THIRTY-SEVEN
My grandmother’s voice sounds off in my head. All her warnings and reminders are on repeat to keep me safe. As always, her last words ring loudest. “In a world of liars and cheats, only the good die young.”
I might never know why my grandmother shared those words with me, but I know they’ve been proven true time and time again. Eric’s release. Mum’s betrayal, Dax and Aiden using me as bait, hunted by Hanson and Franz, stalked by Gresh—the world is filled with liars and cheats.
I might have been born among the worst that humanity offers, but I refuse to be one of them and I don’t plan on becoming one of their victims either. I don’t know how much more will come, but I know I can’t let it take me down. I won’t let it kill who I am. I might not be good, but I’ve always strived to be a better person; to break free of the Vale and what it represents.
So, I’m going to survive.
Even if it means destroying every wicked truth that I’ve ever been taught—starting with the lie that girls from the Vale can’t go to affluent schools like Harrison University.
Nothing is going to stop me today.
*
Dax either didn’t come back last night or he left before I woke. Aiden is gone too, but at least he left a note with instructions on where and when to meet my driver, and it even has a heart with good luck written at the bottom.
I select one of the less formal interview choices from my shopping trip with Sylvie and take the time to apply the miniscule amount of makeup I own. With my hair blow-dried, a luxury I either never had the time or the space to do at home, I feel and look like someone else. Someone put together. Someone not terrified for their life.
And I look pretty.
I’ve rarely felt that before either.
Not that pretty will make any kind of difference today, but I’m already confident in my smarts, now I just feel a little more confident in my appearance too.
By eleven-fifteen, I’m pacing the foyer waiting for the car to arrive. I stop when Cas skips down the stairs and watches me pacing.
“Hey, Cas.” He’s dressed in the traditional formal wear of Aiden’s security team. Though his suit is a little more tailored than usual. Cas’s wide shoulders give the impression of muscles and bulk, but today I notice he slims down to a rather narrow waist. His shirt still stretches nicely over his pecs, and there is no doubt these are defined with years of training. He looks good.
“Hey, Jules.”
“Hot date or something?”
“Just trying not to embarrass my VIP client for today. You ready to go?”
I nod. “Yeah, just waiting on the driver now.”
Cas chuckles and shakes his head at me. At my glower he straightens his face and asks, “You nervous?”
“No…” It’s a blatant lie. I’m so freaking nervous I can barely keep myself in check. My mind is a whirlwind of all the ways this could go wrong, and my fingers keep reaching for the hems of my clothes…all of which I’ve tucked in to stop from picking the threads apart before I even get there. Still, I can project confidence even if it’s fake. “Why would you think that?”
“Other than walking a chasm into a marble floor, you’re also fifteen minutes early.”
Okay, so a chasm is a stretch. Though the floor does seem particularly shiny in the areas I’ve been marching back and forth.
“I’m thinking,” I explain. “This is how I think.” It’s an obvious bluff because I’m panicking. This is how I’ve always panicked.
“Right. Well, if you are done thinking and are ready to go, you can come with me to the garage to get the car, or you can wait here and I’ll bring it around.”
“You’re my driver?” Relief washes over me in a tidal wave. Part of me expected Dax or Aiden to show, which would have made me all kinds of nervous. I felt sure I’d have to send them away just to get through the interview. So, Cas is perfect. Cas who talks to me like I’m human…like he knows what it’s like to be from the wrong side of the tracks and thrust into this rich man’s world.
“Yeah, why? You want someone else?” He motions as if to walk back upstairs.
“No!” I squeak. “Your fine. Great even. At least I know you.”
“Funny, that’s what Dax and the boss man said too. You must all be close if they know you that well.”
Dax and boss man? Does this confirm that Aiden’s in charge even over Dax? What am I missing with these men? Is the hierarchy weird or non-existent?
Cas watches me, eager for a clue, so I shrug and mumble, “Something like that.”
“Okay. Coming or waiting?”
“I’ll come with you. Let’s get out of here.”
The garages are based in a vast building off to the left of the compound. There’s a small gravel driveway that vanishes into the trees, disguising most of the modern structure. The brickwork matches the main house, but the setup is altogether different.
