Page 14 of The Rebel (Covington Prep: The Girls We Love #7)

Flummoxed by the whole episode, I at least needed to defend myself. “All I did was correct the pronunciation of my name,” I said. “Isn’t that allowed?”

For a moment, our eyes were locked, Mrs. Fox’s narrowed and squinty and her lips wrinkled and puckered. It was like a showdown, all too bizarre. Up until a few minutes ago, I had never had an altercation with a teacher, yet now my heart was beating out of control and I was being sent to the office.

“You need to learn respect, young lady,” she cautioned.

Overcome with fury and frustration, I snatched the piece of paper from her fingertips, unable to resist a jab. “And you need to move in to the 21st century,” I said before storming out of the room.

I was in a daze as I walked down the empty hallway, my feet heading for the front office where Mrs. Wainwright answered the phone, gave out hall passes or sent you to the Sick Room if you weren’t feeling well.

Once I’d felt nauseous after eating mac and cheese in the cafeteria and she let me stay in the Sick Room until Mom picked me up.

What would Mrs. Wainwright say when I appeared at her desk in the middle of a period? I’d already looked at Mrs. Fox’s discipline slip citing all the crimes she’d accused me of. Insubordination? Really! What did that even mean?

My footsteps grew shorter as I planned my defense. I’d say Mrs. Fox looked to be past retirement age and had misunderstood me. I had a blemish-free school record and had never been in trouble. A C in an algebra test had been my lowest point.

“Hello, Valencia,” Mrs. Wainwright said way before I even reached her desk. “How’s Paris doing?”

“Uh, he’s good,” I said, for once not minding the topic of my brother, hoping it might distract Mrs. Wainwright from the real issue. “He’s on his way to Europe right now for some tournaments.”

“Yes, I heard that your parents are away with him,” Mrs. Wainwright said, though her smile disappeared when I handed her the slip of paper.

Her brow furrowed as she read, making me jump in. “It was a misunderstanding. You know Mrs. Fox is about 90 years old or something. All I did was tell her how to pronounce my name properly. And she got all upset about it.”

Mrs. Wainwright cleared her throat, no longer smiley. “Take a seat, Valencia.”

I shuffled across to the row of five chairs and plonked myself down on the middle one.

Seemed like I was the only student in the whole school being disciplined.

Mrs. Wainwright picked up the phone. I closed my eyes and made a quick prayer, hoping my parents didn’t have to learn about this.

Mrs. Fox had made a mountain out of a molehill.

This wasn’t detention worthy, not even discipline worthy.

I discreetly pulled my phone out of my pocket, seeing another photo from Paris of the plane moving down the runway.

Another student stopped at Mrs. Wainwright’s desk with a note, but she was waved off with a smile and a nod.

The girl glanced at me, sitting all alone and exposed, like a criminal waiting for a mug shot to be taken.

Vice Principal Hayman appeared from her office and her eyes targeted me with a glower.

She had words with Mrs. Wainwright, causing my anxiety to rise, worst case scenarios manifesting like a Twilight Zone script.

Would she contact Mom and Dad and would they have to fly back from Europe as soon as they landed?

Or what if the pilot was ordered to turn back midair, somewhere over the Atlantic, all because I corrected the pronunciation of my own name?

Mrs. Wainwright beckoned and I followed Mrs. Hayman to her office like I was about to make my final walk on death row.

Her room smelled of vanilla which was a nice calming scent.

I instantly relaxed, no need to worry. I’d overreacted.

Mrs. Hayman had once presented Paris with an award for Outstanding Sporting Achievement, she’d probably ask me how his tennis was going, give me a quick telling off and would agree that Mrs. Fox’s teaching days were long due over.

However, there were no smiles from Mrs. Hayman and no mention of my brother. “Fix your tie. That’s not the correct way to wear your uniform.”

Stunned by her abrupt manner, I lowered my backpack to the floor, needing two hands to tighten my tie which revealed the juice stain in all its glory.

“And the use of eye makeup should be minimal and natural looking,” Mrs. Hayman continued, her beady eyes scrutinizing me. “I don’t consider that minimal or natural looking.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I squirmed uncomfortably, confused by this criticism of my appearance.

That’s not why I was here. And I knew for a fact that seniors wore way more than my coat of mascara and a dash of eyeliner.

