The Boarding School Experiment (2 page)

“My own little gargoyle. What kind of crap are you up to now?”

“I’m planking.”

Thane snorted. Before I had time to lie further, a
tap, tap, tap
floated down the corridor toward us. The principal’s cane made that sound. While the principal couldn’t legally cane us, we suspected from the gleam in his eyes and the eager way he whacked the dark wood against his palm that he’d like to give it the old Singapore try.

Tap, tap, tap
.

Other students flinched in fear when they heard the sound. Despite the ominous nature of the cane-wielder, I usually loved the warning. It gave me enough time to run.

Thane muttered under his breath. His big hands closed around my dangling arm and he yanked.

I stiffened at the unfamiliar touch and tried to pull away mid-air, like a fish on a hook. My foot clung to the edge of the opening. Thane jerked harder, and I slid free. All my weight hit his body. His frame had no give, just hard muscles. My world shifted, and we fell.

I landed half on Thane and half on the concrete floor. Pain bit through my elbow where it connected with his ribs. He grunted; so did I. Neither of us wanted any part of our new togetherness. I tried to spring up. A sharp sting pierced the heel of my hand. Broken glass. I fell back, off balance, and pried at the shard, only distantly noting Thane’s second grunt as I balanced one forearm against him to get a good angle. The glass sliced into my fingertips but I didn’t let go until I dug it free.

Thane rolled, using his athletic reflexes, and had both of us up as the principal closed in.

I threw my hands behind my back, pressing them together to stem the blood flow, the red sign of guilt.

Thane angled slightly in front of me. His last name,
Trallwyn
, scrawled across the shoulders of his letter jacket, jumped out at me. My gut clenched at the hated name, inescapable in the halls of Trallwyn High in the town of Trallwyn. The white letters were newly marred by tiny shards of perfume bottle stuck in damp splotches. My sense of smell had left mid-pour, but I bet the leather reeked. I let a small smile curve the corners of my mouth. Score.

The principal rapped one tap in front of me and one in front of Thane. He assessed the broken glass then looked upwards. His whole body stiffened when he saw the hole above the lockers. His gaze stabbed my face, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that two of us were standing here. “Any excuse for cutting?”

“We were just planking on the way back to class,” Thane said.

“On top of each other?” The thud of the cane reverberated against the floor. “That’s not planking. In my office. Now.”

I knew the route to that pit of despair and anxiety. So did Thane. We’d been there often enough over the last two years, together and separately. Not that Thane ever received the punishments I did, not the golden miracle, star athlete. I had to be twice as clever to escape disciplinary action.

I kept pace with Thane, and my mind raced with excuses, trying to land on one to get me out of this with minimal damage.

We both walked at a fast clip, staying well ahead of the principal’s cane, lest it make one of its accidental jabs at our Achilles’ tendons. The cane had gotten me a few times, early in my career, before I knew better than to lag. When we reached the foyer, my steps quickened to beat Thane to the seat by the door. Thane had a good eight inches on me, so I had to use surprise tactics because I’d never win in a fair foot race.

As if knowing my intent, Thane threw out an arm and sped up. He easily blocked my moves, crossed the threshold first, and took the primo spot. This left me to step over his long legs and settle for the weaker position, the corner seat wedged between the overloaded bookshelves and the end table. I sighed and slouched low, staring at the dark lamp.

The principal’s chair squeaked against his weight. His pointy elbows spread and his fingers pyramided to show his power. “There’s not enough light in here.”

In response to the implied request, I reached over and clicked on the interrogation lamp, blinking against the brightness. The bulb buzzed and the glow blinded my left peripheral vision, while emitting enough heat to make the room uncomfortable. The principal always had his detainees turn on the lamp. I never let on how much I liked it. After your pupils adjusted, the light revealed everything around you.

Nothing hid from you in the glow—case in point, the olive green filing carton sticking out from underneath the small end table. The black letters along the side read
National Curriculum Project,
and its interior held alphabetized manila file folders. I bet they contained our tests and wished I could change my
palm tree
answer. I didn’t want to be dropped down a grade for writing something stupid.

“What is it this time?” The principal’s condescending tones drew my attention back to him. “Hmm? Did Mr. Trallwyn pull your braid?” His narrow chin poked at the tips of his steepled fingers as he spoke.

I bit my lip, refusing to respond. Answering trapped you deeper. Besides, how could I explain that Thane had jostled my breakfast tray, spilling cranberry juice cocktail all over my new white shirt?

Thane would say bumping me was an accident and they’d believe him. They always did. I brushed at the dust on the hem of my shirt. A white ceiling crumb knocked loose. My efforts didn’t make the material any neater, not overall. How could they, with the big red splotch marring the front? I spared a glance at Thane’s pristine blue button-down. He’d just gotten out of gym and sat there looking like a model for a mall clothing store. I bet he had a hundred new crisp shirts.

I owned one new shirt. One I’d saved for all summer. One to wear this first week of school so I could pretend I got new school clothes like everyone else. I’d spent my summer savings on a bottle of perfume, a concert ticket, and this shirt. The rest of my salary had gone to my family. Thane ruined one-third of my purchases in one jostle—on purpose. He hadn’t even apologized. He’d wrinkled his nose and said, “Nice perfume,” then walked away, laughing with his friends.

Nice perfume.

“Ms. Carlisle, are you paying attention?”

“Yes, sir.” I shifted back to the principal and sucked in a breath. Now that I’d left the hall, my sense of smell was returning. Underneath the wall of perfume coating my hands and Thane’s jacket, the stench of hopeless stale air lay around us, the smell that defined the principal’s office.

