I take a breath and hear, “Mr. Roberts, a word please.” The hairs on my arms stand up because I know that the reason the principal is standing at the door wearing her stylish pantsuit is because of me.
“Of course.” He waddles toward her.
I look away, already feeling sorry for him—the guy is old. Swinging my backpack off my chair, I unzip it and grab my lip gloss and a couple of library books. My eyes sweep to the right and see Blake smirking at me. He licks his lips. Gross. I turn back and watch Mr. Roberts nod as he turns. I sigh. It was only a matter of time, and quite frankly I’m surprised I’ve been here as long as I have.
“Ava, dear, can you come with me, please?” I smile and nod, ignoring all the giggles from the crappy girls who think they’re better than me. I shrug my backpack on and pull my long ponytail out from under it as I make my way to Principal Keely. Placing one foot in front of the other, I ignore all the looks. None of them are my friends.
“Principal Keely?” I play dumb. It’s easier than explaining why I know she’s here.
Principal Keely smiles at me, it’s kind and almost sympathetic. Same pity look, different school. It’s pretty amazing. My mom is such a train wreck that she can make the most calm and stoic person frazzled.
“Come with me.”
Taking a breath, I turn to Mr. Roberts and give him a small smile. He pushes his glasses up, looking completely confused.
Principal Keely holds the door open and I walk out, my mind already focusing on what I need from my locker. Her heels clicking on the floor echo all the way down the long row of pristine lockers. As schools go, this one was nice. It even had a snack bar. I’ve been to the very best schools, along with some that were so bad I snuck pepper spray inside my sock.
“So.” She sighs as we both stop at my locker; she smiles but her eyes show concern. Principal Keely might be the most put-together woman I have ever seen. Everything about her screams classy. She must come from money. Her dark hair is cut into a bob and she always wears red lipstick, which always seems to go with her clothes.
“It’s okay, I get it. We’re moving, right?” I shift from one foot to the other and gaze down at my black flats, wondering if they’ll have the same dress code at whatever school I end up next. Probably not. If we’re leaving, that means my mom has been dumped and I’ll be needing the pepper spray, not starched, white-collared shirts. Yeah, if my mom is pulling me out, not even waiting for school to end—which is ridiculous because it’s sixth period—it means something bad has happened. My heart starts to race. If something really bad had happened, she would have said something by now, right?
“Yes. I’m sorry but your father called and canceled all paym—”
“He’s not my father.” I stop her. I despise Joe and there’s no way I allow anyone to call him my father. My mom has, without a doubt, the worst taste in men and Joe, her current boyfriend, is a prime example of what to avoid. Doesn’t matter that he’s rich—he’s a pig.
Hate him.
He’s married, thank God, because I don’t know what I would do having him as a stepdad. Creep. I know my mom was hoping he was going to dump his wife and marry her, but he’s like all the others.
“Yes, sorry. Your mother’s boyfriend has canceled your tuition.”
I nod, reaching to open my locker.
“Okay.” I swing open the door and bring out my Prada bag. Balancing my backpack on my knee, I unzip it and transfer whatever I need into my purse, putting all the textbooks back inside my locker. Won’t need those anymore.
“Ava?”
“Yes?”
“If you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to call me.” Principal Keely hands me a pink piece of paper.
“Those are my numbers. You’re such a smart girl. I tried to tell your mother that we have programs funded by our wealthy alumni. They sponsor children in need of some financial support.” That makes me freeze as I look up.
“You told my mom that?” Cringing, I can only imagine what my mom said to her. There’s nothing my mom hates more than pity or accepting help. Which is ironic because she has no problem letting any boyfriend pay for everything.
“I did. Caroline Saddington always gives money. I know she will easily pay your tuition if you want to stay.” My face stings with humiliation. I’d rather die than be beholden to anyone, especially the rich.
With a sigh, I zip up my backpack and swing my purse over my shoulder, trying not to burst into embarrassing tears.