Cas notices me scrutinising the building and kindly takes it upon himself to give me the tour.
“The Garage is a moderately recent addition to the compound. Dax had it renovated about five years ago. There are three floors…”
My eyebrows hike up my face. There are clearly not three floors. I can reach the roof with a running jump up the wall.
“...underground,” he finishes and laughs as my eyes widen. “When we moved much of the team here, we had to make sure there was enough space for the vehicles. So, Dax suggested we dig down.”
I nod as if this makes sense, but my mind latches onto the little bits of information he probably shouldn’t be sharing. A portion of the team? What team? And is Aiden the head of this team? Why would Trevainne and Dax be accommodating an outside team?
“Normally, I’d have used the tunnels from the command room upstairs. But I saw you pacing on the monitors and thought I’d offer a distraction from your…thinking.” His grin is teasing. I can’t help but laugh at how easily he saw through me.
As we head downstairs, I see a long corridor and an elevator in the distance. “That’s the way up to the control room?” I ask.
“Yeah. If you like, we can take that way back in. Only the team has access to this building and the elevator though, so don’t count on it in emergencies.”
“Is it monitored?”
“Yeah, there are cameras all over the place.”
“Good. If I’m ever in trouble, you’ll know. I’ll be the idiot waving and dancing in front of a camera.” Cas laughs. It is easy with him. He was the best choice for today and a relief to know I have someone to talk to outside of the fucktastic emotional web I’ve trapped myself in with Aiden and Dax.
“I’ll keep an eye out and my finger on the record button.” I roll my eyes. He laughs again. We walk in silence for a few minutes, as he shows me the hidden stairway down to a lower parking level. We circle the lot until he stops at a simple black hatchback.
“This is cute.”
“Sure, if you consider bulletproof, 0-60 in 1.4 seconds, run flats, and fully armoured, cute.”
Well shit. That sounds pretty serious for a run-of-the-mill looking car. “Taking no chances with safety, then?”
“We never take chances with our client’s safety.”
“Good to know.” Though I suspect that level of caution is a little excessive for a simple interview outing.
“Front or back, Jules?” Cas asks.
I don’t even have to think about it. “Front, if you don’t mind, Cas. It’d look strange travelling in the back.”
Cas opens the passenger door and I slide in obediently. As soon as I’m sitting, I see something unexpected parked right across the way. It looks just like Carlo’s, but it can’t be…
“Ah…” Cas catches me staring., he slips inside and closes his door. “Yeah, the seat will have new leather this afternoon and we’ve replaced the tyres, but it’ll be as good as new in no time.”
“So, it is…”
“Yours, yes,” he says. “We got it out before it took too much damage. It was just lucky it was sitting in the driveway. If it’d been in the garage, it would have been toast.”
Mine? Dax mentioned he basically purchased everything of Carlo’s. Was he giving the Harley to me? Or holding onto it for Carlo?
I mumble a small thanks and let Cas drive us out of the compound in relative silence.
It’s only when we take the turnoff for the Art district that I finally ask where we are going.
“Dax arranged for the meeting to be in neutral territory. He doesn’t trust the Vale right now and he didn’t want to draw attention to Harrison University. So, you’ll be having coffee with both representatives at Deja Brew.”
A coffee shop? I guess the informality is good, but I may have overdressed. I swipe my hands over the dark burgundy woollen dress I’m wearing and wonder if it’s too late to go back and get changed. I felt good putting it on this morning. I’m almost convinced they made the dress with magic because it gives me curves that I’ve never seen on my body before. My T-shirts always gave me a boyish body, straight up and down, but this dress has given me an hourglass shape. Putting in on this morning, I felt confident. Elegant. It is pretty without being too formal or too revealing and the tailored blazer I paired it with and the heeled boots…well…I look good, but way too smart for a coffee shop in the Arts district.
If I can’t even dress appropriately, what else will I mess up?
Cas seems to pick up on my fast-tanking mood. He flicks his gaze between me and the road ahead before frowning. “What is it? What are you thinking?
“I don’t think I’m ready for this. I look ridiculous, and I’m not even sure what I’m here to do. I thought we were going to a formal interview…shit.”
