"—and notice in line eight that the speaker suddenly uses a slang term," Professor Glenn said as the door to the classroom opened to welcome the Executive Vice Chancellor.
"Pardon the interruption," the stern-faced woman said with pursed lips. "Stacey Tussaud, the Chancellor would like a word with you."
The hall fell into a hushed silence as Stacey stood with a perturbed smile, the clicking of her heels following her as she walked down the steps. What was happening? Had she been found out? So quickly?
The bell rang soon enough, prompting me to rush to the main office. Quinn met me along the way, a frown hanging on her face.
"I heard Stacey was called out?" she asked between hurried steps. I nodded affirmatively, worried myself.
"Do they know?" I asked, grimacing at my trembling words.
"I've heard as much," Quinn replied. So they were pinning it on Stacey. So—
"I'm going to confess," I blurted, setting the plan in stone by speaking the words out loud. Quinn gave me a flabbergasted look, eyes wide.
"What? Stella, you know they might expel you, right?" she asked, stopping me before we rounded the corner of the building. "This is bigger than the games we played in middle and high school—you might get kicked out of the institution altogether. Separated from us."
"But I can't have Stacey take all the blame," I said, gut twisting at her words. Quinn—realize that I don't want to do this anymore than you would, but I need to do it. For Stacey. For myself.
"Anyone else and this would be a suicide mission," Quinn said, sighing and moving out of the way. A sad but defeated look hung on her face, and I couldn't bear to look at her again in fear that I'd turn tail and run.
---
The office was a quiet hum of activity, of keyboard clicks and hushed conversation. I let the door swing shut behind me, the click breaking the fog of concentration inside the room.
"May I help you?" the Secretary asked, rising from her seat and slipping her glasses up. Her eyes widened in recognition and her red lips broke out into a gracious smile. "Miss Reyes! How can I help you today?"
"Hello, I was looking for my friend, Stacey Tussaud," I explained, putting on a smile as well. "She was called in this morning to the Chancellor's, I believe."
"Oh, yes, they're currently speaking in his office," lady informed me, walking out of the booth. "I'll take you to his office to see whether you'd be able to interrupt."
"That would be wonderful, thank you," I told her, following her down the hall. At the end of the walkway lay the double doors that led into the Chancellor's office, a white type on navy plate posted on the door that indicated that such was so.
"Just a minute," the Secretary said, opening a door and poking her head in. A few words were exchanged, and she opened the door wide for me. "Right on in, Miss Reyes."
I thanked her and entered the room, dark oak and maple furniture with an ornate rug that led to the Chancellor's desk in the right corner.
"Stella," the Chancellor greeted, smiling as he rose from his seat. The grey-suited man seemed well over fifty, and an air of distinction surrounded him, perfused by broken by his amiable smile. "What brings you here?"
"Harry," I greeted, taking a seat next to Stacey, who looked surprised and relieved, a polite smile still etched on her face despite the accusations thrown at her. "Actually I'm here to defend Stacey."
"Defend Stacey?" Harold echoed, grey brows furrowing. "There is nothing to defend—Stacey's already admitted that she is the one responsible."
"She is," I admitted, glancing at the girl in question. "But I am too. Harry, I told her to create the pictures. It was my fault too, and I have to come here to defend her."
A silence followed my words. Harold sank down in his chair slowly, eyes focused on the documents scattered across the surface of his desk.
"Stella," the Chancellor murmured, meeting my eyes. His silver-streaked hair spoke of years gone by, but his eyes seemed older still. "Do you understand what you're saying?"
"I do," I affirmed. "I'm prepared to face the consequences as well, but I need to make sure that Stacey doesn't get expelled from this institution because of me."
Harold sighed. "In all the years I've been Chancellor, I've never had such a brilliant student be involved in such a disastrous incident. Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"
"No, Harold," I replied, grasping Stacey's hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "I'm not letting my friend get expelled. It's not happening. We'll take the blame equally."
"Miss Tussaud?" the Chancellor asked, addressing the meek girl in his office. "Do you have any objections to this?"
"I just want to reiterate that I was the primary perpetrator," Stacey replied before lapsing into silence again.
"Then I suppose I have no choice," Harold said, sighing. "You two may leave now."
"Chancellor?" I asked, not understanding.
"Stella, on account of your status, accomplishments, and excellent academic record, I'll overlook this incident," the Chancellor said, giving me a small smile. "I'm allowed to dote on my favorite students, you know? Just try not to cause any more... disruptions."
I sat in stunned silence—I was getting off? Scot-free? Stacey nudged me into motion, and both of us thanked the Chancellor profusely before leaving.
On account of my status...
I smothered the sickly feeling inside my stomach and opted for some celebratory tiramisu—why bother dwelling on it?
---
By early April the last of the posters had been cleared from the walls, but the wolf-whistles and jeers still clung to Kimberly. I'd only seen her once this week, alerted to her presence by a sideline shout of "slut!" There wasn't much to say about it though—it was in the past.
Karen had kept her distance from the group, and I'd seen her around with a few kids from the drama department. Whitney reassured me that Karen would come around soon enough—"Give her some time. She just needs to think it out"—but I was starting to get worried. It'd been almost a week since we'd met up in the cafe, and she hadn't spoken to me since.
