Page 17 of SNOB

“A V-I-S?” Am I supposed to know what that means?

“A very important student.” She looks unimpressed with my lack of knowledge of Saint Bons terminology. “But it’s also a prized possession of the school. So it is school property."

“And you think I took it?” Looking around, I let out a sigh. “Of course, you think I took it.”

“Listen, Miss Everett, I know how you got into this school many would give years of their life to be in.” Her voice doesn’t lower and once again, I’m the object of entertainment as students point their phones my way. “These students around you have paid good money?—”

“You mean Mommy and Daddy’s money,” I correct.

She twists her lips before speaking again. “Our students work hard to be here.”

The more I fight, the more suspicious I look. So, despite the humiliation, I swing my tote off my shoulder and offer it up. “Be my privileged guest.”

Her matching red-painted fingers stop before she reaches my bag and shit… I should keep myself in check. I’m already in hot water.

Don’t be stubborn.

She tips my bag upside down, and something tells me my comment is the influence. The contents of my bag clatter to the shining floor. Charcoal pencils, my soaked sketchpad, pens, my phone and…

Clank!

A golden medal.

My eyes widen.

How in the—fuck.

“It looks like my hunch was right.” She straightens up, picking it off the ground before dangling it in my face.

There’s a name etched into it, right under the engraved hockey puck.

Malcolm McKinsley.

SIX

EMBER

“I don’t know how that got there.” I wince, hearing my words.

An officer in uniform appears by my side. “Care to come with us, Miss Everett?” he asks.

“Come along, Ember.” Dean Patel doesn’t even acknowledge what I said. The walk of shame to her office is long, students whispering and snickering as I'm sandwiched between the dean and an officer. This is exactly what they think of me. A delinquent.

A criminal.

And Mac McDick gives them the ammo to justify it.

Greta stops in her path as she sees me and for a minute the tightness in my chest dissipates. But she doesn’t say anything. She just puts her head down and walks away.

So much for camaraderie.

That feeling settles in again as an invisible bubble comes around me.

Isolated.

Alone.

“Here’s what we’re going to do Miss Everett,” Dean Patel says as we stand in front of the big red doors to the main office. “We’ll take the medal back and revoke your acceptance.” She dangles the medal by her middle finger, that name taunting me as it glistens under the light. “We won’t press charges but you will vacate the school immediately. We want our students to feel safe and that can’t happen with you here.”

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