Hey, Mister Marshall (St. Mary's Rebels 4)

A shiver rolls through my spine at his words from so long ago.

The rage I’d felt that night. The anger. The frustration.

The helplessness.

I’m on the verge of feeling all that now as well.

Plus there’s more at stake now than it ever was back then.

But somehow I still keep marching on. “Yes, I’m sure you do. And I’m sure you look at it every night and laugh evilly like the devil you are, but —”

“Not every night, no,” he interrupts. “I’d say every weekend or so.”

Ugh.

Can I please kill him?

“And you can have my Purple Durple if you like, but don’t you think that seeing as I’m also your ward, I deserve a little special treatment?”

“A little special treatment.”

“Yes. For example, how about we talk now rather than me having to make an appointment for later?”

He hums. “Intriguing concept.”

“It sure is.” Then, “Besides, look, everyone is watching. Everyone knows you’re the first principal in a long time to ever stop someone’s graduation. Not just one someone but three someones.”

He so is.

In all the history of St. Mary’s, there have only been a handful of cases when students have been held back like this. In fact, we don’t even talk about not graduating. We call it The Unspeakable because it’s awful enough to be going to a reform school that no one even wants to think or talk about not graduating on time.

Which means that he’s not exactly popular. Yes, girls watch him because he’s oh so handsome, but his interpersonal qualities leave a lot to be desired.

“I didn’t know that I was that infamous.”

“Well, you are,” I tell him. “So maybe now’s your chance to, I don’t know, redeem yourself a little. Don’t be such a hardass, okay? This is your school now, for however long you stay here. How about you play nice and talk to me and inspire some warm sentiments toward you?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I don’t think I’m interested in inspiring warm sentiments. I’m quite comfortable making students shiver and quake in their boots.”

“I can’t —”

“And I’m irredeemable.”

“You —”

“Have a good day.” