But Romy… Crap! I send him a text explaining what’s going on and that I’ll see him later. He tries to call me back when I’m driving, but I focus on traffic and getting to the school.
I park and enter Magnolia Prep, noting the fancy artwork on the walls, the elegant wallpaper in the office, the plush leather chairs. It’s a far cry from my public school education. “Should be at twenty grand a year,” I mutter.
The secretary buzzes the headmaster, and he opens his door to usher me inside, face unsmiling. Romy sits in a chair, eyes red as if she’s been crying.
Mr. Roberts and I greet each other with pleasantries, which are insincere on both sides. He’s in his sixties, rather cold, and not as personable as you’d expect from someone in a job dealing with students. I thought so the first time I met him. He takes in my boots and curls his lip.
Whatever.
I take my seat just as the headmaster moves behind his desk.
The door opens and Dillon walks in.
My mouth opens.
He moves toward the headmaster and takes his outstretched hand in a firm grasp. “Dillon McQueen, sir.”
The headmaster rears back. “I know who you are. You’ve been here several times for assemblies. Just didn’t expect you to walk in—”
“I’m Serena’s boyfriend. Thought I should be here.” He unleashes a lethal fake smile for him, then gives me a kiss on the cheek. He tugs on Romy’s hair and takes a seat.
“I see,” Mr. Roberts says.
The headmaster sits, clears his throat, and proceeds to explain how Romy was caught skipping classes and smoking an e-cigarette in the theatre room. He slyly mentions her past infraction with marijuana at the public school then pompously outlines their tobacco policy. “It’s not allowed indoors or out at our esteemed institution. Besides the suspension, she won’t be able to compete in her dance competitions during that time,” he says as he wraps up and folds his hands on the desk.
My chest rises. I watched Romy on and off while he talked, her eyes pleading with me, and now she blurts out, “Serena, I swear, I was not smoking! I skipped class, okay, I did that. But someone left the drama room when the bell rang, and the e-thing was just sitting there on the chair, and I—”
“It was in your hand, Miss Jensen,” the headmaster says. “The drama teacher wrote it down on the incident report—”
“Let her finish,” I say quietly, but not meekly. I know when Romy is lying. She gets twitchy and her eyes won’t hold mine. Right now she’s looking straight at me.
“Serena, you know how much hip hop means to me.” Her head dips. “And I know how expensive this place is and how hard you work…” She stops, her eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t do it.”
“I believe you,” I murmur. Yes, we went through a tough time getting her adjusted to Magnolia Prep, but she knows this school is her last option.
Relief floods her face. She turns back to the headmaster and puts her hands together in a praying expression. “Sir, I skipped calculus, that is true, but I wasn’t smoking. My nana quit because of COPD. I know about the evils of tobacco.”
Good, Romy, good.
“Then who was vaping?” he asks, a glower on his face.
Dillon leans forward. “Kids who tattle get labeled and bullied. This is a gray area, and while I understand your concern about tobacco products on school grounds, she’s telling you it wasn’t hers. Case closed in my eyes.”
“Mr. McQueen, I’m a fan of yours, very much so, but I fail to see how your input matters.”
“It matters,” Romy snipes.
“Romy…” I warn.
Dillon straightens his shoulders, his eyes hard. “I just want Romy to get a fair shake.”
This is a gray area, but she can’t get suspended. Her grades will suffer. Her college applications… I exhale. “Romy, do you know who the e-cigarette belonged to?”
Romy crosses her arms. “I’m no snitch, but I also don’t know who left it. Yes, I picked it up and looked at it. Did I put my mouth on someone else’s nasty germs? No. Gross! There is no reason to suspend me!”
“Lower your voice,” I tell her.
“Is there proof?” Dillon asks. “Perhaps video from a security camera?”
Romy nods eagerly. “Yeah!”
“Unfortunately, no, not in that section of the theatre,” the headmaster says. “But in her past, she’s been known—”
“You’re basing her guilt on an incident that occurred at another school—over a year ago,” I say. “Mr. Roberts, my sister may not have the best grades, but she is honest. She owns up to her mistakes. It wasn’t hers. Therefore, the only consequence she should face is the fact that she skipped a class, which I would imagine happens frequently with teenagers. Don’t you agree?”
He frowns as he squints at Romy’s magenta-streaked hair. “Your sister has a history with drugs.”
Why can’t he let that go? Everybody makes mistakes!
“But your board gave her a second chance, and we appreciate that. That said, a headmaster who declares someone guilty without proof, well, that’s extremely unfair,” I say.
“Life is often unfair, Miss Jensen,” is his curt reply. “Perhaps you’re too young to realize that.”
He wants to patronize me? I lost both parents on the same day! I know how life can suck. My hands clench, annoyance ratcheting up. What would a mom do? How do I handle this? My instinct is to jump over his desk and shake him, but…
“Are you aware I write for the Gazette?”
Dillon nods, catching on. “She’s a great reporter. She uncovered a secret leather cult at the Piggly Wiggly.”
I told him how I imagined him that night in the Pig.
“PETA was involved,” I add. “I would, of course, be reluctant to write anything troublesome about this fine, prestigious school. However, the owner of the paper is Warren Bryson, an old family friend. One mention of