“You’re panicking. You look fantastic. Relaxed formal…no. What is it Ashlynn always says? Smart casual! That’s it! And you know exactly what to do; you knock them dead and that’s all there is to it. Think of it like ditching a cheating ex and picking up a new hotter guy all at once.”
I can’t help but laugh as Cas scrambles to cheer me.
I appreciate it though, and I remind myself to gain a little perspective. This time last week, I wouldn’t dream of asking for the privileges I’m asking for today. And If I were still with Eric Feelan, I’d still be attending school in my raggedy jeans and tees with holes and factory reject knickers. I’m lucky and should be grateful.
“Thanks, Cas. At least I don’t look like I just crawled out of the Vale wearing my dad’s food encrusted hand-me-downs, right?”
“Okaaay…We’ll go with that as a win for sure.” He grins and I try to relax.
But as we pull up, I realise I really am walking into this meeting blindly. I don’t know why both reps are here to meet with me, and I don’t want to look like a fool, so I pull out my phone and plan a message.
I’m outside the café. Not sure what I’m negotiating for.
I’d appreciate a heads up.
I almost address it to Aiden, but before my thumb can hit the button, I relent and send it to Dax instead. I won’t avoid him. Not when I obviously owe him both my gratitude and an apology.
His reply is fast.
Simply facilitate the transfer of your earned credits to the course at HU. They will offer you a range of courses to pick up to meet your finishing credit total. Then your degree will come from HU instead of VCC. HU is happy to do distance learning and online tutelage. It was the best I could do.
It’s amazing. Thank you.
If this works out, it’ll be better than anything I could have hoped for. A degree from HU. Imagine the doors that will open for me! Shit. I really owe Dax Nagano now.
“Everything okay?” The sound of Cas’s steady breathing fills the air as he watches me.
“Yeah.” I open my jacket and pretend to slip the phone into an inside pocket but stash it in the side of my bra instead. The jacket will cover any awkward corners jutting out of the dress, but I have a weird anxiety about always keeping the phone on my person. With no pockets, I make do with side-boob. Cas doesn’t seem to have noticed my sleight of hand. I pick up my handbag with my wallet, ID, and printouts of my grades, and suck in a deep steadying breath. “I’ll head inside. Do I have to call you when I’m done or…?”
“No, I’ll be waiting right out here. I’ll watch the entrance and monitor things so you can relax and do what you need to do, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you, Cas.”
Deja Brew’ssignage reminds me of a traditional English pub, complete with its hand-painted sign swinging on a decorative iron arm, square window panes with bowed glass, and black painted wooden trim. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn it was once a pub. I wonder if the subtle hint of magic and fate in the name is intentional too?
Inside confirms my suspicions, with a three-sided bar butted up against a wall of ancient looking shelves. Only, instead of spirits and bottled ales, the shelves are full of coffee beans, cups, sweetened- flavoured syrups, and coffee brewing paraphernalia. The warmth hits you the second you open the door, closely followed by the rich scents of roasting beans and freshly baked pastry. From the freshly cooked smell, they bake the croissants in-house, but I spy some of Charlie’s pies and pasties on the heated food display. Guilt twinges in my gut, but I shove it away and approach the counter.
I’ll grab an order while I’m early and try to find a table in a private position, so my business doesn’t become everyone’s. A pair of teens flit around behind the bar, fixing orders. It’s busy but I make it to the counter with only one customer ahead. I watch both girls. One splits her time between the till and the coffee machine, while the other is stationed between the milk frother and food section.
Most tables have customers, many in pairs, but most sitting solo. I spot three tables available and with only the one customer ahead, I should be safe to choose a seat.
“Hi, can I take your order?”
I scan the board and settle on something easy. “Uh. I’ll have a large hazelnut latte, please.”
“Anything to eat?”
“No, thank you.” The girl reels off the price and wrinkles her nose when I pay with cash. Although I’m being as careful with it as possible while I’m not earning, I can’t begrudge myself a drink. Not having one in this scenario might be strange. I’m also fully expecting to buy drinks for both reps. It’ll dent my savings, especially if they eat, but it’s the least I can do.
“Hey, you aren’t Jules Girard, are you?” Hearing my name from a stranger stuns me. I stare stupidly at the girl, unsure whether to answer her. She watches me, her eyes dark and expectant, as she waits for an answer. After a few seconds of silence, she apologises, “Sorry. I’m supposed to keep an eye out for someone with that name, and you kind of fit the description.”
“Who?” I spin around and scan the room again. Not that I know what or who I’m looking for. I should have thought to ask.
“Customer at the corner table. Said she was a professor or something? I dunno; I’m just doing what she asked.” I turn to the table she nods at and find a tall, elegantly dressed woman sipping at her cup. Her red hair is pulled tightly back and styled into a large bun at the nape of her neck. She stares out the window, but I can tell she’s listening to us, too.
“Thanks. Yes, I think she’s here for me.” The girl nods and serves me an awkward smile before darting off to help the second girl with the orders. By the time I have my cup in hand, I’ve worked up the confidence to join the woman at the window.
She holds herself upright, as though suspended from an invisible chord. She has a peaceful yet authoritative presence, her body language conveying a sense of control. No older than fifty, with pristinely applied make-up, I’m immediately intimidated and also assured that this woman is from HU.
“Excuse me, my name is Juliet…Jules Girard,” I say, repeating the name she’d given the barista girl. “I believe you’re the Admissions Coordinator at HU?”
“Good morning, Miss Girard. May I ask why you assume I’m from HU and not the contact from VCC?”
Well crap, looks like the interview has started already. Either I’m wrong and I’m about to insult her, or I’m right and I’m going to insult VCC, either way I’m putting my foot in it, but I refuse to lie.
“Please excuse me if I am incorrect, however you seem to have arrived before me, are calm, well put-together, and display an interest in our meeting.” She raises her eyebrows and I try to explain. “You’re actively watching the door and you reached out to the server to ensure I would know you were here. In doing so, you eased our introduction. Thank you for that.”
A small flick of a smile picks up the corner of her lips. “And that told you I was the HU representative?”
“Meaning no disrespect but having studied at VCC for the last three years, you notice that the teaching and administrative staff are overwrought. People are more insular, focussing on themselves and their tasks rather than on others. They move faster and yet are more often late than on time, and they look battle-worn. I’ve no doubt that it’s an aspect of living and or working in the Vale, but it is a visible and pronounced characteristic of VCC. Even the students bear similar characteristics after a while.”
“Interesting. You seem quite calm, you’re on time, well turned out…” she points out, leading to a question I expect. “If you studied at VCC, why haven’t you displayed those characteristics?”
“If you’d have met me a few weeks ago, I would have. Because of various personal circumstances, I’ve had the opportunity to remove myself from those behaviours and collect myself.” It hits me as I say it. For once, I’m not a mess, run-ragged between a life I hate and a life I’m trying to create. I’m calmer. Focussed on one thing.
“Mr Nagano and Mr Driscoll.” The woman mutters their names and nods like she understands. I return her nod and hold her gaze.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Dr Gabrielle Demetri. I am the current Head of Admissions at Harrison University and am happy to include you on our student roll.” She holds out her hand, which I at once shake. My body is buzzing. I want to ask a million questions, but I don’t know where to start. She nods at the bench opposite and I sit down.
“Now,” she says, stilling my enthusiasm. “I will enroll you as Joslyn Girard as per Mr Nagano’s request.”
“Will that be possible? I’m registered as Juliet Feelan at VCC.”
“I hear you were forced to use your stepfather’s surname?” she asks. I nod, unsure of how much to say or what story Dax gave her. “We will continue this meeting as Juliet Feelan but your credits will be assigned to your real given name. Mr Nagano didn’t want the VCC rep made aware of the changeover, so we’ll keep that between ourselves.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“I have your prospectus, sign-in package, course schedule, and tutor details here for you.” She slides a thick packet across the table that I immediately slip onto the bench beside my handbag while she continues speaking. “We’re aware that you’ve completed three years of study in a part-time capacity. We were surprised that you’d managed to complete so many modules in that time, you really should be four or five modules off target, not two.”
“There were catch-up courses offered during spring and summer breaks for the years above mine, and some professors offer modules during breaks because of the overbooked teaching facilities during official term time. I took all the electives and summer lectures I could.”
“You’ve studied without a break for three years?”
“They close at Christmas and New Year,” I offer as if it’s compensation for working hard.
“Your determination is admirable. As it’s officially the autumn term of what is your fourth year, we’ll be attaching you to our new third-year groups. Once you’ve chosen your final modules, you’ll be assigned to their schedule despite working remotely. Does that sound reasonable?”
“Are you sure it’s okay just picking and choosing and not sitting the year?”
“Your remaining credits are so few; it really is just a case of you choosing your own schedule. You can take all year about it if you wish, or you could be finished and awarded in less than three months if you pack your schedule tightly. Your choice.”
“Thank you.” I’m excited to begin and if it’s my choice then I choose to finish fast. That way I can graduate by New Year and get an advantage on the graduates who’ll be tied into learning for another six months. That will either give me my choice of interviews and career paths or it’ll raise a few eyebrows with recruitment. I can handle that when it comes.
There is a question that has been bothering me, though. “If you came here ready to offer the opportunity, why are we meeting with the VCC rep at all?”
“This meeting is really a formality for the VCC representative. They obviously think highly of you as a student. They seem unwilling to let you go. I believe a Mr Trainor is on his way to help you change your mind about leaving. Do you think they can sway you?”
She’s asking if I’m sure about HU, but I’m guessing she already knows my answer. There’s no comparison.
“No,” I tell her matter-of-fact. “I admit, I never thought this would be a possibility, and I reached out to VCC requesting their help. They were unwilling to even entertain the idea of recording lectures or assigning a tutor for distance learning. I’m surprised they haven’t just handed me over to you.”
Gabrielle leans back in her seat as she thinks over what I’ve said. “So very different from what they said to me this morning. Interesting. Well, if you are sure…” Gabrielle extracts a large brown envelope from her laptop bag and pushes it across the table to me. “These are your transfer scripts. I’ve already signed. You can sign whenever you are ready, and we’ll make sure Mr Trainor signs today before we leave. Let’s get you back to learning and achieving as soon as possible.”
Oh my God, she still wants me.
“Thank you. I’m ever so…”
A loud clatter sounds as the glass door shoves all the way open and a dishevelled little man storms in, carrying a worn leather satchel and half a dozen presentation folders under his arm. I recognise them immediately. I completed those assignments. They’re in my folders and all from this year’s modules.
“Ah, here you both are. Wonderful, we can get started.” He slams the folders on the table and unravels a brown threadbare scarf from around his neck.
“Mr Trainor, I presume?” Gabrielle asks, tone crisp.
“Yes, yes. Nice to meet you, Miss Demetri.”
“Doctor Gabrielle Demetri,” she corrects, pleasantly. Mr Trainor stills, eyes her carefully and then nods as though accepting the reprimand.
“Um…would you both like a drink? Something to eat?” I offer, unable to tear my eyes away from the maelstrom unloading himself in front of me.
“No…no…It looks like I’m a little late to the party.”
He is. Ten minutes, to be exact. He’s a walking, talking example of exactly what I was trying to explain to Gabrielle. If I didn’t already know his face from around campus, I’d have no doubt he was the VCC rep.
“And I suppose you’ve started the hard sell already, Dr Dimitri, so I’ll dive in at the deep end and save us both some time.”
Both? There are three of us here. What is he playing at?
“Juliet Feelan is a Vale Community College student for good reason. I’m not entirely sure why this sudden change is even up for discussion when, to be quite frank, she’s not Harrison University material.”
What the ever-loving fuck is this?
In my panic, my gaze flies to Gabrielle’s face to see if she’s buying this shit. Only, she looks as surprised by the direction he’s steering us as I am.
He shuffles through folders as he speaks, barely looking at either of us. “Her qualifications were weak when she signed up with us and it was only because our numbers were down that we accepted—”
“You’ve mistaken me for someone else, Mr Trainor,” I warn, confusion fast becoming anger at this blatant lie.
