Page 3 of The Consequence of You (Heathley Academy #2)

CHAPTER THREE

CALLIE

D ahlia and Grayson get out of his car in the school car park as I pull into a space a couple of rows back.

Results day is finally here, and the atmosphere is relatively calm.

Parents pay for a top education at Heathley Academy, so most students do well.

Those who don’t are likely to have personal connections, which means they will still get onto a good university course or can get a head-start in their lives another way.

For most students, it’s been an easy ride, though there are exceptions.

Two people who fought for their future are my friends.

They spot me and wave, nervous smiles on their faces.

They’ve had a shitty few years, and no one deserves good grades and a happy ever after more than the two of them.

They both worked hard, despite the challenges they faced, and I have no doubt that’s exactly what they’ll achieve.

I’m about to reach them as Asher’s flashy sports car pulls up.

He climbs out of his matte black Maserati and heads in our direction.

“Morning campers. Ready to collect those super important results which will make not an iota of difference to the life we inevitably lead?” He doesn’t bother waiting for a response and instead strides up the steps of the grandiose stone building that houses Heathley Academy.

The school was the location of our education for a long time, and results day brings this chapter of our life to a close.

We’ve all applied to attend Heathley University, the exclusive private higher education provider, sitting on the same grounds.

So none of us are going far, but our studies will be far more independent, and we won’t have to return to this building.

“It may not make a difference to your future, Lord Pennington, but I sure as hell need decent marks to secure my place,” Dahlia calls after him.

“Grayson does too, if he wants to make sure he gets his place on the program he applied for, so if you don’t mind, you can take that fatalist attitude and tuck it away thank you.

” Grayson smirks, clearly enjoying listening to his girlfriend sass his best friend.

“Fatalism, inevitability, whatever you want to call it. I’m just pointing out that these results aren’t the be all and end all. We will all end up where we’re meant to end up. Irrespective of that piece of paper.”

Obviously not happy about letting it go, Dahlia fires back at him,

“We will have to disagree on that buddy, because I, for one, believe we’re in charge of our destiny.

” She links her arm through Grayson’s and mine and drags us up the steps after Asher.

Asher flinches, but he doesn’t offer another retort.

He’d be a fool to continue this discussion with Dahlia and Grayson after the way the last year went.

Thankfully, I’ve had little to do with Asher the last few years, but from what I’ve seen, he doesn’t seem to have a lot of close female friends.

In fact, Dahlia might be the only one. He has a reputation for treating women like playthings, and like any spoilt child, he gets bored quickly and moves on to his next toy.

Because of Dahlia’s history with Grayson, she would never be one of those women to him, and her loveable nature means she’s achieved what no other woman seems to have managed; a genuine friendship with him.

She assures me he’s good company, but I’m yet to see any evidence of it.

We traipse down the long corridor to the assembly hall to collect our envelopes.

Asher strolls in front of us. Not a care in the world.

The cocky asshole doesn’t even bother taking off his sunglasses despite it being dark inside the school.

Is it because he knows they make him look infuriatingly handsome, or is he keeping them on in order to death stare me without anyone cottoning on?

I shouldn’t care that he hates me, but I do. It bothers me. There is just something that feels intrinsically unfair about it. That thought is pushed from my mind when I hear Dahlia whoop next to me.

My best friend jumps up and down next to Grayson, who can’t keep the smile from his face as he clutches the sheets of paper in front of him.

Asher slaps him on the back in congratulations.

Dahlia slips her own results out and her smile doesn’t waver for a second.

A tear rolls down her cheek as Grayson scoops her up in his arms and spins her around.

I didn’t doubt it for a second. The two of them worked their socks off.

Looking down at my envelope, I slip my thumb under the gummed edge and rip it open slowly.

A* in Italian and A’s in my other subjects.

Decent grades in everything. I worked hard this year.

Hell, I worked hard during my entire school experience, so I deserve the grades, but there’s a pang of disappointment.

Receiving these results and knowing there is no one at home to share my achievements with takes the shine off the moment.

Stop being so ungrateful .

I worked hard, and I got good grades. No, I got brilliant grades . Most people would be ecstatic with these results. I plaster on a smile as I tell myself not to be so bloody ungrateful. As I turn to tell Dahlia my results, I catch Asher studying me.

“Fail something, did you?” He raises an eyebrow, having clearly misinterpreted my disappointed expression. I turn the paper towards him.

“Nope. All good here.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “All good.”

Asher tilts his head and holds my stare. Shivering uncomfortably under his scrutiny, my mouth dries.

“Interesting.”

Our mutual friends are deep in conversation with one of their old professors, so any hope of Dahlia running interference is futile.

“How about you?” I ask politely before he can drill further into my answer.

“Are you happy with your results?” Asher is a top student.

He makes everything look easy. He was entered for the Maths Olympiad at twelve.

The youngest entry in the school, and he finished highest in the county.

I’ve heard staff talking about him being gifted.

Everyone knows he likes to have a good time, but I can’t imagine he’s scored anything but top grades across the board .

He turns his paper to show me, and my suspicion is confirmed.

Five grade A*s. “Congratulations. That’s impressive.

” Despite the animosity between us, I genuinely mean it.

He’s naturally bright, but to achieve that is no mean feat.

Most students only study three subjects, so to study five and get those grades is exceptional.

I expect him to gloat, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just replies,

“The Duke and Duchess will be most pleased.”

He doesn’t look thrilled with his results, and for a split second, I feel sorry for him. Perhaps, like me, there’s something taking the shine off the day for him too. I shrug off the thought. He and I have nothing in common.

Dahlia and Grayson turn and congratulate us on our results before we head back outside.

There’s a small crowd forming as parents wait for their offspring to share in their celebrations.

