The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy 1)

We have a test in that class on Monday, and as I turn in my answers and walk out, a heavy feeling settles in my chest. That… could’ve gone better. I studied some over the weekend, but I was a little distracted by Lincoln’s fucking party and the poker game I went to, on top of managing my mom’s usual duties at the house. And I’ve been in such a weird place mentally ever since the party, it was hard to focus.

Not that Mr. Arndt would care about any of those excuses even if I told him.

The rest of the week scrapes by, and when we get our tests back on Thursday, my eyes widen as I look at the circled number written in the top right corner.

100.

Holy shit. How is that even possible? I mean, I definitely tried my hardest, but I was completely guessing on some of the questions. Did I just guess that well?

A little wave of relief hits me. I was expecting to have to scramble to bring my average back up, but this test probably raised my overall grade to a solid B. I can definitely live with that.

When the bell rings at the end of class, I shove the papers in my bag and start to file out with the rest of the kids, but Mr. Arndt gestures me toward the front with two fingers. “Ms. Thomas? May I have a word with you, please?”

I divert my course toward his desk, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Um, yeah. Sure. But I have Calculus in ten minutes, and Ms. Watson will—”

“It’s all right. I’ll have a hall monitor tell her to expect you late.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, wondering what the hell he needs me for that’s so urgent. Not that I hate getting out of Calculus, but still.

“I’d like you to come with me to see Principal Osterhaut,” Mr. Arndt says mildly, and a prickle of nerves twists my stomach.

“What for?”

“We’ll talk about it with him.” His voice is still calm, almost reassuring, but it doesn’t help. Going to see the principal is, in my experience, never a good thing.

“Okay, sure.”

We walk down the hall together, past students talking and joking loudly with each other, grabbing things from their lockers, or rushing to a class on the other side of the building. Linwood Academy is three stories tall, but the principal’s office and other admin offices are all on the first floor. I follow Mr. Arndt down the stairs in silence, and when he leads me into the admin wing and knocks on Mr. Osterhaut’s open door, I have to fight to keep my nervousness off my face.

“Ah, Ms. Thomas.” Mr. Osterhaut has skinny legs and a big gut, which sits on his lap like some kind of weird pet. Hi

s chair is scooted back from his desk, and he doesn’t stand up when we enter, just gestures for us to sit too.

“Um, what’s going on?” I ask, wracking my brain for what I could possibly be getting busted for. I smoked a joint under the bleachers last week, but nobody saw me except Dax and Chase. I swear, those two guys have a fucking sixth sense for that sort of thing.

“We were pleased to offer you enrollment to Linwood Academy, and you’ve been doing just fine academically so far,” the principal begins. “But we take our reputation as a scholarly institution very seriously, Ms. Thomas, and that includes having no tolerance for cheating. When colleges see the Linwood name on an application and see the grades a student achieved, it’s important to us that they know those grades were earned. We don’t pad grades or give easy A’s. If a student excels here, it’s because they put in the time and work to achieve high marks.”

“Okay.” My brows furrow, and I glance from him to Mr. Arndt.

The dark-haired teacher clicks his tongue. “Harlow, no one got a one hundred on my exam—except for you.”

“Well, it was a hard test.”

“It was.” He steeples his hands, placing his elbows on the armrest of the chair. “And you haven’t done better than a seventy-nine on any previous exams.”

“I studied hard,” I say, except I really didn’t. I’m starting to understand where he’s going with this, but it makes no sense. “I didn’t cheat.”

“I’m not saying you did—”

“Yes, you are,” I interrupt. “That’s why you brought me down here, isn’t it?”

His gaze flickers, and I know I’m exactly right. But all he says is, “I just wanted to have a frank discussion with you and Principal Osterhaut.”

“Well, I didn’t cheat. That’s about as frank as I can make it.”

He sighs, and Mr. Osterhaut scoots his chair forward a little.

“Ms. Thomas, as of right now, we can’t prove you tampered with the exam. But we’ll be looking into it, and if we do find evidence that you cheated… well, it would be better if you just come clean now.”