“No, dear. I have your results right here, and I took the liberty of speaking to your professors and tutors. You’re barely scraping through. It’s only because of the sheer determination of your tutors that you handed in passable assignments.” He slides the folders across the desk to Gabrielle, who opens them and flicks through the pages. Even from across the table, I can see the swell of red ink that drowns the typed text. Huge sections circled and crossed out as though they’re incorrect. Paltry grades mark the edge of a page beside each title.
Mr Trainor doesn’t even look my way. He’s too intent on Gabrielle’s expression. When she actually hesitates to read some of what I’ve written, if they are even my assignments at all, Mr Trainor waves her onto the next folder and the next and the next.
All of which are vandalised with glaring red pen.
I stare at the ink, smudged in places and still glistening under the shop lights. It looks wet. Could it be? I run my eyes over the man now trying to ruin my chances with HU and sure enough there are red ink splodges across his fingertips. Two pens peek out of his tweed suit jacket. What’s the betting one of them is red?
Gabrielle’s eyes harden the longer this goes on. However, when she eventually looks up at me, there’s only confusion in her gaze, not accusations or disgust.
“Are these your assignments?” she asks.
“They are my folders, and the titles are mine. Without reading the body of the text, I can’t be sure,” I admit openly, subtly accusing him of falsifying whatever is in those assignments. Even if they are mine, those remarks are not those of my tutors.
Trainor scoffs. “Well, who else’s would they be? They have your name on them.”
“They do,” I admit calmly.
“There you go. She admits it. She’s not HU material, and it’s in her best interest to come back to VCC.”
I look over the man. His hair is thinning. His nose is bulbous and red. Just like Eric after a binge. His suit is well-worn and mocks the stereotype of a college professor with its light brown tweed and frayed silk lining. His shirt has sweat stains at the collar, and I’m not convinced he’s in particularly good health with how fast he’s breathing.
This man is a fake. He might be a real member of the VCC faculty, but everything about him screams liar. He’s pretending to be this person in front of us. The truth is, he lives alone, drinks too heavily, and doesn’t eat enough to fill out his own suit. Either money is tight, or he prioritises alcohol. I won’t let someone like him make decisions that could ruin my chances at a happy life.
I pull out the contracts in the envelope that Gabrielle gave me and look over the pages. My future is there in black and white. “Do you wish to take these back?” I ask her, ignoring Mr Trainor’s furrowed brow. He’ll figure out what they are soon enough.
Gabrielle offers me her pen. I smile softly in thanks and relief. She’s seen through whatever this is, too. I take her pen and sign my name on all three copies of the transfer scripts.
“Something I should point out though,” I add once I’ve handed the pen back to Gabrielle. “Those may be my assignments, but never once were they graded or handed back with red notes. That’s not the nature of the marking system at VCC. My tutors posted my grade on the Business Law forum boards, along with everyone else’s. They sent any personal feedback or notes straight to my inbox. I have a copy of every note given, and every grade earned and none of those—” I point to the pile in front of Gabrielle, “—correspond with the grades I received.”
Trainor’s face glows red. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
“It’s also unusual for assignments written over the course of six months to all be graded by the same red pen and with the same handwriting. There are four different tutor’s assignments sitting there, but only one style of handwriting across all the folders.”
“What are you implying?” he snaps, glaring at me, but even that’s a front. I can see fear all over him; In the way his hand trembles, the way he can’t look me directly in the eyes, and in the beads of sweat gathering across his forehead.
“That one person, a single someone, defaced my assignments,” I say boldly and lean across the table. I swipe my thumb across the first sheet I can reach and am relieved when it smudges. My theory is right on the money. “And someone did it just recently,” I add, staring impassively at Mr Trainor.
He grits his teeth together, his jaw flexing under the unshaved scruff.
“Oh look, we match.” I laugh jovially, pointing out the similar red smudge across his index finger and spoiled white cuff. The corner of Gabrielle’s mouth twitches before she reins it in again.
“Mr Trainor?” she asks, inviting him to explain himself. Only he can’t.
“VCC can’t afford to lose any of its students. Especially not one like Miss Feelan,” he announces, changing course. “I’d hoped I could convince you she wasn’t right for HU.”
“Why?” Gabrielle demands. “She’s one student.”
