22. Nim
Chapter 22
Nim
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it doesn’t. There are no repercussions for what the Serpents did to me in the courtyard. When I happen to pass students in the halls, they either stare at me with leers on their faces, or look away as if they can’t stand my embarrassment. I still get the odd jeer about being an illegal immigrant. Sometimes someone calls me a bitch or a stray. Someone tells me in passing that they’re glad the Serpents are taking an interest in my training, because no one likes an unsocialized dog.
My accounting teacher seems unimpressed with my futile attempts at understanding his subject. He sends me out of class with an extra assignment I need to have done by Monday.
At this stage, I’m literally wondering if declaring bankruptcy and sleeping under a bridge somewhere isn’t a far sight better than this torture. I’m close to breaking…fuck knows why it hasn’t happened yet.
Or, maybe, it’s like it was with my parents. It’ll hit me eventually, but not today. Maybe not for a few months.
God, what a mess I’ll be by then.
I’m in my room that night when Romi appears about an hour after dinner. I slipped into the cafeteria during lunch and loaded up on two sandwiches. One is still on my desk—I’ll have it later if I’m feeling hungry, or maybe for breakfast. No fucking way am I going to have dinner in the cafeteria—perhaps ever again. She says nothing when she sees me in bed, and goes straight to the bathroom with her pajamas tucked under one arm.
I expect to hear the shower or the bath running, but she comes out almost immediately again. “What the fuck is your problem?” she demands, staring at me with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Swallowing, I sit up and hug my knees. “What?”
“Do think I’m an idiot?” she steps up to the side of my bed, towering over me. “I know they were doing something to you.”
“Do you need me to tell you what happened so you can use it as a masturbation fantasy in there?” I yell back. “Because that’s all this is to you, isn’t it? It’s not like you’ll do anything about it.”
We stare at each other for a beat, and then Romi’s shoulders sag. “Nim, I’m sorry. You’re right. I can’t do anything. But you don’t have to suffer through this alone. I can?—”
I turn my back on her. “You can’t do anything, Romi. No one can. Just...just leave me alone.”
She lets out a frustrated sigh and slams the bathroom door behind her.
I twist, smooshing my face in my pillow, and smack it around a little. It doesn’t help. I want to be smashing in their faces, not abusing my poor pillow like they abused me.
But if today made one thing crystal fucking clear, it’s that there’s nothing I can do. They can bully me as much as they want, and I’ll just have to sit back and keep playing that victim card until they tire of me.
I sit up.
I’m not their only victim. And bullying isn’t the worst thing they’ve done. I slip my thumb in my mouth, worrying the edge of my nail with my teeth as I turn and stare at the bathroom door.
At this point, I’ll do anything to make them stop. But I doubt Romi would even believe me if I told her what had happened in the woods nearly three months ago.
Ha. Maybe she’ll just tell me to walk it off.
I throw myself back on the bed, yanking angrily at my sheets until I’m buried under them. It takes me a long time to fall asleep—I listen to Romi moving around the room getting ready for bed, and then as she falls asleep and gently starts snoring.
But eventually, my thoughts drift apart and darkness takes me.
Whatever helps you sleep at night, Nim.
I wake up alone. Romi’s bed is made and, judging from the slant of light through the arched windows, it’s way past breakfast. I guess she already knew I wasn’t going to eat in the cafeteria with everyone else. I crawl out of bed and wash my face before sitting at my desk and nibbling at the sandwich I brought here last night.
Reluctantly, I dig in my backpack and take out my class schedule. I groan when I see my first class is accounting. I wonder what the penalty for skipping class is? Actually, I need to go speak to the dean about changing my classes. I can do that, right? I wonder if I need to make an appointment?—
There’s a knock on my room door, which instantly gets my back up because Romi wouldn’t knock. I smirk to myself as I walk over the carpet to answer the knock. Yeah, the Serpents wouldn’t knock either.
I don’t recognize the girl outside. She blinks owlishly at me and then gives me an uneasy smile. “Nim Winters?”
“Yes?” I answer reluctantly, and then lean out to check both sides of the hall. Just in case.
“Dean Rigby wants to see you.” She hesitates and then steps back. “Now.”
