Page 59 of Hateful Lies

Chapter 29

Astrid

We head out of his room, and Terri makes eye contact the whole way. We climb down the stairs, talking about nothing in particular, the way friends bullshit with one another. And for a fleeting second, I wonder if I would have dated Terri if he were less shy. But I doubt it. Terri’s right. Since the summer, my eyes have been watching the assholes’ table when I thought I was less than nothing to them.

“Are you going to buy another pair of glasses?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I should. They have an optometrist in the town center.”

“Let me know,” I reply, “Roni and I will go with you.”

His smile falters for a second as he stares at me, and I know he’s not over his crush. Terri was hoping we’d go alone. I smile back at him, and he smiles a little brighter. Terri holds the door open for me, and we head over toward the dining hall. To watch us, you’d never think we just had a heated argument. It’s something new to me to have an argument and not want to rip someone a new one for expressing what they think of me in ugly terms.

We’re in our state of friendship bliss when it comes to a nasty halt. Dr. Rawlins is standing in front of the dining hall with Gary by her side. She is scanning the campus like a hawk seeking out mice running across a field. Gary spots me and tugs Dr. Rawlins’ white suit jacket. She looks sharply at his greasy hand and then narrows her gaze on me.

Terri stares in terror as Dr. Rawlins moves toward us faster than a killer shark that hasn’t eaten in a month.

“Astrid Bowen!” she shouts.

Terri sighs loudly as his knees bend, and he stops moving.

“Thanks, friend,” I whisper.

“Sorry, Astrid, but I’d rather deal with Pierce than Dr. Rawlins when she’s pissed. Good luck.”

“Luck’s not going to save me now,” I whisper. I don’t know why she’s barreling down on me, but I’ve stirred shit up, and it’s only been a month.

“My office,” she says sternly, “Walk behind me. I can’t even look at you.”

Terri’s hand grazes mine, and he gives me a look loaded with sympathy as I walk away reluctantly. Dr. Rawlins and I go on a two-woman march across Stonehaven campus, which earns looks of wonder and amazement. I keep my eyes toward the ground, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze. If I see Charlotte, or worse, Wyatt, I’ll probably drop to the ground and dig a hole to hide in.

We walk up the front steps, and Dr. Rawlins whips the front door open wide, almost hitting me. She has powerful biceps; who knew. I make jokes to myself only to keep my knees from shaking. Authority has always been a sore spot. I resent it, but when I’m cornered, it scares me silly.

I hurry into Rawlins’ office as Alice cranes her neck to see before the door slams shut.

“Sit.” she points to the chair in front of her desk before she sits down in her own.

The computer monitor is off as she stares at me like I’m on the screen. She’s a beautiful woman with perfect angular features, but when she’s angry, those eyes start drilling holes into your skull.

She doesn’t speak and I begin to fidget in the chair, wondering if it’s a different one. It feels harder this time, like being chained to a boulder, waiting for vultures to pick the flesh off my bones.

“Do you know why I called you into my office?” Her voice sounds borderline shrill.

Play it cool, Astrid. If I’ve learned one thing in my life, it’s not to confess until they show you the evidence. Let them tell you what you’ve done wrong. As long as you don’t incriminate yourself, there’s always a way out. I shake my head while biting down on my lips.

Rawlins picks up a pen and taps it on the edge of her desk as her cheeks turn a splotchy shade of red. I bite my lips harder, wondering if I’ll break the skin and bleed. I imagine I can taste the metallic blood already. I’ve done so much I shouldn’t have done—the Pit at the top of the list. Say nothing, even if it takes her all day to spill.

“You have no clue?” she asks in a harsh voice.

I shake my head wildly, this time with wide eyes. Dr. Rawlins cracks first, but I’m sure if torture were legal, I would be listing every sin I’ve committed since turning twelve. Dr. Rawlins yanks out a bottom desk drawer that screeches on its metal runners from the force. She rips out my cut-up skirt and flings it down on her desk.

“My skirt?” I stare. “You went into my room?”

“Read the handbook. You have no privacy here.”

“Wait? Am I in trouble for cutting up my skirt?”

Dr. Rawlins rolls her eyes better than any teenage girl I know. She glares at me, and I swear they must have a class on Bitch Looks 101 because Charlotte can do the same exact thing. Rawlins has decided not to waste any more time on the silent treatment. She’s convinced I won’t crack under that kind of pressure.

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