The principal’s palms dropped flat to the table and he leaned forward. “This little war of yours ends now. You’re seniors. Time to grow up. Whatever petty slight Mr. Trallwyn caused you all those years ago… Well, I’m sure he’s sorry, so get over your snit.”

Petty slight
? He knew the damage the Trallwyns had caused my family. Two years ago, I’d had new clothes. Two years ago, my father had a job. Two years ago, my father wasn’t in a wheelchair.

“What was it? Did Mr. Trallwyn stand you up? Not invite you to his birthday party?”

I stared straight ahead, to the left of the principal’s chicken-pock scar, and ignored his prying questions. Everyone in town knew about the cave-climbing accident and my father’s refusal to take the settlement offered by Trallwyn Construction. Everyone knew, including the principal, but he enjoyed playing his own game of Torture the Student. According to Hollywood, principals existed who rid their schools of gangs and cared deeply. We got stuck with the other kind. Ones who liked power over kids. If our town had a gang, he’d invite them in just to torture their members.

The principal rose. He made a show of going to the filing cabinet against the wall. That was a routine move. He was pulling our records. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of watching. I stared at the floor, noting the thinning canvas at the top of my sneakers, hoping they’d hold up until Christmas. I took a quick glance at Thane to see if he’d noticed their shabby shape. He was focused on the window. I curled my foot behind the carton, nudging the corner up a few inches, and tucked my foot out of sight.

The principal balanced one large chart in his hand and read aloud, “Good grades—humph. Athletic—okay. Behavior—questionable.” He dropped the file back in and slid the drawer shut with his shoulder. The locking mechanism gave a metallic click. “Mr. Trallwyn, what do you have to say?”

Shutting the filing cabinet had been a giveaway. If the principal had planned to write us up, the folders would be flat on his desk under the weight of his palms. I relaxed deeper into the seat.

Thane shrugged. “We slipped in some glass while planking. But I don’t intend to sue the school. And you know Elena won’t.”

The last part was a dig at Dad. I inhaled consciously, slow and steady.
Don’t lose your temper
.

A knock sounded from the other side of the door. The janitor stood in the threshold, looking confused. “It’s time to clean your office.” He carried a dirty dust rag in his hands and glanced at the white wall clock’s round face. The big hand ticked an audible click.

The principal glared at us until he reached the janitor, then he focused on him. “There’s some glass that needs to be removed before everyone leaves for the day. Tell the office to hold the dismissal bell until you clean it up.”

While the principal went into the hall to harangue the poor man into doing the work, Thane sprang from his chair and moved to the narrow window to stare outside. He was probably worried the sun would set before he could get home and use his pool. I was sure he’d hate for his tan to fade. I stared at my toe again, my stomach sinking. The threads were definitely fraying. A hole would burst through any day now. I’d have to sew a patch on top and draw on it like I was artistic instead of poor. I nudged the box again. The tab labeled with the letter
Z
was thin. Only one poor kid had a name that started with a
Z
.

Rhys Zukowski.

Rhys was smart enough, but there was no way he’d get selected for an elite boarding school. Teachers liked to hear the expected answers. They wanted students who colored within the lines. Rhys’s answers were too creative. Plus, his disciplinary file was ten times thicker than his academic one. If a bubble on that scantron represented behavior, he’d never be chosen. Knowing these things, the teachers probably wouldn’t even process his test scores. They’d take a smoke break when they finished the letter
Y
.

My heart rate picked up. I stared at Thane’s back and moved before thinking. I grabbed Rhys’s slip.

The top read,
Amalgam Curriculum Scores, Rhys Zukowski,
and five bubbles had been filled in. I swiped a pencil off the Principal’s desk. With two speedy strokes, I erased
Rhys Zukowski
and wrote
Thane Trallwyn
. I shoved the form into the front of the
T
tab and spared a brief glance at Thane. He hadn’t moved, and still had his back to the room. I flipped through the pages. There were at least twenty T-kids. I found Thane’s slip. Swallowing, I reversed the process and shoved the revision behind the Z-tab.

I tapped the eraser against my thigh. A smile of satisfaction widened my mouth, but I quickly hid it. Give nothing away. I glanced again at the T-tab.
Piper Thames.
I snagged Piper’s slip, no longer attempting to be sneaky, just trying to be fast, and switched hers with mine.

Tap, tap, tap
.

Chapter Two

My fingers tightened on the yellow pencil, and I crouched forward to replace it, but Thane turned, leaving me no time to hide the evidence. I shoved it into my front pocket and sank back, schooling my features into innocent boredom.

Tap, tap, tap.

The Principal crossed the threshold just as the dismissal bell rang. 2:30 p.m. Decision time. His nostrils jumped, and he snorted. “Go home.” His tone held all the disgust of an end of the day administrator.

We were free because he had nothing to hold us on. I’d seen kids argue when they had this type of moral high ground; I wasn’t that stupid. I jumped up. Moving quickly, I tried to beat Thane out the door, but he’d leapt up too. He didn’t care about being right either. As I bee-lined for the school’s exit, he paced me step for step.

Five feet outside, a thick drop of rain landed on my face. Additional droplets dampened the concrete ahead of our feet. The afternoon air hung heavy with the threat of an imminent downpour, but breathing in cleared the last of the stale air conditioning from my lungs. Freedom.

Thane slipped his jacket off, bowing to the heat and humidity common to towns off the Gulf of Mexico. Behind us, end of the day sounds accompanied the other exiting students: friends chattering, keys clinking, feet rushing, bags zipping.

I ignored them and stepped from the curb onto the asphalt. A puddle had formed ahead of me, the rain raising the oil to the surface so a rainbow shimmered on top, an oily swirl of colors. In a more chivalrous time, Thane would have thrown his garment over the puddle so my dainty size nines wouldn’t have gotten wet.