Willis shakes his head. “It’s no good, Maverick. These girls need money like they need a hole in the head, which just in case you get any weird ideas, is none at all,” he directs that last statement to me, staring me dead in the face.
There’s a crackling silence in the room for a moment before someone walks into the outer office. I look to see who it is. When I do, my grin returns, almost splitting my entire face in half.
“Not all of them,” I chuckle, motioning to the outer office with my head. “Look.”
Hamm and Willis peer through the window to see a bedraggled and exhausted Beth, wearing her barista uniform.
3
I smile at the receptionist as I walk into the office. She wrinkles her nose at me, as usual.
“I need to speak to the Dean. Is he in?” I manage to ask.
“He’s in a meeting? You’ll have to wait.” Her voice has the same little upturn as her nose and it’s grating my nerves.
Hamm’s office door opens wide before I can thank her or sit down, and he smiles at me rather strangely.
“Beth, come on in. Let’s talk.”
I shoot a smug look at the receptionist, who rolls her eyes at me.
It doesn’t matter much to me how anyone else feels about me, as long as the Dean and the teachers still have my back. They’re my safety net and I’m happy to have at least them looking out for me.
I stride past her with my head held high and walk through the door that Dean Hamm is patiently holding open for me. As soon as I enter the room my legs stop working and I freeze. The hockey Coach is sitting in my usual seat and across from him, Maverick is slouching in a chair with a weirder than usual grin on his face.
“Sit down, sit down,” Hamm gestures to the last remaining seat, in between the Coach and Maverick.
I sit, slowly, looking from one face to another.
I see.
So, Maverick got here first and told them about the incident in the hall. He must have spun it so that it was all my fault, somehow. The bastard.
I sit with my hands folded in my lap, prepared to defend myself against whatever lies I’m sure he’s told.
Hamm opens his desk and pulls out a file with my name on it. He flips through it for a moment, then pulls out a piece of paper.
“Beth. You’ve been here on a scholarship for the last three years, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” I nod. He knows this.
He nods, then glances at what I’m wearing.
“You know dress code violations stack up. Your scholarship depends on you adhering to the rules.”
I shoot a furious glance at Maverick, then paste a smile on my face for Hamm. “Yes sir, I know. I came to school in uniform this morning, but Maverick and his friends had a series of—accidents—in my direction, which ruined it. I have a pass from Mr. Anderson for my dress code violation, sir. I’m really sorry.”
Hamm nods thoughtfully, then shifts in his chair. “You work very hard, don’t you, Beth?”
“Yes, sir. I work at least thirty hours a week on top of school, sometimes more.” Where is this going? Did he expect me to have the freedom to spend my wages on a bunch of replacement uniforms?
“So, fifty thousand dollars would probably change your life.” It isn’t a question, and I’m not quite sure what it’s supposed to be.
“Um…of course it would. Why?”
Hamm exchanges a glance with the Coach and Maverick, then clears his throat.
“We’ll come back to that. If your scholarship were to be suddenly suspended, for whatever reason, how would your life be affected?”
My blood instantly becomes glaciers in my veins as panic grips my chest. It takes every ounce of control not to scream that it would ruin my life and everything I’ve ever worked, no, slaved for. Instead, I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, then meet his eyes evenly.
“I would have to start over at another school. Probably a public school. The lost scholarship would be a black mark on my record, and I would not be able to attend Julliard.”
Hamm nods. “Of course.”
This isn’t a question that needs to be asked and it’s definitely not news to him. We’ve spoken about this before. I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten, so what exactly is going on here?
The awkward silence seems to drag on forever as Hamm rocks back in his chair thoughtfully, pensive and somewhat remorseful while Maverick looks like a fucking closed-mouthed Cheshire cat.
I can’t bear it anymore. “Have I done something wrong? Are my grades not high enough? Is it my community hours, because I can make some time for more volunteering. I’d have to move some stuff around but if I need to then I can ju-”
Hamm waves his hand, cutting me off mid plea.
“Your grades are fine. Let me describe the situation to you, Beth.” He sighs, the frown resting in his brow growing deeper. “You and Maverick both have quite a bit to lose. You are two very talented people with a lot of potential, but you both need help to get there. Maverick is facing deportation. You are facing the ruination of your academic career. You have the opportunity right now to help one another.”
I frown. What on earth would I want to help Maverick for?
“I’m sorry, but why am I facing the ruination of my academic career?”
Maverick grins revealing unnaturally white and perfectly aligned teeth. I bet his whole mouth is worth more than my apartment.
Snob.
“Because you’re the only one who can help me, and if you don’t, your scholarship is forfeit. Isn’t that obvious?”
My eyes widen and I stared at Hamm, who refuses to meet my eyes.
“Is that true?” My voice comes out in a whisper, squeezing through the filter of fear seizing both my lungs.
Coach leans forward, wiping his brow.
“Look girlie, it’s like this. Maverick needs a green card if he’s going to make it to the title game. He’s gonna get drafted, but only if he’s there. If he doesn’t keep his nose clean, he’s gonna get deported either way. We need someone to keep him... legal. He’s gotta be legal in the country, and he’s gotta not get in trouble with the cops.”
“You’re asking me to babysit Maverick?” I squeak, my mind reeling from all this madness.
“Who’s a baby? We’re telling you to either marry me and keep your scholarship plus fifty thousand dollars, or you lose your scholarship and I lose my visa.” Maverick snarls at me.
Blackmail. This whole mess feels a lot like blackmail, and they all seem to be in on it. Even Dean Hamm.
So much for my safety net, I guess.
“I could report you, you know.” There’s a trace of hope in my voice that I can hear dying even in my own ears.
Hamm smiles sadly. “To whom?”
“Blackmail is illegal,” I respond with more conviction than I actually feel. I can feel the earth falling out from under me but I’m going to go out swinging. I know my rights damn it!
The Coach looks like he’s about to wheel at me, but Hamm waves a hand at him to silence him. I’ve never liked him. No loss there.
“That is true. Do you care to re-read your student handbook, Beth? Specifically chapter eight, section 31.B.”
I frown at him in confusion. He picks a handbook up off of his desk and reads out loud.