Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
RACHELLE
M om and Emil are on either side of me as I sit at a long conference table surrounded by my teachers, the headmistress, and the school psychologist. I didn’t even know we had one of those to be honest.
It feels very odd for him to be here now.
“Miss Thomas—” Mrs. Hartwell begins, as if we didn’t just have this conversation.
“I’m going to need to stop you right there,” Emil says, opening up a briefcase to pull paperwork from it.
Knowing what he does, it feels so odd for him to have an actual briefcase. My father had one to bring to court and the office, but a mafia man casually using one simply makes me feel as if I’ve entered an alternate universe.
“My daughter is Miss Rachelle Reyes,” he says. “I believe she told you this as well. I emailed the administration about the name change. Here is a copy of the adoption paperwork as well for her records.”
Mrs. Hartwell takes the backdated paperwork, frowning hard at it.
“Why weren’t we made aware before today?” she asks. It’s none of her business, to be honest.
Reading my mind, Mom says as much. “We were celebrating the transition in our way,” she says. “This has been a year of changes, I’m sure you can understand why we decided to take our time with this. We simply forgot to forward the paperwork. I believe a child should be called what they wish to be without all of this fanfare.”
“It’s not as if she asked for something outrageous,” Emil adds, shrugging. “Her name shouldn’t be a factor in how she’s treated. Now, what is this nonsense I’m hearing about a computer glitch that’s erasing all of Rachelle’s hard work?”
“We all take care to ensure the correct grades are inputted,” Dr. Ferris says obstinately. “We can’t simply stop everything because Rachelle is suddenly failing. There’s no proof that she did the work.”
“I’m even failing math,” I mutter. “It’s my best subject. I can be half asleep and still answer the questions. How on earth can I be failing all of my classes except Mr. Richardson’s statistics class?”
Mr. Richardson was also dragged to this meeting, but he doesn’t look too upset about it. He simply watches the room, surveying the teachers, staying silent.
My math teacher opens her mouth and then closes it, sighing. There’s absolutely no way for me to be able to prove that I’ve completed the work in that class since it’s not backed up on my computer. I’m going to fail, I’m sure of it.
“I’m willing to relook at my grade book if you can show that you completed the papers,” my English teacher says softly.
Emil pulls out his laptop and the memory stick, and plugs it in.
“Unfortunately, Rachelle’s laptop was compromised,” he drawls. “It seems like a big coincidence that every single school file was deleted from it, don’t you think? Thankfully, she backs everything up.”
“My daughter works for hours on her schoolwork,” Mom adds. “Every day, she studies, does her homework and papers. I can’t accept that she’s going to be failing this semester.”
“If she can’t show that she did the work, then that’s what is going to happen,” Mrs. Hartwell says stubbornly, practically glaring at the paperwork in her hands. “We don’t show special treatment to anyone. It’s simply unfair.”
“Exams with scantrons aren’t something that I’ll have,” I interject. “I can’t show my work for that, I have several failing grades that I know for a fact I aced. That’s almost the entirety of my math class. How did you explain the discrepancy?”
The teachers raise their voices in unison in response to my question, while I lean back holding back a sigh.
Mr. Richardson slams a folder on the table several times to maintain order, making me wince.
“I believe we’re in the presence of a massive delusion,” the psychologist, Dr. Scott says carefully. “Miss Reyes has a clear history of mental health issues. Who is to say that she isn’t making this up?”
Blowing out a breath, I begin counting to ten in Spanish, because it’s one of the few things I know. It also takes me longer to get there, which is the only way I’m going to keep from going across the table.
Attacking the school psychologist isn’t the best way to convince people I’m sane.
“Here is everything Rachelle has done during her time at Carlysle Prep,” Emil says. “I just downloaded the entirety of this memory stick to an external site, so any attempt to alter these will not result in the results you think they will.”
My stepfather shoves the laptop to slide it across the table to my English teacher, who immediately begins to check for assignments.
“You don’t have much faith in the faculty here,” Mr. Richardson observes.
“I don’t trust anyone,” my stepfather growls. “This school has already hurt her more than once, allowing others to hurt her. I’m not sitting back anymore.”
“I would never say you’re less than a hands-on parent,” my statistics teacher states. “Rachelle’s grade is a ninety-eight percent for my course, one of the highest. I’m a difficult teacher.”
“All of the assignments are here,” my English teacher murmurs. “Participation points are still marked as zeros, which I unfortunately can’t alter and are worth twenty-five percent of the overall grade.”