Addison O’Day had full eyelash extensions and her plump lips were usually bright red or pink. Not natural at all.

“Mrs. Fox says you showed wilful defiance and disrespect,” Mrs. Hayman said, gesturing for me to sit on the chair opposite her desk.

“That’s not true,” I said, my voice lifting an octave.

“Insubordination and verbal disrespect,” Mrs. Hayman stated. “She asked you to hand over your electronic device and you refused.”

“Well, I hardly refused,” I defended. “And besides, Mrs. Bullock lets us keep our phones in class.”

“Mrs. Fox says you refused to hand it over. And you verbally disrespected her.”

“Verbally disrespected?” I repeated like I was the one being painfully wronged.

“Yes, Miss Reid. You verbally disrespected her.”

“She was the one who verbally disrespected me,” I cried. “She was the one who didn’t have the courtesy to say my name properly.” It was a flimsy comeback but I was desperate to prove my innocence.

Mrs. Hayman’s mouth pressed into a tight line, her eyes piercing and intimidating. And to think I thought she was a chill, awesome Vice Principal. No, the woman was hostile, narrow minded and totally unreasonable.

“Talking back to a teacher, a substitute teacher at that, is unacceptable, Miss Reid,” Mrs. Hayman said, fingering the discipline slip. “Here at Covington Prep we strive for excellence in all facets of behavior and academics.”

Words were formulating in my head, ready to burst out that Mrs. Fox had overreacted, that she was past her teaching prime, that she was more suited to sitting in a rocking chair doing crochet, but I clamped down on my lower lip and merely nodded.

“You’ve had an exemplary record,” Mrs. Hayman said.

“Yes,” I butted in, keen to keep it that way. “I’m sorry. It was just a misunderstanding.”

“I’m sure you are sorry,” Mrs. Hayman said, inhaling loudly through her nose. “But I can’t overlook this, Valencia. You can go to Study Hall for the rest of the period. You will write an apology letter to Mrs. Fox and after school you will return here.”

“Here? To the office?” A bunch of us had decided to go The Kitch after school. I was all in because I didn’t want to go back to the Sinclairs’ house earlier than was needed.

“Yes.”

“What? For detention?”

“I’ll see you and your letter after school.” Mrs. Hayman effectively dismissed me without giving me an answer.

Mrs. Wainwright held up a pass for me and I snatched it from her without a glance, a wave of anger rising.

It’s like there was a sudden conspiracy against me.

With twenty minutes left in the period, I trudged along the hallway toward the classroom that was called Study Hall.

It was a space for juniors and seniors who didn’t have an assigned class.

Considering I didn’t take Study Hall, I wondered if the other students would realize I was being punished.

But I was surprised to see that study hall was not like other classrooms with desks in straight rows.

It was more like a library, with some students sitting around large tables, some at single desks, some in armchairs, some in beanbags on the floor.

Eyes down, I weaved my way to the teacher’s desk in the center of the room.

I recognized the teacher, but I didn’t know his name, a balding man with reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He was probably as old as Mrs. Fox.

I handed him my slip which he perused for a moment. “Miss Reid,” he said. “Are you Paris’s sister?” I nodded, not trusting him completely. He might announce in a loud voice that I’d been evicted from my Art History class. “I had Paris in sophomore English. How is he?”

“Yeah, he’s good,” I said, allowing myself a smile. “He’s playing some tournaments in Europe.”

“Good for him,” the teacher said. “Well, find yourself a seat then.”

Forced to look up and around, it was heartening to see that no one was looking at me.

I spied an empty desk away in the corner and headed for it.

Unzipping my backpack, I laid my laptop out on the desk.

Thats when the group of kids huddled around the table let out a somewhat boisterous exclamation in unison.

I looked across and expected the teacher to hush them, but no one was bothered by it.

Except me. In amongst that group I could see Jade sitting between two girls. His back was to me, but I could only hope he hadn’t seen me come in. The last thing I needed was for him to find out I was on a discipline slip.

Typing my apology, I knew exactly what the teachers wanted me to write.

A bunch of sickly sweet and insincere words would do the trick.

I anticipated the bell ringing minutes before it did, packing my bag so that I was out of my chair and exiting the door first. Making a beeline for my locker, I needed to see my friends and unleash about Mrs. Fox and Vice Principal Hayman and how unfairly I’d been treated.