“She’s a potential success story. A soon to be valuable alumni. An asset,” he volleys, and with urgency too. He genuinely believes what he’s saying, but it doesn’t make sense.
“Well, as much as I appreciate the sentiment, I gave you every chance to help me access my modules and complete my degree with you,” I fire back.
“And we’ve let you down,” he concedes, but his sympathy is as fake as his anger. “But you know we’re ill-equipped…”
“HU can provide what I need now. Not next year.” I’m pushing the point, trying to get to the crux of things. The why.
“Where is your loyalty?” he rolls back into attack mode. “You’re a Vale girl! You should be proud to represent our establishment. Did you even apply for HU originally?”
He expects me to say no. Only an idiot would apply to HU if they come from the Vale. They’re a pipe dream for us. But I wanted to see if it was possible. If I’d been born anywhere else, would I have had a chance? So yeah. I applied.
“Yes,” I admit.
“She was accepted, too,” Gabrielle adds, surprising me. I never received an acceptance letter. I errantly wonder if it was Eric or Mum who hid the letter from me?
“So, in the end, it came down to money?” Trainor nods to himself, guessing correctly. “It’s always about money.”
He’s right. Even with the acceptance letter, I’d have still chosen VCC because it was the best I could afford. “You said it yourself, I’m a Vale girl. I worked hard for every penny to earn my tuition fees and books. I struggled to achieve what you callously tried to destroy.” I nod my head to the assignments still splayed out on the table. “Now, I’d like you to sign the transfer papers, please. After today, there’s no way I’m coming back to VCC. You’ve just proven you’ve no loyalty to me.”
Gabrielle completes the honour of sliding the paperwork towards Mr Trainor. He belligerently snatches a pen from his top pocket and signs in bright red ink, staring straight at me as he does so, as if inviting me to comment on it. I don’t need to. He’s just proven my point.
“Well, our business seems to be concluded. Remember to sign into your HU account when you can, Jules. I’ll send a digital copy of the form to you too, for your guardian.” I’m guessing she’s subtly referring to Dax. Gabrielle hands out our respective copies with a tight smile. I fold mine in half and slide it into the prospectus envelope before standing up.
“Thank you both so much for your time. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leaving first.” Gabrielle nods kindly. Mr Trainor’s face contorts as he opens his mouth to say something more, but I’m already walking toward the back of the store and the bathrooms.
I need a minute. Just a quick minute to get my head on straight before I get out of here.
I come to a stop in front of the bathroom mirrors. I attach the shoulder strap to my handbag and shove the paperwork inside before swinging it across my body, then run the tap and splash water on my face. My mascara slides down my face, reminding me of the makeup I put on today. I pat myself dry and try to fix what I can while my head becomes a tumble dryer, spinning everything around and around until my temples pound with the rhythm of the imaginary drum.
I can’t believe what just happened out there. Who would go to such extremes? Why? And the whole success thing was a bullshit line if I ever heard one. Why would someone openly jeopardise a person’s future in that way? Did he get commission on passing students? Pay increases based on how many students they pushed through the system? And why try to keep someone you clearly can’t be bothered teaching? I hadn’t asked for the world. Just to work from home. A couple of emails a week and video of the lectures. Damn it, I even asked for a transcript or lesson plan. We all knew the professors used them. They barely lifted their eyes from the pages they read from most weeks. How hard was that to provide?
No. Trainor was sketchy. VCC was sketchy too.
But I guess they weren’t my concern anymore.
Holy shit. I’ll be graduating from Harrison-U.
Those six words are the reason my face blooms with a brilliant smile. I haven’t been this excited in years. Maybe never.
I’ll have to borrow a laptop from Dax, or maybe Sylvie. Perhaps I’ll request a library day tomorrow to get signed in. I’m sure Dax will let Cas take me out again. Today proves they’ve got me covered.
I swing open the door and step out into the hallway and find Mr Trainor standing opposite the ladies’ room, fumbling with his mobile phone.
He looks up as I step out and shoves his phone into his pocket. “Ah…Miss Feelan.”
I show I’m leaving with a clipped nod and a polite, if brusque, “Mr Trainor.”
“Wait! I’d like to apologise!” he calls, as if that gives him the right to ambush me outside the bathroom door.
