But to my surprise, Chancellor Kross just sighs, looking aggravated. “Keanen, what do I value above all else?” he says.
“Hard work,” Keanen replies.
His father’s eyes narrow.
Keanen bows his head. “And honesty.”
“Honesty. Yes.” The chancellor glances around the room, and for the first time since we entered, his gaze lands on me. He looks so much like his son. He tilts his head, holding my gaze. “Tell me, Miss…?”
“Missy,” I reply, and his lips tighten with amusement.
“Missy. Tell me, does that sound like the honest truth to you?” He raises an eyebrow. I remain silent, my mind racing. I don’t know how to get out of this one. I either wind up calling Keanen a liar—bad—or I condemn him to taking the fall for Bette’s actions—also bad. I bite the inside of my lip, and the chancellor shakes his head, heaving another sigh. “No, I don’t think so either.”
He leans forward, shifting his gaze to his younger child now. “So why don’t you tell me what in God’s name was going through that head of yours this time, hmm, Bette?”
I wince at hearing him talk this way. So does Keanen. As for Bette, though, she only seems to bristle at the challenge, straightening in her seat.
“I didn’t do anything. She’s the one you should be talking to.” Bette gestures at me.
“Keanen, is that true?” Chancellor Kross asks, without taking his gaze off his youngest daughter.
“No, sir,” Keanen answers after a moment’s pause.
Bette scowls.
“So it is, as I suspected, another of your temper tantrums,” the chancellor continues. He leans back against his desk with a loud sigh. “It’s as much as I deserve, I suppose, for letting your mother talk me into a second child.” He shakes his head.
For a moment I just sit there, stunned into silence by what I just heard. Jesus. I know he’s angry, but I can’t imagine what it must feel like to hear your own parent say something like that. I shoot another glance at Bette, and all the fight’s gone out of her now. Her eyes glisten with tears instead.
Before their father looks over again, Keanen reaches over to squeeze her knee, gently. And slowly, more and more about Bette’s attitude begins to make sense.
I grimace. I don’t forgive her for what she did to me, but… I can’t imagine what her life has been like. Here I was assuming that Keanen and Bette’s world was so much easier because of their money, but… Money can’t fix every problem.
“Missy.” The chancellor’s gaze is on me again, and I force myself to sit straighter, meet his gaze. “I offer my sincerest apologies for my youngest daughter’s behavior. I hope that you will decline to press charges.”
My lips part. Press charges? I never even dreamed of suing the girl over this. It was childish, infuriating, yes, but…
Before I can answer, Keanen speaks up. “Actually, Missy is here on a partial scholarship.” Between us, Bette sniffs surreptitiously.
When I look over, I notice tears leaking down her cheeks. Unable to stand it, I dig in my pocket and pass her a tissue.
She stares at me, wide-eyed, like she can’t believe what I just did. I shrug one shoulder, let it fall.
Only then do I process the rest of what Keanen is saying. “Perhaps Tanglewood University would see fit to raise Missy’s scholarship amount to full tuition, in order to help her in paying the bills she’s been working so hard to meet, and of course replace the things in her room that have been ruined.”
The chancellor glances from his son to me and back, his brow furrowed.
My breath catches in my chest. It can’t be this easy. Can it? But a moment later—“Yes, yes, all right,” the chancellor says, waving a hand as if he’s swatting at an annoying fly. It’s that simple for him. Barely even a consideration. My chest tightens again, and I barely hear him continue. “Assuming you can maintain the grades required for our full ride candidacy,” he adds.
I realize he’s speaking to me again.
It takes all my energy to force a broad, reassuring smile. To make my voice work normally, at least for long enough for me to reply. “I assure you, sir, I’m a good student and a hard worker.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are.” The chancellor gives me one last long once-over, and then holds out a hand.
I stare, confused.
“Do we have a deal?” he asks, and I realize what I’ve just done. Agreed to be paid off in scholarship money for Bette’s misbehavior. But when I steal a glance at Keanen and his sister, they’re both watching me. Bette shrugs one shoulder, smirking just a little. Take it, her expression seems to say.
It still itches at me, how simple it is for this man to just wave a hand and fix my life. It’s not fair. How hard I had to work before he came along. Before his daughter tried to ruin all my hard work, I remind myself.
But my mother raised me to take what comes my way. To not look a gift horse in the mouth—at least not one this practical and obviously useful.
“We do,” I reply, and reach out to shake Chancellor Kross’s hand.
Just like that, a huge weight is lifted from my shoulders.
11
Two weeks later, I wake up to a knock at my dorm room door. It’s one of the first nights I’ve spent back in my room—Keanen made Bette hire cleaners, and he tried to get her to buy me a whole new wardrobe too, but I drew the line there. The last thing I wanted was to wind up dressed exactly like Bette and all the other girls here, paid for by her dime.
Now that I don’t have the enormous tuition bill weighing on me, I can spare a little of the money I saved up at Henry’s to buy myself a wardrobe I actually like. It’s mostly just torn skinny jeans and simple T-shirts.
I’ve decided that, much as I love my mother, her advice was wrong. I shouldn’t have come to Tanglewood pretending to be someone I’m not. I should have just shown up here as myself and forced all these preppy, stuck up elites to either accept me or deal with it.
I keep my job, too, although I cut way back on the hours. Only working one or two nights a week now, so I have more time to study, go to classes, and actually have a social life here.
Speaking of my social life… I open the door to find Bette standing there, hands in the pockets of her designer skirt, looking sheepish.
I sigh and roll my eyes. “If your brother forced you to do something nice again,” I start, but she cuts me off, holding up a hand.
“No. This is all me.” She finally meets my gaze. I’m surprised to notice her eyes are red-rimmed, the whites bloodshot, as if she hasn’t been sleeping well. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you. There’s no excuse, seriously. And… I don’t blame you if you don’t want anything to do with me. But, well…” She gestures over her shoulder, up the hallway in general. “A bunch of us are going to a tailgate before the football game tonight. I know you’re going to watch Keanen for the first time, so I thought… maybe you’d want to come with us.”
I hesitate, expecting someone to jump out and attack me with beer cans or paint again. But when no pranks are forthcoming, I realize she’s serious.