Chapter 2
In tandem with the lurching hiccup of the copy machine, I tapped my fingers, watching as it pumped papers coated in blue and gold ink out of its side.
Or, I was glaring, really, as if my stink-eye itself could keep the ancient thing alive.
The main office of Brentwood was quiet, with the two remaining secretaries typing out on their keyboards in sleepy succession.
Neither of them had looked at me since I walked in.
In fact, as I made my way to the copier, the only greeting I received was “don’t break it. ”
Now, I understood that the words hadn’t been a joke at all; this copier was on its last leg. It probably wouldn’t be a good thing if a sophomore broke the school’s copier the first week of school.
From behind me, one of the secretaries attempted to lower her voice. “Do you think she’ll expel him?”
“I doubt it. If she was going to, she would’ve done it at the beginning of the school day, don’t you think?”
“Maybe he did something during the day, and she’s dealing with it now,” the first secretary said.
I didn’t turn around to look at them, didn’t clue them in to the fact that they really needed to learn how to whisper, and glanced toward the only door she could’ve been behind.
PRINCIPAL OLIPHANT. During the summer months, she’d been Mrs. Oliphant.
Hers had been the house we went to for pool days and barbeques.
We’d had family dinners together at least once a week, and two weeks ago, my surprise birthday party had been held at her house.
Mom and her became close when Mom was elected school board president a few years ago, and remained close ever since.
Despite that, I felt like I only talked to Principal Oliphant a handful of times.
Then again, during those dinners/get togethers, it wasn’t me anyone focused on.
I wasn’t the child people were most interested in—that was my brother.
From time to time, I could see Principal Oliphant’s figure pass back and forth behind the frosted glass as if she were pacing. The volume in her voice would raise high enough that it vibrated into the room, but it was hard to tell what exactly she was saying.
“I’m surprised he’s not shipped off to some facility yet,” the second secretary replied. Her voice had risen a little when she scoffed, now speaking almost like they’d forgotten I was there. “You heard what he did over the summer, didn’t you?”
I flipped open the copier’s lid and pulled out the flyer, quickly placing down the next that needed printing. The art teacher, Ms. Stone, had me printing three different sets of art fair flyers, and I was on my final print round.
“Got the cops involved and everything, I heard.” One of them huffed—I wasn’t sure which. “A student like that belongs at Jefferson High, not Brentwood.”
I looked over my shoulder at them now and caught the eye of the secretary sitting closest to me.
The two women fell silent, and half a second later, the keyboards clacking with a vigor that hadn’t been present before.
Despite them avoiding my gaze like their life depended on it, I wished I could’ve asked them who they were talking about.
My curiosity had been piqued, and I knew a little gossip lover who’d die to know, too.
When the copier wheezed out its final copy, that’s when Principal Oliphant’s voice rose loud enough that I could hear it. “You’re walking on thin ice as it is…given too many chances. I got the report of what happened over the summer…your last strike.”
Yeah, now I was really curious. Who could’ve been on their last strike two days into the school year?
Despite my nosiness, with the rattling of the copier now silent, I had no excuse to linger in the office. So, with one last glance toward the frosted glass door, I set out for the hallway.
“Finally done, Gemma?” a voice called, and when I turned my head, I found my friend, Morgan Davies, leaning against the wall of the office.
Her brown hair was pulled into a loose bun, her bangs swept out from her eyes.
She was a sophomore like me, but she looked much older with her slim jawline and bright pink eyeliner.
The only thing I wore on my face was the baby fat that seemed to age with me.
“I told you I should’ve done that. You’re technologically challenged. ”
“Am not.”
“Are too. You have a flip phone.”
“It doesn’t flip; it slides.”
And besides, that wasn’t really my fault.
My parents added a phone onto their plan for my brother, who got the latest model, but mine had been a last-minute purchase at the department store.
My brother was the one who brought it up first, that since his little sister was in high school, she needed a cell.
“I got a phone when I was Gemma’s age,” he’d argued. “She should have one, too.”
Landon had an annoying way of being able to persuade Mom to do anything. Maybe I should’ve had him ask her if I could get my permit.