And I had to do it quickly so I could get back to the office to hand it in and be done with this episode.

I had to repeat my story because Gabby and Scott arrived late from their music class. By that stage I’d labeled Mrs. Fox ‘ a crazy ogre who belonged in a rest home.’ But at least Kelsey agreed that Mrs. Fox had been over the top.

“I guess you won’t be coming to the cafe,” Gabby said, leaning her head on my shoulder in sympathy.

“Yep, you’ll probably have to do some form of restorative justice,” Scott said, putting his arm around Gabby so that she moved off of me.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Basically detention, but it’s not called detention,” he said with a chuckle. “You know, they’ll make you do something positive.”

“I already wrote a letter of apology,” I said.

“Yeah, but they’ll be something else,” Scott assured me. “Maybe litter retrieval?”

I rolled my eyes, presuming that litter retrieval was a fancy name for picking up trash. “Well, as long as they don’t call my parents.”

“Aren’t they flying to Europe tomorrow?” Gabby asked.

“Uh...today,” I corrected, trying not to sound disappointed that she’d gotten it wrong.

Our conversation last night had been short and I’d ranted about being abandoned, left behind, but had Gabby not been listening?

Had I bored her with all my whining about Mom and Dad?

Or was she just not interested in any of that now that she was dating Scott?

“Hey, you better go before Mrs. Hayman doubles your punishment or whatever,” Gabby said with a grimace.

“Yeah,” I said, “wish me luck.”

There was a flurry of goodbyes as my friends went in one direction to drink coffee, while I went in the other—to face my fate.

My stomach rolled with resentment as I approached Mrs. Wainwright’s desk for the second time that day, knowing I was missing out with my friends.

With a terse look at her wrist watch, she waved me through to Mrs. Hayman’s office.

I presented her with my letter which she read, an eyebrow arching as she came to the end.

Maybe the line about ‘accepting my humblest apologies’ was a little much.

“I’ll give this to Mrs. Fox,” she said.

I nodded, relieved that it was deemed satisfactory and Scott seemed to be mistaken.

“And from tomorrow you’ll stay after school and help tidy up the Art Rooms.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ll help clean up and prepare the Art Rooms for the next week. Report to Miss Creighton,” Mrs. Hayman said. “Your actions disrupted the class today, wasting valuable time. It’s only fair that you owe some time to the department.”

I sneered. That seemed like an outrageous punishment, excessive for such a small misdemeanor.

Mrs. Hayman noticed my disapproval. “You have a problem with that, Miss Reid?”

The correct response would have been a demure ‘no.’ But for some reason my brain disregarded logic.

Too much had happened in the past few days, my world turned upside down with my best friend dating my crush, my parents leaving me behind to be with my brother, and on top of that some ancient substitute teacher had written me up for insubordination. It was all so grossly unfair!

“Even my friends think Mrs. Fox overreacted,” I said, the words pouring out with unfiltered honesty. “I didn’t do anything wrong except stand up for myself.”

“Well, according to Mrs. Fox, you did it in a rude and disrespectful manner.” Mrs. Hayman wasn’t backing down an inch either. If anything, her stance appeared to harden. “I believe your parents are abroad at the moment?” she queried.

“Yes, they left today,” I said, hoping that my connection to Paris might make her more lenient. “They’re traveling with my brother to some tennis tournaments.”

“I’ve got Dani Sinclair listed as your guardian.”

“Yes, I’m staying with the Sinclairs.” I didn’t know why that line of questioning was relevant, but then it hit me that this could be an issue. “But there’s no need to tell Dani about this, is there?”

Mrs. Hayman flashed a smile, about as sincere as the letter I’d written. “There are protocols that have to be followed, Valencia. Remember, Miss Creighton will be expecting you tomorrow after school,” she said, guiding me out with her hand on my shoulder.

I was about to ask if Dani Sinclair really needed to know about this, but that’s when I saw Jade Sinclair sitting outside Mrs. Wainwright’s office.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, a sense of doom falling over me. There were obviously no secrets at Covington Prep.

Jade stood to his full six foot two height. And, dang it, he smelled good again. So good. But my heart plummeted, my worst fears confirmed when he said, “Apparently I’m here to bail you out.”