All the Little Lies (English Prep 1)

“Yes, our scholarship student.” He flipped through a file as he sat back down in his leather-backed chair. “Transferred from Oakland High, is it?”

Ann raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows at me. I cleared my throat as she and I both took a seat in the Cadillac-like chairs placed at the foot of his desk. “Yes, Oakland High.”

“Mmmm.” Headmaster Walton continued to read through my file, and I suddenly felt extremely self-conscious and vulnerable. I could only imagine what was in my file. “And I see you’ve attended a few other high schools in surrounding areas, yes?”

“Yes, sir.” I held my tongue before I called him Your Honor. I kind of felt like I was back in the courtroom.

He clasped his hands after shutting the file, looking me square in the eye. Naturally, I wanted to cower, but I was no longer that girl. I didn’t hide from confrontation; I pulled my shoulders back and held his stare confidently. “We have a zero-tolerance policy for violence, Ms. Smith.” I swallowed, holding my tongue. “Although you come highly recommended by the staff at Oakland High, I worry our curriculum will be tough for you, considering your upbringing at local high schools. I’m well aware of your SAT scores, and of course of your situation, so I’m going to say this once and only once: if you fail to follow the rules in our school, you will be asked to leave. Your scholarship will go to the next willing student. You are smart. I’ll give you that. But you may find that you don’t fit in here.”

His eyes flashed to the bruises on my face as the last sentence left his rosy lips. My nostrils flared, and I was one second from combusting with anger, but the rational part in my brain was quick to intervene. I knew what I looked like. I was homely looking. My face was ghastly, and my bruises were dark. The bags under my eyes were the color of ash, and the spark in my blue irises was dull. I looked like a troublemaker. My file surely described that—specifically, the last foster home incident. My attitude probably portrayed that I didn’t give a shit, but I did. I actually cared. I wanted to succeed. I needed to succeed. If English Prep was my ticket out of this town and into a college where I could survive, then I’d bite my tongue. I’d swallow the harsh rebuttal that wanted to come out of my mouth.

“I understand, Headmaster Walton. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m here for an education and to get into a decent college. That’s all.”

Headmaster Walton pursed his lips as if he wasn’t convinced, but nonetheless, he nodded his head before standing up. Ann and I rose alongside him as he walked us over to the large oak door.

Ann said goodbye to him and thanked him once again for my scholarship. Before I followed her out, Headmaster Walton very briefly intoned, “I have high hopes for you, Ms. Smith. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

I swallowed back a lump in my throat. I recognized how pathetic it was that I wanted to cry because of hearing a statement like that from a complete stranger, but it had been a long time since anyone had said something so genuine to me.

Ann was waiting for me near the receptionist’s desk with a cheery smile on her face as I pulled myself together. “Are you ready for this? I’m actually excited for you. Out of all the times I’ve had to check in on one of my foster kids, this is the first time I’ve actually been hopeful and excited. This school will be great for you, Hayley.”

A tight smile came across my face.

Ann’s face brightened up even more, the apples of her cheeks rising. “You’ve got this, Hayley. Go out there and make some normal friends. Try to be a normal senior, okay?” Her warm hands wrapped around my shoulders before she pulled me in for a hug. I stiffened almost immediately. If I thought that Headmaster Walton telling me he had high hopes for me was surprising, this definitely took the cake. I’d had three social workers since going into foster care, and honestly, I had hated every single one. But Ann? She was proving to be okay.

I wasn’t sure if she actually cared about me, but after a small hug from her, I wasn’t quite sure I cared.

“Thanks,” I mumbled after she pulled away. My cheeks began to grow warm as I felt my walls falling down a little. Don’t get attached, Hayley. She’s just a social worker.

Right. Resuming back to my normal keep-everyone-at-arm’s-length persona.

“Okay, well, I’ll check in sometime this week. Let me know if you need anything at all, okay? It doesn’t matter the time. Call me. You have my number.”

A tight nod was my response, and she turned on her heel and walked out of the office. I didn’t have the heart to remind her that, yes, I may have had her number, but I didn’t have a cell phone, and there was absolutely no way I was asking Jill or Pete to use their landline. Chances were, Pete would ask for something in return, and ha, sorry, but no thanks.

After the small lady behind the desk gave me my class schedule and a map to English Prep, she walked me to my first class: American Literature and Poetry. Definitely a step up from Oakland High where we were learning how to write a five-page paragraph essay about a story I read in the seventh grade.

My heart tumbled in my chest as I blew out a shaky breath. I didn’t think I’d be this nervous. The amount of times I’d walked into a new school should have prepared me for this moment. If I was good at anything, it was putting on a brave face in front of my new peers. Squaring my shoulders and straighten

ing my spine was like second nature to me. But there was a pit deep in my belly. My bravery was wavering. I was standing on a cliff, looking down into the depths of fear and humiliation. Would Christian remember me? Would anyone? I wasn’t popular by any means in middle school, but was anyone, really? We were all awkward and trying to find our footing in the midst of going through puberty. I might not have been memorable from middle school, but my parents surely were.

I remembered how these families worked. I knew that social hierarchies determined the food chain in this town. Screw the natural revolving of the world—the richest of the rich turned the planet on its axis. I used to be one of them. But now I wasn’t.

My heart climbed into my throat as the door swung open. The small receptionist pushed me forward and mumbled something to the teacher. I kept my eyes locked onto the green chalkboard instead of swinging my gaze around the room. I reread the words “20th century poets: Sylvia Plath”, but between each word I read, I silently muttered, “If you show them fear, they’ll eat you alive.” And if I looked at any of my new classmates in the eye right now, I’d blow my poker face. I needed to find my footing. The anxious and panicky girl inside of me was trying to claw her way out to find some type of anchor to hold her steady. And that was when I did it. That was when I let my eyes scan the room, and I found him almost instantly.

Christian Powell. My old best friend. Our eyes caught, and hope blossomed through my chest like a sunflower finding the sun. His eyes were the same shade of gray: stormy, grounding, always pinning me to my spot with comfort. But then his eyes narrowed, and his razor-sharp jaw became even sharper. The gray of his eyes turned to stone the very second the teacher introduced me.

“Class, this is Hayley Smith. She’s new here; please welcome her and offer help when needed.”

The entire classroom was silent. No one muttered a single syllable. I didn’t even think a breath was let out. Except for Christian. He was fuming in his seat. His fists clenched tightly. I wanted to turn around on my heel and go right back to Oakland High.

But I wasn't that girl anymore. I didn’t bow down to anyone.

Welcome to English Prep, Hayley.

Chapter Two

Christian