Tipping my head to the rusty clock above the archway, I said, “It’s almost 7:30, which is curfew on game nights. By the time you grab something from the dining hall, it’ll be time for you to go back to your rooms. I’ll go find her. We have tutoring soon.”
Sloane flicked an arched eyebrow up. “Right…tutoring.”
Mercedes’ voice was small when she spoke up beside Sloane. “But won’t you two get in trouble if you’re out past curfew, like the rest of us?”
“The SMC has allowed for Gemma and me to tutor after lacrosse in the evenings—after curfew.”
Sloane rolled her eyes. “Has Isaiah ever cared if he got in trouble, Mer?”
Cade spoke up as soon as I turned my back and began striding down the hall. “Want me to grab you girls something from the dining hall? He’s right. It’s almost curfew.”
Sloane didn’t miss a beat. “No one wants anything from you Cade. We all know how you don’t show up when needed anyway.”
I wanted to laugh at the insult because neither I nor the rest of the Rebels usually got turned down for anything. Cade being insulted by someone would have been fucking hilarious had there not been a reason why Sloane hated Cade so much. I knew, without even looking back, that Cade’s face was an ashen gray. He knew why Sloane hated him too, and it fucked with his head.
Rounding the corner of the long entryway, I found myself alone. Everyone would soon be tucked away in their rightful halls: boys on the left, girls on the right. I hadn’t heard from my father since Friday, but I yearned to hear from Jack. Just for confirmation that he was doing okay, more than anything.
I didn’t trust my father, and my mother was too far gone to take her word on much of anything these days.
Pulling my cell phone out of my pocket, I quickly typed a text to Jack and then slid my phone back into my jeans. My uncle’s office door was shut, so I leaned my head against the thick wood to have a listen.
A loud, stern voice played on the other side, the end of a sentence filling the office. “Were you studying? Or were you doing something you know I wouldn’t approve of?”
My brow furrowed as I tried to decipher the reasoning for that question. Then, my frown deepened when Gemma’s tender voice came next instead of my uncle’s. “Yes, sir. I was studying.”
The man’s voice, who I assumed to be Judge Stallard, didn’t let up. “Are you alone? Where is the headmaster?”
A pause on Gemma’s end. “He’s in here with me.”
“And how often do you go into his office alone, young lady?” There was an icy-cold bitterness to his tone that had my shoulders squaring and teeth clenching. It was obvious that Gemma was fearful of her uncle, no matter how many times she defied such a notion, and I could see why. He didn’t scare me, but I understood why he scared her, if his tone was anything to go by. My breath hitched with anger at the thought of someone scaring her, and I had a primal urge to barge into the office and rip the phone off my uncle’s desk.
Gemma didn’t hesitate when she answered her uncle. “Only to call you.”
“I don’t know if I believe you,” he sneered, and just as I was about to turn the knob to make it known that Gemma was not alone with the headmaster like her uncle was insinuating, the door flew open, and my uncle stepped out, red-faced and aggravated beyond belief.
He quickly shut the door, eyeing me briefly, as if he knew I had been standing there, and rested his ear against it just like I was. Well, shit, I now knew where I got it from.
My uncle rolled his eyes at me, loosening his tie from around his neck as we both listened to Gemma and her uncle, who was still on speakerphone.
“The headmaster just left the room. I’m alone now. There is nothing going on. I’m following the rules. I’m in my room by curfew each night, and I’m doing everything you’ve asked of me.”
Gemma said her uncle was strict, and she wasn’t lying. He sounded like a real son-of-a-bitch, to be honest. I didn’t like him.
“Good.” His voice was gruff, and there was a clunking on the end of the phone, like ice sliding against a glass cup—likely surrounded by amber liquid. I knew that sound by heart. “And your art? You’ve stopped sketching, yes? If I hear that you’ve been sketching up those—”
“I’m not. You asked me to stop, so I did.”
Something loud banged on his end of the phone, and my brow furrowed again, trying to piece together what was going on. “Did you just interrupt me?”
“I—I...” Gemma’s voice grew leery, and I found myself praying to God that she would dish out that same fiery spirit to him that she did to me. Who did he think he was, talking to her like that? I almost laughed at the thought. I knew men like him. I knew men like him so well it made me see red. He sounded just like my father—high on power and hungry for violence.
“I’m sorry,” she finally managed to say, and that notch in my chest seemed to hollow out.
“I’m sorry?” he asked. “I’m sorry…” The way the words floated out of the speaker made it seem like he was insinuating something only he and Gemma were aware of. I cleared my head, shaking it slightly against the wood, trying to get a better read on him, when Gemma’s fear-laced voice turned cold and empty.
“I’m sorry…Daddy.”
My eyes flung to my uncle’s, and I jerked back slightly. Did she just call him…Daddy?