I look down at my pajamas, then back up at her. “You’re going to have to give me a few seconds to change.” I gently close the door in her face, spin around, and press my back to it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
My mind whirls as I throw on my uniform and run a brush through my tangled hair.
This is good, right? I wanted to speak to the dean, and the universe was all like, here you go, Nim.
But this isn’t an invitation for tea. This is a summons. Oh my God, why would he be summoning me to his office? Maybe this is about my tuition. Was there a mistake? There’s a flicker in my heart, and I don’t know whether it’s relief or disappointment.
The girl leads me down the hall, ignoring me when I ask her if my uniform is okay for an audience with the dean. But she looks as nervous as me, so maybe she’s incapable of idle chit-chat. We head into the east wing, and go to the top floor. The dean’s office is about halfway down the hall at the end of a small foyer where a secretary pointedly ignores us when we take a seat in two of the four chairs outside the dean’s frosted-glass door.
The phone rings, the dean’s secretary picking it up before it can get out more than a single warble. She says nothing, just listens. Then glances up at us and points at the dean’s door with her eyes. “You can go in now.”
The girl stands up with me, which makes me feel a little better because this obviously involves both of us.
Dean Rigby’s office is large, and cluttered, and dim. Big, dark bookshelves line one wall, and the ubiquitous bronze earth ball stands about a yard away from his expansive mahogany desk with its dark green leather inlay.
He looks up at us, and then waves a hand to the two chairs in front of his table. I sit down, shift a little, and then look over my shoulder when the girl who brought me here doesn’t follow suit.
“Thank you, Elizabeth. That’ll be all.”
Elizabeth nods, and leaves the room.
Oh God.
When I turn back, Dean Rigby is studying me with narrowed eyes. My heart jams in my throat and stays trapped there no matter how hard I swallow.
“Miss Winters,” the dean says slowly. He’s a middle-aged man—trim with a tanned face and salt-and-pepper hair. He leans back in his seat and runs a hand down his jade tie. I wonder if he planned it to match his desk? “It’s good to finally meet you.”
There’s a flutter of relief in my belly, but he squashes it like a bug a second later.
“I only wish it was in better circumstances.”
I say nothing. What would be the point? The sooner he spits it out, the sooner I’ll know what the hell’s going on.
“I think this is a new record,” he says. “Suspended in your first week? I would applaud you, if your blatant disrespect for this institution wasn’t so offensive.”
The words ping off my mind like a ricocheting bullet. SUSPENDED. DISRESPECT. OFFENSIVE.
“Sir, I?—”
“I’ll tell you when you can speak, Winters,” Dean Rigby says calmly, giving his tie another stroke. “If I even allow it.”
I open my mouth, but the tiny crease that forms between the dean’s graying brows makes me reconsider. So I sit, and I shut the fuck up, and I desperately try to figure out what’s happening.
“I’ve always been of the mind that you only really appreciate something if you work for it.” He waves his hand. “The harder you work, the more you appreciate it. I’ve seen it before. Children like you.” His lips twitch like he’s struggling not to sneer. “You get a free pass and you think you can coast through the next four years without having to lift a finger. That life will just throw more opportunities your way.”
“Sir, that’s not?—”
Dean Rigby’s fist slams down on his desk so hard it rattles the pens and pencils in their holder. My mouth snaps closed, and I hang my head, but I’m fuming inside.
“You’ve been handed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Miss Winters. You could have had a fulfilling life, a brilliant career, but instead you come into my school and you act like a ruffian .”
This guy needs to get laid. That, or he needs to find a better brand of coffee to have in the mornings, because it’s obvious there’s some unresolved shit he’s taking out on me.
But I can’t say anything, can I? As per usual, I have to sit here and take it.
Walk it off, Nim.
Fuck that.
“I’m sorry, did you say I’m suspended?” I blurt out as quickly as I can before Dean Rigby fists his desk again.
The dean’s eyes narrow. “You’ve been written up three times this week. This flagrant disregard for our Code of Conduct is a personal insult to me.”
“What was I written up for?” I ask him, trying for innocent and probably getting closer to sarcasm if the tightening of his fist is anything to go by.
“You refuse to adhere to the Code—” he starts.
“Reason why I’m asking,” I cut in bravely, despite how my insides are quivering with terror, “is because I’ve been bullied from the day I set foot inside this place, and I was just wondering if something like that can also get a person suspended.” I pluck at my dress. “Surely that’s the case, seeing as you’re kicking me out for my uniform being wrong?”