“Anyway, technologically challenged or not,” I began, lifting the stack of flyers, “I acquired the goods.”
Next step: hanging all the posters. Trying to find spots for all of the posters in Brentwood wouldn’t be that hard, with two stories to space things out between, but it would take a while.
Morgan raised her arm, showing off where she’d looped the large clear tape around her wrist. “Let’s get started. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Remind me how you corralled me into helping again?”
Morgan and I started out as friends when Mrs. Davies, her mother, joined my mom’s friend group. With Morgan, it was one of those “friends by association” kind of relationships. That was how all of my friendships were—handpicked by my parents.
Except Mom hated that I talked to Morgan still, ever since she dumped Mrs. Davies from their friend group.
“Do you know someone who would be in trouble already?” I asked her as I handed over a flyer, watching her tear a piece of tape off her roll.
We started with the lockers across the hall from the office.
Since she was in charge of taping, I made sure to pick out the ones that would look the best against which color we chose.
“In enough trouble to stay after school?”
“Hmm, maybe Wes Torres? Trisha Clemms? I could see them being in the office for something.” She spoke nonchalantly at first, but then looked at me with wide, interested eyes. Gossip eyes. “Why?”
“There was someone in the office getting chewed out.”
“I wonder if they need volunteers in the office. Do you know how much gossip I’d get if I was an aide?”
Especially with those secretaries, who couldn’t seem to really keep their mouths shut. “Probably would get better information being an assistant for Brentwood Babble or something.”
Brentwood Babble was the school’s gossip site.
Though it sometimes posted normal stuff like game scores or school events, the posts that people logged on for were the gossip-fueled ones.
Especially if it was about the Top Tier, the elite group of the school.
I wasn’t sure there was a student at Brentwood who had no idea what Babble was; even freshmen knew about it.
“I wish. You know, I saw the girl who runs it in the hallway the other day—over the summer, she dyed her hair pink. And now, naturally, I need to dye my hair pink.”
I handed her over another poster, smiling. “Except your mom would kill you.”
“Hey, my family are already outcasted—what more would hurt?”
I knew the dig wasn’t intended toward me specifically, but my mother.
Morgan slid little comments in like that all the time, ever since the whole debacle last year.
Mom was up for reelection as the president of the school board for the Brentwood school district, and Mrs. Davies had let it slip to another woman in the group that she voted for Mom’s opponent.
That woman blabbed to Mom, who, upon winning her reelection, promptly cut Mrs. Davies from their group.
Back then, I hadn’t understood what Mrs. Davies had been thinking, going against Mom like that.
I didn’t get why she didn’t keep it to herself.
Now, after everything that had happened on my birthday, her motives were a bit clearer.
Maybe Mrs. Davies realized she didn’t like the role she played either.
Morgan and I navigated farther down the empty school hallways, our shoes squeaking off the freshly cleaned linoleum.
My long skirt swished against my legs with each step, and I looked down to make sure it wasn’t dragging too much against the floor.
It was a brown plaid patterned one that I made last week, one that Mom picked out for school like she did every morning.
I liked it well enough, but I’d caught more than one side-eyed stare today in the halls.
Morgan saw me looking at the skirt. “Why do you wear so many layers when it’s hot out still?”
She knew why. She just wanted me to say it. “It’s pretty lightweight,” I said instead, drawing the side of my skirt out.
“Yeah, but this isn’t.” She reached out and pinched the fabric of my sweater. “You’re going to get heatstroke.”
Don’t take the bait, I told myself calmingly, pinching my lips into a smile.
“How are you getting home after this?” Morgan asked, and once we reached the doors that led to the student parking lot, we backtracked to the opposite wing. “You definitely missed the bus.”
“Landon’s practice ends at four. He’ll take me home.”
I knew exactly what Morgan was about to say even before she opened her mouth. “Think maybe Mr. Quarterback will give me a ride home, too?”
“His car only fits two people.”
“You can walk home, can’t you?” she teased. “I’m just saying, how am I going to start dating my best friend’s brother if we never have alone time together?”
This time, I chuckled, and it came out like a snort. “Hate to break it to you, but he’s only got eyes for Madison Oliphant.”