Defy (Sinners of Saint 0.5)

What made my decision even easier was bumping into his mother on my way out.

I was headed to the parking lot when I spotted Principal Followhill watching me through her office window. I stabbed the entry remote, hysteria controlling my movements as I considered making a dash for my car when her icy voice seeped from the open window.

“Ms. Greene. A word?”

There was a soundless moment when I saw my life flash in front of me, and sadly, it was a short, shitty movie consisting of me sprawled out on my old couch watching American Ninja Warrior, showing up to family events dateless, and attending a weekly support group for former athletes (most of us were in various stages of drunkenness).

Ya know, fun times.

If Principal Followhill knew what had happened in detention, she was going to remove every internal organ in my body, restuff it with dynamite, and blow up the whole school. That’s how much she hated me.

“Sure.” I smiled big, throwing my arms in a why-not gesture and walking back toward All Saints.

Why not? Because she wants to kill you and because you just made out with her teenage son.

The minute I entered her office, I knew she was onto something. Her usually smooth Botoxed forehead looked like it had collapsed into a heap of extra skin.

“Sit.”

I did.

“Ms. Greene, do you know why you’re here?”

I was so nervous I couldn’t breathe but somehow managed to shake my head no. Her office alone scared the shit out of me. It was so big, yet suffocating, with its heavy furniture of cherry-stained wood and burgundy leather and its ox-blood walls, everything a deep red, like Carrie had paid a visit there on prom night and lost.

Principal Followhill stood near a painting that probably cost more than my rent, her arms behind her back, and closed her eyes, exhaling. “The incident with my son, James.”

Oh no. Please, no. I wasn’t ready to die. I had so many things to see and experience. Most of them between the sheets with her barely-legal son, but still.

Jokes aside—I was pretty sure I peed myself a little. I was terrified. Not of getting fired, but of the consequences of pissing off someone with Principal Followhill’s clout. My parents taught in the school district adjacent to Todos Santos. This was their home, and they were a vital part of this small, judgmental community.

I was about to screw my family because of a brief kiss.

“Principal Followhill, I can explain,” I rushed to say, jumping up from my seat.

She launched in my direction and shoved me back into the chair. If I wasn’t so consumed with guilt, I would’ve been floored that she touched me.

She held up her hand, her face pale. “No, you listen to me. James is a brat. Don’t you think I know that? What he did to your car… he should have left a note after he hit you, not driven away. It looks bad, but he simply panicked. He explained it all to me. No need to file a police report. I assure you he’s very, very sorry, and he’s going back to the student-parking lot from now on. I’ll write you a check for your repairs, and I’ll, of course, compensate you for the inconvenience as well. I’ll be damned if I’ll allow one reckless decision to tarnish my son’s reputation.” She reached for her Hermès bag and plucked out a checkbook.

My eyes followed her movements like she was performing some trick of dark magic. Of course, I was a problem. She wanted it fixed, so she threw money at it. At me.

She didn’t know about the kiss. All she knew was that Jaime came back home yesterday with a banged-up Range Rover and his own version of what happened in the parking lot. He’d kept his side of our deal.

“This little car mishap is not to leave these walls. Do you understand, Ms. Greene?” Principal Followhill bent down and scribbled on the check, her mouth twitching in annoyance. “You have a mouth, in case you didn’t notice. You could use it and say something.”

Why do you hate me? I wanted to scream. What have I done to you? Though I already knew the answer. She hated me because I wasn’t royalty. I wasn’t someone who was born and bred in Todos Santos. I was an outsider, contaminated and mortal, with middle-class parents. On top of that, I was a weak link who—because of my above-mentioned disadvantages—couldn’t control my classes.

“Understood,” I sniffed.

She fingered the check she’d written for me. Despite my best intentions, I plucked it from between her French-manicured nails and peeked. Ten K. Way, way more than necessary. Bribe.

We were all corrupted now. It made me a little less remorseful about making out with her son.

Jaime was blackmailing me.

And I was blackmailing his mother.