Page 45 of Unspoken Truths

LILIANA

I really should go home, but I don’t want to. I’ve been at Rachelle’s house all afternoon, doing homework while she was at her therapy appointment in Mr. Emil’s office, had dinner with them, and now I’m laying next to her in her bed while she finishes up her math homework.

The door is open because it’s respectful while her parents are home, and I’m happy to just stare at her. It’s silly, but she’s gorgeous. Her hair is lighter than mine, shades of chestnut hues underneath the light in her bedroom, her eyes narrow in concentration as she bites her lip.

“You’re staring,” she murmurs, lips twitching as she writes down the final number for her answer and tosses the notebook to the side.

“Unapologetically,” I say, shrugging. “I can’t help it. What’s next?”

“It’s unending,” Rachelle groans, opening her laptop. “I have to finish this paper now for tomorrow. I just have the conclusion to do.”

“You’re motoring right through it all,” Mr. Emil observes, leaning against the door.

He’s checked in on us a few times, and her mom brought us dessert an hour after dinner. He’s never come further than the door, though. Rachelle told me that he’s being very careful about her boundaries. It’s really nice to see how serious Mr. Emil is about making sure she’s comfortable at the house.

Now if Nacio could stop being such a dick, then her home life would be a dream.

“Trying,” Rachelle sighs. “It feels like it's never ending.”

Sitting up a little more, I prop the pillows higher against my back. Her bed is really comfortable.

“The top six students in each school grade level get a prize at the end of the year,” I tell her, thinking about how hard the Kings work to secure the top spots. “Every grade is different.”

“Last year, the school sent the freshman to Vermont for a week over the summer,” Mr. Emil remembers, chuckling. “You five talked about that trip for weeks afterward. No responsibilities was a very good reward.”

Nodding, I remember. The guys weren’t so terrible that week. I know the others don’t have the best home life, but Ignacio has always been a little less intense than them. Apparently, that’s not true anymore.

“I doubt I’ll be at the top of anything,” Rachelle says wryly, checking a note in one of her many library books surrounding her. History class is always research paper intensive. “I feel as if I’m barely treading water.”

“I doubt that,” Mr. Emil says before changing the subject. “I’m headed to the school for a teacher-board meeting to discuss removing Mr. Lee as headmaster. Parents are properly whipped into a frenzy, because some of their children have received similar mistreatment.”

“How so?” Rachelle asks, giving her stepfather her full attention. “What has he been doing?”

“He ignored reports of a coach acting sexually inappropriate with the female track team for one,” Mr. Emil says, lip curling in disgust. “An entire third grade class told their parents that their teacher made them run laps around the school in a torrential downpour for two hours because they disrupted class as well. Mr. Lee told the fourth graders that they should behave if they want to stay dry.”

“Aren’t they all eight years old?” I ask, jaw dropping. “That shouldn’t be what Carlysle Prep is about. To be honest, though, I started carrying a weapon with me there in middle school. It’s more of a war zone than anything else recently.”

“I told Julia that I really didn’t remember it being so bad,” Mr. Emil sighs. “Cutthroat academics is fine, but sexual harassment shouldn’t happen at all.”

Rachelle shudders at the thought, and I remember that she hasn’t chosen a club or sport to get involved in.

“I have till Wednesday to decide on this whole club thing, right?” she asks. “Exercising isn’t exactly something I enjoy doing on purpose.”

Mr. Emil snorts, amused as I shake my head.

“Wednesday is the day they’re choosing for you,” I explain. “Tuesday is your cut off. The school is odd about their deadlines, and feel that taking the initiative by getting it done earlier shows excellence.”

“It’s bullshit dogma,” Mr. Emil grunts. “Have you looked at the handbook with all of the clubs?”

Leaning over, Rachelle grabs it from an end table, dropping it on the bed with a wince. The thing is huge.

“My eyes started to cross when I got to that part,” she admits, sighing. “I have no idea what I want to do. There’s so many options.”

“Do you have any hobbies?” Mr. Emil asks.

Hearing him ask that makes me blink, realizing how little he actually knows about her.

Julia joins Emil at the doorway, brow raised. “What are we talking about?” she asks.

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