All the Little Lies (English Prep 1)

We stared at each other for so long that I felt my plan slipping through my fingers as the clock continued to tick. I finally shrugged him off and sent a look toward Eric. That was all it took. Eric wound back before Jake took an uppercut to the jaw.

“You fucker,” he spat with a hit back. Ollie instantly got in between them before they got too invested and neglected that this was planned and not an actual fight. Jake’s lip was busted, blood dripping down to his chin, and Eric’s eye was forming a welt. Those are my boys.

“Good shit. Follow my cue.” I gestured toward the door but stopped right before I opened it. I looked back at all three of them. “And stay the fuck away from Hayley.”

Jake formed a frown, and Eric nodded. Ollie only stared at me, but I knew he’d listen. We may not have always agreed, but he wouldn’t defy me on this. Not when a girl was involved.

Once I opened the door, the scent of old, dusty books wafted around. I crooked a smile in Ms. Boyd’s direction.

Show time.

It only took three compliments, a hefty dose of flirting, and a dazzling smile to get Ms. Boyd to let me in the Headmaster’s office.

Headmaster Walton was at lunch—which I already knew—and due back within the next ten minutes, so I had to act fast. I rounded his large, mahogany desk and roamed my gaze around the stupid, ancient globe, a framed picture of him and his wife, the row of expensive pens that were in a perfect line… Bingo. A large folder sat near the edge of his desk, underneath a pile of useless papers. The name Hayley Smith was written on the tab in permanent marker.

I took the folder and placed my ear against the door for a moment, hearing Jake and Eric arguing over their “fight”, which caused me to smirk. Damn good friends they are.

I scanned the contents quickly, sucking in all the information I could regarding Hayley.

Seven foster homes since seventh grade. Hmm. I thought Madeline was making that up to embellish her story…guess not. Three different high schools. Her current foster home was two towns over. Interesting. I took my phone out and snapped a picture of her address. Might come in handy one day. She was in juvie for assault before she came here, but the charges were dropped. Now that’s perplexing. My eyebrow hitched as I glanced at her school credentials: 1560 SAT score. Damn. Even though I hated her, that was a damn good score. She always was smart.

I flipped through a few more futile pages, and my hand stilled on the last page. It was a handwritten letter from someone named Ann.

Dear Headmaster Walton,

My name is Ann Scova, and I am Hayley Smith’s social worker. I am writing to you personally to ask if your board would reconsider opening up one more scholarship this year. Hayley is a bright child. The brightest I have ever worked with. Her life was ripped away from her at the age of twelve, and since then, her studies have never taken a hit. Personally, I feel that she excels so well in school because it is the only thing she can control.

Unfortunately, Hayley’s father, Jim Smith, was a very wealthy man up until the night he was murdered. He was murdered in the home that Hayley resided in, and from the bits and pieces I’ve gathered from Hayley’s past social workers, Hayley actually witnessed the murder with her own eyes, and she may have been the reason the murder took place after her call to the authorities. After Hayley’s father passed, revealing the serious and illegal crimes he was a part of, Hayley and her mother moved to a trailer park south of Pike Valley. After a short while, CPS got a call, and Hayley was taken into the state’s care immediately due to her unfortunate living conditions. But like I’ve said, although Hayley has been through troubling times and on her own in most senses, she’s never let go of her goal. She wants to graduate and go to an Ivy League college, with hopes of a scholarship. I don’t think she’ll get that going to a public school.

Please reconsider your scholarship program. Just this once. Hayley doesn’t have many people fighting for her, and I’d love if we could do that together.

Thank you,

Ann Scova

LSW

The paper crumpled in my hand as I read the letter. If it were anyone else, I’d maybe feel bad for them. It sounded like a fucked-up life. One parent dead, the other unable to care for you. I chuckled. Sounded a little like my life. And I had Hayley to thank for that

.

It all boiled down to one unanswered phone call. All she had to do was mutter one fucking word and things would have played out differently. She was the catalyst that caused everything in my life to change.

I carried around a hatred for her that was so heavy it felt like chains were tied to my ankles. And the hatred I carried for myself was almost just as heavy. It was what kept me from untying those chains in the first place. If I untied those chains, I’d be met with guilt, and I much preferred the former.

I shut Hayley’s folder and shoved it back onto Headmaster Walton’s desk as I heard his gruff voice outside the door. I made myself comfortable in the leather chair perched in front of his desk, ready to put on the charade to “punish” Eric and Jake on my own, considering I was the football captain. While I waited, I tried pushing away the swirling thoughts of Hayley.

Remember, Mom died because of the spiral you and Hayley created. Hayley may not have known it yet, but she wasn’t just responsible for her father's death, but my mother’s, too.

Chapter Six

Hayley

The next few days passed by, and to my surprise, everyone was quiet. Christian didn’t do anything out of the ordinary—so, nothing more than some glowering in my direction. Madeline turned her nose up at me and snickered at my too-big uniform after gym class, which ended with a rude remark, but so far, there had been no casualties.

Things were okay at English Prep, but Pete found me sneaking food into my room a couple of nights ago, so now I had a lovely lock on my door. This wasn’t the first time a foster parent had locked my door at night, and it was partly my fault. I should have known better. My number one rule in foster care was to never let your guard down, no matter how nice the family seemed. I learned that very quickly after Gabe.

“So, plans for tonight?” Piper slid in beside me at lunch, her tray a colorful assortment of fresh veggies and fruit with a nice, juicy hamburger. My mouth watered at the sight of it. Then, as if on cue, my stomach growled, too. I placed my hand on my front to drown out the sound, but Piper’s eyes lowered until she saw my hand.