Page 3 of Emma on Fire

“You didn’t tell us things we couldn’t write about it. And to be fair, Ididgive a warning.”

“How can you not understand how inappropriate this is?” His hands are tightening on her shoulders, his grip starting to hurt.

And while Emma can’t deny Lizzie Grunwald’s assertion that Mr. Montgomery is “bookishly handsome,” she also can’t get past the fact that she just announced her intention to set herself on fire, and he’s worried about the inappropriateness of the situation. Not, you know, her actual physical safety.

“Maybe if you had let me finish, you’d feel differently.” Emma tries to move toward the door again. She wants to getto the essay’s conclusion—that’s the entire point. She needs everyone to hear it. “If you understand my motivation—”

Mr. Montgomery grabs the essay from Emma. “You are not going to finish.” He practically spits his words in her face. “We are going to see the headmaster. Now.”

CHAPTER 3

MR. MONTGOMERY’S LONG fingers keep their hold on Emma’s biceps as he guides her down the hall, out the door, and across the quad to the administration building.

With its gray stone facade softened by climbing ivy and purple wisteria, Pemberly Hall looks like an English manor house. Like the setting of a romance novel or a cozy mystery—the kind of books Emma’s mother used to devour when she thought no one was looking.

But there’s nothing romantic or mysterious about being marched to the headmaster’s office by a furious AP English teacher. They stop in front of the desk of the headmaster’s assistant, Fiona Dundy. On the wall behind her hangs a poster that reads EDISCERE. SCIRE. AGERE.VINCERE. It’s Ridgemont’s motto, and it means “Study. Know. Act.Win.”

Of course winning would be the ultimate goal of any Ridgemont graduate, and if Emma had been allowed to finish her essay, Mr. Montgomery would understand why her goal of self-immolation would ultimately be a win—maybe not for her, but for the world.

Ms. Dundy smiles brightly and says, “Oh, hello, sorry, Mr. Hastings is in a meeting.”

Her eyes slide to Emma, the sheen of her irises shifting into a slightly glazed look, the one that all the staff greet Emma with now. It is a careful look, one designed to measure the impact—or possibly repercussions—of speaking to Emma Blake.

But then her gaze shifts to Mr. Montgomery’s hand, still holding Emma’s upper arm tightly. Ms. Dundy’s mouth tightens, and Mr. Montgomery releases her.

“I don’t mean to be so brusque,” Mr. Montgomery says. “But I am very concerned about Emma.”

“Correction,” Emma speaks up. “He’s concerned about inappropriateness, not me. Not really.”

“Youareinappropriate,” Montgomery snaps, spinning back to her.

“What you’re seeing now is not an example of how our staff typically speaks to students,” a deep voice says, and the English teacher goes pale.

Emma turns to see the headmaster.

Peregrine “Perry” Hastings is standing in the doorwayof his office, flanked by a man and woman who—judging by their expensive clothes and hopeful expressions—have come to explore the possibility of their precious child attending Ridgemont Academy.

“I wouldn’t be overly concerned about how staff speak to students here,” Emma informs them. “Less than ten percent of applicants get into Ridgemont. But I’m sure you can find another overpriced school where free thought and expression are stifled.”

“Emma!” Mr. Hastings says sharply, then turns to the parents. “I’m so sorry. I apologize for the behavior of both Ms. Blake and Mr. Montgomery. Unfortunately, Emma has been going through some challenging life changes—”

Emma snorts. “Talk about a descriptive essay.”

As Mr. Hastings politely ushers Mom and Dad back into the reception area, Emma does have to give him some credit. He didn’t provide any sort of excuse for her English teacher’s behavior—only hers. A seed of hope blooms inside her chest. Maybe there’s a chance the headmaster will hear her out.

But Mr. Hastings’s politeness vanishes the instant the door shuts behind the visiting parents. “You two. Inside. Now.” He snaps his fingers in a way that must have been taught at an Ivy League school back in his day … but only to the male students, of course.

Inside his office, Emma drops into a vacated clubchair. Mr. Montgomery remains standing, shifting from foot to foot in agitation and running his hand through his thick blondish hair. Mr. Hastings sits behind his mahogany desk, his stern gaze focused on Emma’s English teacher.

“What could possibly have you so agitated as to behave that way in front of prospective parents?”

“Basically, I did my homework really, really well,” Emma pipes up.

“Ms. Blake read an extremely inappropriate and upsetting essay to my class just now,” Mr. Montgomery says, shooting her a hard look. “I don’t know who to be worried about more—her or the rest of the students, who are in a state of shock.”

“Better than being in a state of slumber,” Emma mutters. “Which is where they were before I started reading.”

Mr. Hastings pushes his pale, bushy eyebrows together. There is far more hair on his forehead than above it. “What was the subject matter?”

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