“No need,” I tell him curtly.
“And yet, I feel like a horrible fool for trying to hold you back today.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him why. Why did he really say and do everything to block my transfer? But he surprises me with a distraction and my question goes forgotten.
“Your driver came in looking for you,” he adds hastily. “Tall lad, floppy hair, muscles, and grumpy.” He loosely describes Cas. I hesitate and let him finish. He takes a second over his phrasing before he explains. “He said traffic was bad, and he’d pick you up out back.”
“Okay…?”
“I told him I’d wait and tell you. I needed the opportunity to apologise.”
That’s the second time he’s said that, and not once has he attempted to say the actual words, I’m sorry.
“Right. Well, thank you for telling me. I think I’ll walk around.”
He takes a step towards me. His voice is loud in the cramped hallway. “No, Miss Feelan. The exit is right there.” He directs me to the steel fire escape door. The large green exit sign confirming that he is telling the truth. But just because it’s true doesn’t make it right and something about Mr Trainor and his urgency feels totally freaking wrong.
“And I said I’d rather walk around. Thank you for your concern, but it’s unnecessary.”
“You don’t understand…” He reaches out and grabs me by the wrist, pulling me towards a door. I pull back, but the old man grunts and yanks with zero intention of letting go.
“Juliet! There you are!”
Trainor and I both spin around at the loud cry. I recognise who it is, but I can’t figure out why he’s here.
“Ben?”
He strides towards us, wearing his hood up and keeping his head tucked low, yet I can sense the uncertainty behind his falsely confident facade. “Hi, sweetie! I thought I said I’d meet you out front?”
“Miss Feelan is just leaving,” Mr Trainor snaps, yanking me hard. I stumble and concede three steps. Three steps closer to the exit and three further from Ben.
Ben doesn’t wait for an explanation. He charges forward, takes my free hand in his, and pulls me closer to him.
If they keep this up, I’ll be on my arse with the next tug.
“Stop pulling her!” Trainor bellows. “We’re leaving now.” Trainor tugs again and both Ben and I stumble forward just as Trainor gets the emergency door open. He squeals, “She’s here!” as it swings wide and my stomach sinks into the ground.
They’re here. Right outside. Waiting for me.
Barry Franz and at least four brutal looking men. In the split second I see them, they see me. I watch Barry’s face light up and then I’m towed backward with a strength I never suspected Ben had in him.
Time slows. The café’s bustle fades to silence. Ben’s expressions crash like lightning flashes. Shock. Fear. Anger. Determination. He hauls me toward him and, using the same momentum, swings and catapults me towards the front of the café.
“Run!”
Ben’s yell is thick with fear. I hear it down in my bones and do exactly as he says.
But it’s like running through tar. Like nightmares come true.
They say when you die that your life flashes before your eyes; that your brain desperately tries to show you all the lessons you once learned, hoping one of them will save you.
My grandmothers’ teachings are a cautionary tale come too late: ‘just because the water is calm, doesn’t mean there aren’t piranhas.’
Dax’s warning, ‘Don’t ever go near that man. He’s dangerous. He’ll make the rest of your life at Hanson’s seem like a spa retreat,’ convince me to move faster. Pump my legs harder.
Aiden’s aura of protection and safety tells me where I need to go; ‘Get back to the compound. You will be protected there.’
Even Ben’s criticism—’move with intention’—gives me the spur I need to make a plan and control my fear rather than react to it.
I hear them all, and I know exactly what I must do to live and stay free.
Time speeds back up. The fire escape door clangs off the wall at the same moment the bell above the café’s door chimes in a discordant racket. Footsteps pound behind me. More than one man chases me through the café and out into the street.
I hear Ben’s desperate yells following me, and I’m scared for him, but I’m more terrified of what happens if Franz wins. If I’ve learned anything over this past week, it’s that more than just my life hinges in the balance. Dax, Aiden, Ben, Tom, the twins, Casey, Carlo, and Mum…all of their plans, their futures have been irreparably changed so that I can stay safe. I’ve given up everything to keep them safe too.
So, I run with my heels hammering the concrete.
I run as though my life depends on it.
Because it does.