In the silence that follows, I could have heard one of the dean’s immaculate hairs hitting the carpet.
“Bullying is a serious allegation,” he says quietly.
“Of course. That’s why I’m bringing it to you.” I sit back in my seat and fold my hands over my belly. “I hope that you’ll punish the offenders as severely, if not more so, than you’re punishing me for not wearing stockings.”
Dean Rigby stands and goes to his window. The slatted blinds are drawn, but he pulls on a rope, opening them just a crack. Dust motes dance in a frenzy as he moves back to his desk.
Maybe if they vacuumed here once in a while, he wouldn’t be in such a testy mood.
“You will need to complete a?—”
I sit forward, grabbing the edge of his desk. “Will you expel them?”
“Miss Winters, I don’t even know the extent—” Dean Rigby begins, blinking at me.
“It would turn your hair grayer,” I cut in. “But you can ask anyone and they’ll confirm it.” I hold up my hand, three fingers extended. “Silas, Mason, and Knox.” I tilt my head. “You might know that last one as the Student Body President.”
Rigby’s eyes turn to slits. “The student who wrote you up,” he says evenly. “You’re claiming he bullied you?”
“Not claiming, reporting. ”
“Miss Winters?—”
“If I’m going to be suspended for my uniform, then they’ll be expelled, right? Maybe even some criminal charges thrown their way?” My stomach shrivels when I hear the word criminal. It’s too close to the real crime I want to report them for.
Rigby studies me for a second. “How convenient,” he says dryly. “The day I inform you that you’re suspended, you tell me that you were being bullied.” He laces his fingers and leans forward, sliding them over the green leather padding on his desk. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner, Miss Winters?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. How am I supposed to sum up the chaos of the past few days?
“I...I was scared,” I admit grudgingly. “They told me it would just make it worse if I reported them.”
He tilts his head. “But now you’re courageous enough to come forward?”
“Well, yeah!” I swallow hard, mumble out, “I mean, yes, Mr. Rigby. You just suspended me.” I glance away. “It’s not like they can get to me outside of school.”
When he doesn’t say anything straight away, I reluctantly look back at him.
“Miss Winters, a suspension doesn’t mean you leave school grounds.” He looks disgruntled that he has to explain something so basic to me. “It just means you can’t associate with other students or participate in any social activities.”
“So I’m stuck here?” I whisper.
“Stuck?” he almost spits out the word. Whatever composure he had when I walked in here, it’s rapidly disintegrating. “No, Miss Winters. You are incredibly blessed to be a student at Cinderhart Academy, and you should be eternally grateful to the families who sponsored you.”
He stands, walks around the table, and sits on the edge of his desk. “Honestly, Nim, if your parents weren’t such commendable students, the board would never even have considered your application.”
I don’t know what shocks me more—finding out that I had multiple people sponsoring me...or that the dean remembers my parents.
“You...you knew my parents?” I whisper.
“Of course.” His eyes narrow. “Everyone did. But their efforts at this institution won’t carry you any further. They got you in the door, Nim, but if you don’t start treating this opportunity for what it is, then even your sponsors can’t stop us expelling you.”
“Who are they?” I ask. “My sponsors?”
He studies me for a second, and then shakes his head and goes back to his chair. “I have no obligation to tell you.” His eyes find mine, piercing. “And honestly, I doubt it’ll even matter if this is the kind of behavior we are to expect from you.”
I sink back in my chair, defeated. He signs a piece of paper and slides it over the desk. “This is a formal notice of your suspension. Sign and date at the bottom.”
My hand shakes as I sign the document and slide it back over the desk. Dean Rigby doesn’t even look as he takes it and drops it in his OUT tray.
“Can I have that form?” I ask him.
“Which one?” he asks.
“The one...I need to report?—”
I cut off when he sits forward in his seat, a hard look in his eyes. “Think very carefully about what you say next, Miss Winters.” Those eyes scan my face and give my uniform a condescending glance. “Because if you make an accusation like that without the proof to back it up, you’ll be slandering those boys.”
His chair creaks faintly as he sits back and strokes a hand over his tie.
“Their parents have deeper pockets than you or I could ever imagine.”