Consciously choosing to focus my efforts on school, I started preparations for finals. Business would be the main challenge, naturally, but my science class this time was also challenging. Literature, however, would be a breeze.
My flat was starting to seem desolate, so I chose to study in the school library—nothing like the smell of dusty books to make myself feel better about my place. It was sad to think that there were thoughts somewhere among the shelves that'd never been read by a student. Never skimmed for information or traced with wondering fascination.
Laying out my materials on the table before me, I became aware of some indiscreet chuckling behind a nearby bookshelf. Boys.
"Mind toning it down a bit?" I asked, popping my head around the corner to give the perpetrators a piece of my mind. "Jordan?"
"Hey Stella," Jordan said, quickly dropping what he was holding. It landed into his lap with a thud. "What's up?"
"Smooth, man," the brown-haired boy beside him said, chuckling.
"Shut up, Wes," Jordan snapped, standing and pocketing the phone. "So, Stella, what brings you to the library?"
"I'm here to study," I replied dryly, narrowing my eyes at him. "Were you—"
"No!" Jordan burst out.
"Yep," his friend volunteered, cackling as Jordan widened his eyes.
"I... don't want to know," I admitted, sighing. "Just keep it down, please?"
"Since you asked so nicely," the brown-haired said, the edges of his green eyes crinkling.
"Stella, Weston de Mattei," Jordan introduced with a dangerous look at his friend. "Weston, Stella Reyes."
"So this is the girl you kept—"
Jordan abruptly tackled his friend, knocking the air out of him as the shelf behind them to let out a trembling groan.
"Oh my—"
"I didn't mean to—"
"God, not again—"
CRASH
"WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?"
---
"I hate you," I told Jordan venomously, scooting a row of books to the left to make room for a book titled 'Particular Thoughts'.
"You don't mean that," Jordan tried, smirking weakly at me.
"Actually," I said tonelessly, turning to give him an unamused glare, "I believe I do."
"Ooo you are so out now," Weston grinned, setting a stack of books onto the shelf to be sorted.
The librarian was a stern, pinched lady that reminded me of a stereotypical aunt, and she hadn't pulled any punches for me.
"You can be Beyonce and I wouldn't care," she'd said before mulling it over a bit. "But I'd ask for your autograph."
"Shut up, Wes," Jordan said, sticking a book into its correct place in the stack before sliding the books over to me to be shelved.
"That a catchphrase?" I asked absentmindedly, scanning the labeled spines. 115, 132, 154—here, 151.
"Not officially," Jordan said, sighing, "But off the record? Yes."
"So, Stella Reyes, right?" Weston continued, ignoring Jordan's jab. "I've heard a lot about you."
"All good things, I hope," I said tonelessly, sliding another book into place.
"Naturally," Weston grinned. "So what's the deal between you and Jordan anyway? From what I've heard, it's—well—I've heard next to nothing."
"That's 'cuz you have a big mouth," Jordan said, rolling his eyes. "I don't want any publicity."
"Hey! I'm trustworthy!" Weston protested.
"If you must know, it is nothing," I started, frowning. "What made you think any different?"
"Well Jordan's never talked so mu—mmph mmmph" Weston continued as Jordan clapped a hand over his mouth, cutting him off.
"Shut it, Wes," Jordan repeated, flushed.
"Fine," Weston said, passing a hand over his mouth. "I think I may have licked your hand..."
"Okay," I said, eyebrows raised. "Can we get back to work, because I'd like to be home by six... which passed by half an hour ago, so seven."
"Yes'm," Weston said, mock-saluting me and plopping a huge stack of books onto the shelf. "By the way, what was the deal with the whole Kimberly Morgan thing?"
"Does the whole school know about it already?" I sighed, sliding another book into the shelf.
"Yep," Weston said, popping the 'p.' "It's been the talk of the town for the past week—we're all dying to know why the Stella Reyes went into the Chancellor's office and came out without so much as a scratch."
"I don't see how that's any of your business," I told him flatly, not turning to face him.
"You're right," he admitted before slinging an arm around Jordan's neck. "But tell my man Jordan, won't you? He's brooding over it for past week, and it'd be nice to clear the air"
"Have not!" Jordan retorted hotly, brushing Weston's arm off. "You're the one who's been nagging me for an explanation."
"Okay, fine, let's both stay in the dark," Weston said, frowning.
"All the two of you need to know is that the Chancellor's handled the situation," I told them honestly.
"And you're not getting expelled," Weston prompted. I raised a brow.
"Does it look like I am?" I asked, fingering the spine of a thick novel. "Although if I meet you two in the library again, I just might be."
"Alright, we get it," Jordan said, holding his hands up in surrender. "We won't poke our noses in any more."
"Thanks, Jordan," I said, giving him a grateful smile.
"Get a room," Weston said, rolling his eyes. "And if you do, could you please tell me how she got ol' Harry to let her off the hook?"
"Shut it, Wes," Jordan laughed, smacking him lightly on the shoulder with a book. "Let's get this cleaned up. I'm hungry."
---
Author's note:
Hey all! Here's an update, hope you like it! (Especially you, @jhenexikran ;) )
It's a bit fluffy but I'll try to up the drama and such soon-- how ya'll stay tuned!
Vote and Comment to let me hear your thoughts (because, unfortunately, I can't read minds. I know, amateur, right?)
Until next Tuesday, my lovelies.
—Littlewhims