“It’s English class,” Mr. Richardson mutters. “Tyla, what kind of participation are you looking for? That’s a bit obnoxious.”
“I don’t tell you how to run your class,” my teacher says archly. “Don’t backseat teach.”
One by one, they check the contents of my memory stick, but I can already tell it’s not going to be enough. I’ll be lucky to pull C minus grades in some of them.
“I remember how much you participate in my class,” my math teacher says. “I can give you full credit for the participation points, but the exams have you at low marks or failing.”
“I want to reiterate that my daughter is being targeted,” Mom practically growls.
“She is,” Emil says. “Cyber bullying is discussed in the charter of the school, and last I checked this is to be punished. Why isn’t it?”
“Even if it is a glitch,” Mrs. Hartwell says, ignoring the suggestion of cyber bully, “there’s no way to change grades without knowing what they were before. Miss Tho— Reyes, will not be passing her courses. There have been so many issues with her attendance here, it may be best to discuss that she transfer to another school.”
“Is that how we’re going to play this?” Emil asks with a cruel smile. “I demand an exam that will be weighted high enough to diminish the damage of the zeros in the system.”
“Why should we have to create an exam when we didn’t have anything to do with the issue?”
The question comes from my seventy-year old chemistry teacher. Mr. Barnes. He’s crotchety, mean, a pervert, and seems to believe he’s always right. Lili warned me early on about him. Unfortunately, most of my work in his class revolves around lab work and exams. I’m completely screwed there. I have a single A, which is from an exam I took the first week I came into school.
“How do you suggest we resolve this?” Emil asks.
“Miss Rachelle needs to take the responsibility for her bad grades,” the teacher says. Apparently he didn’t want to fuss with my last name, and is taking liberties.
Fuck this school.
“That’s the issue,” Mr. Richardson says, “the responsibility lies with the computer system, not her.”
This leads to a discussion about how to tighten the firewalls and systems surrounding the grade books, but that’s not going to help me now. I also doubt it’ll work if Theo can pull apart the records and recordings of my rape case. No one is safe from him.
Two hours later, some of my grades are higher than they were previously, but they’re still atrocious. While I’m angry, it’s clear that I’m not going to be able to change it.
“We’re going to pretend grades don’t matter this semester,” Emil sighs as he drives us home. “None of this is your fault, Rachelle.”
“I know,” I whisper, blinking hard as I gaze out the window. A tear slides down my cheek despite trying to hold them back. One by one, they slip away from me, an equally useless battle.
I’m going to give myself until we get to the driveway, and then shelve this. I refuse to make myself sick with sadness over it.
“I really hate this,” I admit, sniffling. “I was really excited about doing well in school. My exams aren’t even going to matter.”
“As difficult as it is to say, I still think you should take them for yourself,” Mom says. “You’ve never half-assed anything in your life.”
“That’s true,” I say softly.
The gates of the house come faster than I was ready for, and I start to slowly pack away my grief. New girl, new school, the school and the bullies win this one.
I certainly didn’t come close to making a dent. Sighing heavily, I wipe my face and get out of the SUV. It’s been hours, the sun is already beginning to disappear behind the horizon. I can’t believe Lili is still here.
Trudging inside the house, I shove my memory stick in my pocket.
“Hey,” Lili says waiting for me by the door. “No luck then?”
“No,” I sigh. “I’m definitely not passing my classes. I mean, if Cs and Ds count, I’m technically passing.”
My stepbrother is nowhere to be seen, and all I want is a shower. I feel disgusting, my face is sticky from crying too.
“It’s better than it was,” Lili murmurs. “I have a surprise for you, if you still want it. Do you want to change?”
“Yeah,” I tell her with a nod. “I need something good today. I need a shower, too. I’ll be back.”
My parents retreat to the kitchen to talk, while I walk up to my room. Ignacio is in his room with the door open as I walk by, his head rising to watch me. Ignoring him completely, I shut my door behind me, pulling my clothes off.
Standing naked in front of the mirror, I touch my hair that’s curling down my back, and decide I need a hair cut. That’s what I’m doing tomorrow. I know better than to do it myself at least.
The door slams open, causing me to jump, gasping as I remember I’m naked. Wrapping my arm around my chest and twisting my body to the side, I gaze wide eyed at my stepbrother as he stands in the doorway.
“Fuck, I didn’t realize you were undressing,” he mutters, shutting the door behind him instead of leaving.
“Ignacio,” I hiss, looking around for some way to cover myself. “I’m naked! Do you think you could leave?”
