“It’s all right. I’ll have a hall monitor tell her to expect you late.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, wondering what the hell he needs me for that’s so urgent. Not that I hate getting out of Calculus, but still.
“I’d like you to come with me to see Principal Osterhaut,” Mr. Arndt says mildly, and a prickle of nerves twists my stomach.
“What for?”
“We’ll talk about it with him.” His voice is still calm, almost reassuring, but it doesn’t help. Going to see the principal is, in my experience, never a good thing.
“Okay, sure.”
We walk down the hall together, past students talking and joking loudly with each other, grabbing things from their lockers, or rushing to a class on the other side of the building. Linwood Academy is three stories tall, but the principal’s office and other admin offices are all on the first floor. I follow Mr. Arndt down the stairs in silence, and when he leads me into the admin wing and knocks on Mr. Osterhaut’s open door, I have to fight to keep my nervousness off my face.
“Ah, Ms. Thomas.” Mr. Osterhaut has skinny legs and a big gut, which sits on his lap like some kind of weird pet. His chair is scooted back from his desk, and he doesn’t stand up when we enter, just gestures for us to sit too.
“Um, what’s going on?” I ask, wracking my brain for what I could possibly be getting busted for. I smoked a joint under the bleachers last week, but nobody saw me except Dax and Chase. I swear, those two guys have a fucking sixth sense for that sort of thing.
“We were pleased to offer you enrollment to Linwood Academy, and you’ve been doing just fine academically so far,” the principal begins. “But we take our reputation as a scholarly institution very seriously, Ms. Thomas, and that includes having no tolerance for cheating. When colleges see the Linwood name on an application and see the grades a student achieved, it’s important to us that they know those grades were earned. We don’t pad grades or give easy A’s. If a student excels here, it’s because they put in the time and work to achieve high marks.”
“Okay.” My brows furrow, and I glance from him to Mr. Arndt.
The dark-haired teacher clicks his tongue. “Harlow, no one got a one hundred on my exam—except for you.”
“Well, it was a hard test.”
“It was.” He steeples his hands, placing his elbows on the armrest of the chair. “And you haven’t done better than a seventy-nine on any previous exams.”
“I studied hard,” I say, except I really didn’t. I’m starting to understand where he’s going with this, but it makes no sense. “I didn’t cheat.”
“I’m not saying you did—”
“Yes, you are,” I interrupt. “That’s why you brought me down here, isn’t it?”
His gaze flickers, and I know I’m exactly right. But all he says is, “I just wanted to have a frank discussion with you and Principal Osterhaut.”
“Well, I didn’t cheat. That’s about as frank as I can make it.”
He sighs, and Mr. Osterhaut scoots his chair forward a little.
“Ms. Thomas, as of right now, we can’t prove you tampered with the exam. But we’ll be looking into it, and if we do find evidence that you cheated… well, it would be better if you just come clean now.”
“There’s nothing to come clean about,” I insist, my cheeks heating. “I didn’t cheat.”
“All right.” Mr. Osterhaut nods, but I know he doesn’t believe me. “Well, Mr. Arndt will be keeping a close eye on your future assignments and exams. And if you decide you have anything you’d like to add to this conversation, you can speak to him or me anytime. If our investigation turns anything up, we’ll have to contact your parents.”
“My mom,” I correct.
“Yes. Well.” He leans back. “Thank you for speaking to us. And just so you’re aware, Ms. Thomas, we have a zero tolerance policy for cheating here. So bear that in mind going forward.”
I blink then shift my gaze over to Mr. Arndt. His expression is carefully neutral. I know he thinks I’m guilty too, but he doesn’t want to make it obvious. He likes me, or at least he used to, so hopefully he’s not going to assume every other project I do is a cheat from now on.
But I don’t understand how this happened in the first place. I’ve never cheated on schoolwork. I’ve never really had to. I’m smart, and I work hard enough to pull the kind of grades I can live with without having to do anything underhanded.
“Yeah, thanks. I will,” I mumble, then grab my backpack and slip out of the room.
I’m late to Calculus, but Ms. Becker doesn’t comment on it. She must’ve gotten whatever message Mr. Arndt sent her. That class and History pass in a blur as I stare at my desk, trying to figure out how I could’ve done so well on a test I didn’t study enough for. To my mind, it’s still possible I just got lucky as hell with my guesses, but neither the principal nor my teacher seem convinced of that.
My stomach is in a tight knot by the time I walk down the front steps of the school just after three p.m., and I feel a little sick.
“Congrats on your perfect score,” a sickly sweet voice croons from my left, and I glance over to see Savannah smiling at me. She’s leaning against a low brick wall that edges the sidewalk on this side of the school, and her face set in a smug mask.
Oh my fucking God.
Of course.
I didn’t cheat on the test, but someone did—on my behalf. Probably knowing exactly what would happen when the scores were calculated. She’s been pissed as shit at me ever since she caught Trent hitting on me, so instead of sabotaging my test, she made sure I did too well. Which is worse. I could’ve handled a bad grade, but this could get me kicked
