Not sure how she managed it, but my mother, the failure she is, taught me one thing - to keep my pride above all else.
Apparently, that’s all a girl like me can control.
So, disrespect me not.
“My office! Now!” Principal Folk screeches. He doesn’t call me by name, doesn’t look my way, but why would he? Here I stand, caught red-handed - literally still holding half of the tray in my hand - as always.
He probably knew it was me the second someone called for help, before even walking in here.
I toss the tray to the floor and head straight to my home away from home - the cheap wooden chair with a ripped-up burgundy center that sits directly across from the principal’s desk.
Monday was, as he warned, my “last strike,” but yesterday I got caught smoking behind the gym, and I’m still here. Today’s Thursday.
Wonder if he’s in another forgiving mood?
I’m guessing not when forty-five minutes later he charges in and slams himself into the seat, glaring at me through his little nerd glasses.
His anger probably has something to do with the loud-mouthed girl – who very well may still be bleeding all over the stark white cafeteria floor – being his niece.
My fucking bad.
His eyes narrow as he judges me and my too-tight top and ripped-up jeans.
So, I smirk, taunt him a bit.
Because there’s nothing this guy could say or do that could possibly be as fucked as every other day in my reality.
I grab the edge of the chair and lean forward. “Give it to me, Mr. Folk.”
His eyes widen a fraction of an inch and as if he can’t help himself, quickly cut to my top.
Men, they have no self-control.
Well, look at that, another thing learned from my mother.
“Clearly you don’t want to be here, Ms. Carver. Every time I issue a warning you come back twice as hard.”
When a slow grin stretches across my face, he clears his throat and looks away.
“This is your third high school in eighteen months and honestly, you’re lucky you lasted here so long.”
“Am I… Mr. Folk?” I drop back against the seat. “You sure you’re not—”
“Stop.” He glares before sighing. “This is serious. You’ve got the entire school’s attention now. I can’t make this go away.”
I roll my eyes. “Just get on with it already. Where to next?”
He eyes me a moment before folding his hands and leaning forward against the desk. “I made a call.”
My eyes slice to his.
“Your social worker—”
“I don’t have a social worker.”
“Apparently you do. She contacted me a few months back and—”
“Months?”
“Raven, listen—”
Right then, the secretary ushers in some dark-haired lady wearing slacks and a button-down. She reaches over the desk to shake the principal’s hand.
“Mr. Folk, I’m Maria Vega.”
“Ms. Vega, I appreciate you coming so quickly.” He turns to me as she does the same.
“Hey there.” She gives a fake hello, her roaming eyes and tight-lipped smile more curious than anything. “Do you mind if we talk for a bit?”
I don’t bother speaking. No matter what I do or don’t say here, she’s already got me figured out as far as she’s concerned.
“Mr. Folk and I have been in contact over the last semester. He’s briefed me on your home situation and past issues, and at this time, we think it’s best you be removed from your mother’s care.”
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. ‘My mother’s care’ she says. Please.
The woman stares at me for a moment before sighing. She’s quick to lose the sweet, caring woman act. “Look, I get it. You don’t care what I have to say, fine. But we are removing you from your home. I’ll take you to grab your things and then it’s a day’s trip to your new housing. It’s a bit different, you being as old as you are, but we have a safe place for you.”
“Yeah? They make cookies and tuck you in at bedtime? Or is that job left to the man there who creeps into the little girls’ rooms at night?”
The woman’s eyes narrow and Mr. Folk sighs. “Is there something you need to tell me, Ms. Carver?”
“Nothing you’d care about.”
Her eyes jump to the small, fading cut below my left eye. “Try me.”
“Pass.” I hop to my feet, stepping close to her. “I’ll be waiting out front.”
“You’ll wait right here if you want to avoid that girl’s parents who are standing a few feet outside this door.”
“You’re mistaking me for someone who gives a shit.” With that, I shove past the woman and walk toward the front of the student office, toward the loving mother and father of the little bitch who ran her mouth. I look from the girl to her parents, finding all their glares on me, their body language showing exactly what they think of me.
Dirty.
Used.
Worthless.
And they’re not wrong.
FIND IT HERE
Boys of Brayshaw
Trouble At Brayshaw
Reign Brayshaw
Be My Brayshaw
Break Me
Fake It Til You Break It
Fumbled Hearts
Defenseless Hearts
Wrong For Me
Ways to Stay Connected
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I couldn’t do anything without the support of my family, and this remains true! Forever and always, my boys.
This book took so much out of me, and challenged me in many, many ways. I have to give it to my friend, and newest editor, Rebecca! I hope you know how much I valued your input. You pushed me and understood my vision so well I was mind blown. We made a fantastic team, and I cannot wait to do it again! THANK YOU!
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