I spot Dahlia’s family. Her mum and dad are here with her grandmother, Dee.

Dahlia and Grayson head over to them and I watch as they congratulate them and share hugs.

They invited me to join them for lunch after this, but I hang back for now, allowing them some privacy.

Asher groans next to me, and I follow his eyeline.

His parents are here, as well as a guy who I recognise as Asher’s older brother.

Like Asher, he’s tall and good-looking, with the same air of sophistication.

There are a couple of other people in their group with camera equipment.

I can’t believe they have professional photographers with them.

Actually, I don’t know why I’m surprised.

Seems about right based on what I know of the family.

When Asher makes no move to head over, the group approach us. One photographer begins snapping photos, and I blink as the flash momentarily blinds me.

“Lord Pennington, what were your results? Were they all top grades? Who’s this with you? Is it your girlfriend?” Questions are fired at him from all directions, and I realise these people aren’t just photographers; they’re journalists.

What kind of family courts press attention by actively bringing them to their son’s school?

As another flash catches my eye, I excuse myself and shake my head .

Jesus . Any pity I felt for him is quashed.

No wonder Asher is so full of self-importance when he’s being followed around like he’s some sort of superstar.

CALLIE - AGE 16

Asher Pennington was back. I heard the excited whispers in the hallways before seeing him in the flesh.

He was a popular student who had been banished to a boarding school abroad for a year after one too many pranks.

Not a correctional facility, but an opportunity to better himself.

The boys were taking bets on whether his year away had turned him into a goody two shoes or whether he’d be the same fun, trouble causing teenager he was before he left.

The girls, however, were focused on something else entirely.

They said he’d had a glow-up of epic proportions.

That he’d returned looking like a god amongst men.

The laughable thing was that he was hardly an ugly duckling before he left.

Personally, I couldn’t give a shit he was back.

He’d made it quite clear over the years how much he actively disliked me.

I’d never figured out why, but whenever we were around each other, he acted as though I’d offended him.

Directing scathing remarks, rude comments and disdainful looks my way at every opportunity.

We’d never been friends, and I planned on avoiding him, just as I had done before he’d left .

It was three days before I saw him in person.

He was in the gymnasium, practising fencing.

Dressed in white breeches and jacket, his mask at his feet, I almost didn’t recognise him.

The rumours weren’t far wrong when they said he was God-like.

It was hard to believe that level of handsome was real.

His chiselled jaw tensed as he performed a lunge.

His jute and stab were executed with perfection.

Even the bead of sweat he wiped off his brow looked like it had been AI generated.

I laughed. It was almost ridiculous. But I got it now.

I got why the girls were salivating over him.

And, of course, there was his wealth. Other than the scholarship students, the pupils were all from money, but the Penningtons were known for being a level up.

That, combined with the title attached to his name, made Lord Asher Pennington one of the most eligible boys in the country.

I must have been the only girl in the school who wasn’t interested in his attention, and I had no intention of that changing anytime soon. Unfortunately, he seemed to have other ideas.

After beating his arguably more experienced opponent and turning to greet the small crowd that gathered, it was me he foisted his attention on.

His bright green eyes caught mine, and his triumphant smile immediately turned to a bitter snarl.

I turned around, foolishly hoping his focus was on something or someone behind me.

But there was no one there. I frowned. I hadn’t seen him for over a year.

What reason did he have for continuing this pointless vendetta?

Well, fuck that guy. I spun on my heel and headed to the corner of the hall, scooping up my discarded hoodie and ignoring his frosty stare. As I walked back to my locker, I was barged in the shoulder.

“What did you do to Asher? He looked like he wanted to kill you back there. You must have done something awful to piss him off.” And then the next catty girl started .

“It’s that permanent scowl on her face. She brings the mood down in every room.”

“Didn’t your mama tell you if the wind blows, your face will stick like that?”

“She doesn’t have a mama!”

They stalked off down the hallway, cackling with laughter.

Urgh, what the hell? I was literally minding my own business.

So now, not only did I have Asher Pennington hating on me, but also those girls too.

For no fucking reason. Granted, I don’t smile as much as I used to, but the start of the new term had me in a shitty mood.

It’s nine months since my mum died. And I’m not over it. I won’t ever be over it.

As I swapped my books over in my locker, memories of previous years swirl around my mind.

Our ritual when the new term started was to spend a few days in London, buying uniform and supplies.

We’d shop and stay in a nice hotel. Go to the hairdressers.

Catch a show. Not this year, though. Papa was away, and lately, Luca was always out drinking with his friends.

I did all my stationery shopping online.

I let my usually shoulder length hair grow out and just hacked at my bangs myself.

I didn’t bother buying new uniform. I’m regretting that choice now as I tugged at the hem of my skirt.

I thought I’d get away with it for a few more months, but clearly not.

My shoes are scuffed, too. I didn’t even bother to polish them.

I was so focused on feeling sorry for myself, I didn’t realise I was no longer alone in the hallway until a voice startled me.

“You look like shit, Messina.” Something about hearing Asher curse in his crisp English accent made it seem even more coarse.

I turned around to face him. It was on the tip of my tongue to offer him a similar retort in response, except we both knew it wouldn’t be true.

I mean, look at him. He’d redressed in his academy uniform, not a hair out of place.

Not a button misaligned. So, instead of insulting him, I stood there, clutching my books to my chest, practically drooling, just as I said I wouldn’t.

“You’re embarrassing,” he sneered, looking at me with his forest green eyes through his glasses.

As he said the words, my books slipped from my hand and crashed onto the floor.

I flinched as they landed around our feet.

He pulled his foot out from under them and stepped onto one, stamping down on it, deliberately trying to mark it, before kicking it under the lockers and stomping away.