am." I cracked an eye open to look at him. "You're one of them. And I can never, ever trust you because of the group you belong to."
"That's not fair."
"No, it's not, but that's the way that it is."
"You still have two more reasons," he said, nodding at my hand. I put down another finger.
"I'd started to accept you as an ally when the bus happened."
"Oh," he mumbled. "The bus."
"It was like you knew what would hurt me the most, and you did your best to hurt me like the rest of them."
"I'm—"
"Maybe it's a good thing," I interrupted. "It made me realize that I can't trust you."
"But you—"
"And the last reason is because you're friends with her. You protected her from Headmistress." I looked over at him, my eyes meeting his bright blue ones and I held his gaze. "You do not understand what she has done to me, and I do not expect you to." I stood up, brushing dirt off the back of my skirt.
He jumped up, his eyes glittering angrily. "What happened Reed?"
"None of your business," I snapped, feeling the hot flush of shame across the back of my neck.
The bell rang and the halls were filled with the sound of footsteps. "Are you going back to class?"
"Yes."
He looked at me shyly. "We could skip. I could explain ... some things."
"Absolutely not," I said harshly. There was no way that I was going anywhere with an Inheritor. I was naïve, yes, but not stupid.
"Please, think about it," he said, his mouth twisting into a wry smile.
"I did. It was very easy to see that the cons outweigh the pros." We were attracting attention, so Liam grabbed my elbow and propelled me towards the library. He made it worse; I could feel many pairs of eyes burning into my back. They were all probably wondering why someone Liam Sinclair was touching Reed Elliot. Wasn't he aware that I contaminated people with my trashiness, simply by breathing the same air as them? I yanked out of his grasp as soon as we were out of view.
I usually liked the library with its tall windows that let sunshine stream across the honey-brown shelves and quiet spaces where I wouldn't be bothered, but Liam was tainting my happy space with his Inheritor-ness.
"You can be so cruel, you know that?" said Liam.
"Only to people I don't trust."
"That's basically everyone."
"Are you surprised?" I shot back. "It's not like anyone here has given me a reason to trust them."
"Still," he mumbled. "You're so bitter. About St. Benedict. About me."
"You're just pissed that I didn't want to 'hang out,'" I snapped gathering up my bag as the bell that ended break rang. "I'm not stupid, Sinclair. Two years ago, I learned that 'let's hang out' is actually Inheritor code for 'let's brutally remind Reed that she means nothing.'"
"I wouldn't do that. I just ..." he sighed in frustration. "There's some things about Kian that I think you should know."
I paused, halfway out the door to look back at him. He was perched on the edge of a table, his eyes burning into mine, and not for the first time, I wondered what was it about Liam Sinclair that made me brave.
"Schedule an appointment," I snapped, letting the door swing shut behind me.
***