“I won’t touch,” he says, his eyes moving over my body as if he wishes that he could. “Why are you so pretty? Fuck, I came in here for a reason. Rachelle, I can’t concentrate.”
“I’m trying to take a shower,” I squeak. “God, turn around and get out!”
“Nah, I can’t. Just go shower,” Ignacio says. “You watched Jared shower. This shouldn’t be weird."
“We have the same name now, so this is very weird,” I tell him, shaking my head as I turn and walk quickly to the bathroom.
“Your fucking ass is a work of art,” he groans.
As I turn on the water in the shower, I glance over to find him biting his fist as he leans in the doorway.
“Ignacio,” I sigh. “What do you want?”
“I told you, I don’t remember,” he says. “Get in the water, and I’m going to stand here like a good boy. I won’t follow.”
“I didn’t think that was an option,” I tell him, eyes wide as I walk into the shower stall. I wish there was a damn curtain, but it’s clear glass.
“As far as having my name, I don’t care,” Ignacio says. “I mean, it’ll protect you to an extent, but I’m going to continue to be attracted to you, nena .”
I swear, I think he uses these pet names because he doesn’t think I understand him. I’m taking a damn Spanish class next year.
“It didn’t do much to help me today,” I sigh, pumping some shampoo into my hand to wash my hair. “My grades are still wrecked.”
“I called Jared about this, and he admitted to being the cause. He said you did something to piss him off, so he asked Theo to ruin your grades.”
“The competition was too fierce,” I reply. “This whole ranking system is the reason, along with his butler being angry at Jared’s response to the photos. It’s true, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s done.”
Scrubbing the hell out of my scalp, I tip my head back into the water to rinse it.
“Do you have to stand like that?” Ignacio asks, sounding as if he’s in pain.
I’m not really sure what he means. He’s inside of my bathroom, if my shower is bothering him, then he can leave.
“Go away, Ignacio,” I murmur, blindly reaching for the conditioner.
“You’re never going to find it that way,” he says. “You’re a menace when you’re showering.”
Blinking away the water clinging to my eyelashes, I find my conditioner to run through my ends.
“Stop micromanaging my shower,” I snark, stepping out of the spray. “Ignacio.”
“I’m on the edge right now,” he growls.
Glancing at him, I see that he’s holding onto the counter as if it’s the only thing keeping him from joining me. I don’t think I’d know how to react if he did.
“Go jerk off somewhere else,” I sigh.
“It’s even sexy when you say that. It isn’t fucking fair,” he says. “Okay. Focus. Damn. The Kings have been planning to ramp things up, we have just been really busy. This wasn’t something we discussed.”
“You wouldn’t have warned me if it was,” I say absently, running my fingers through my hair. “Please don’t pretend to be nice to me right now. I just packed away everything in a neat little box and buried it. I can’t change it, nothing I do next week will alter it. I’m done trying, Ignacio.”
Twisting my body, I rinse the conditioner out of my hair.
“You can just pack it up and be done?” he asks. “I’ve watched you have a meltdown, this isn’t what this looks like.”
“Mmhmm. It’s not worth the effort,” I say.
Washing my body, I scrub a little harder with my exfoliating mitten. The tinge of pain is helping to stay in the present. I’m not going to dwell on the wasted hours of work, the exams I aced. It’s just been sucked into the void.
I’ll have a better junior year. That's all I can promise myself for now.
“You’re clean,” Ignacio says, yanking open the shower door. “Get the fuck out before you rub yourself raw. You can lie to yourself and pretend everything is perfect, but I’m not fucking blind.”
Throwing my mitten aside, I make sure the water has washed off the soap before turning off the faucet.
“Towel,” I demand, holding out my hand. I forgot it in my haste to get into the shower.
“If this was another day, this would go very differently,” he whispers to himself as if in prayer before handing me the towel. “For what it’s worth, what happened today was a low blow.”
“Jared made me eat and puke up mud on my first day at the prep school,” I remind him, drying myself off enough that I can wrap up in the towel. “I really don’t expect much of him or by extension you.”
“I deserve that,” he says with a nod, following me back into my room. “So what can I do tonight for you?”
“Get out,” I repeat, walking into my closet and shutting the door behind me. When I come back out, fully dressed in a pair of yoga pants, crop top, and a sweatshirt, I’m almost surprised to see he’s gone.
The room feels empty without his presence as I braid my hair and pull on my socks and shoes, but I remind myself that he’s a King. They want nothing good for me.
We’re enemies.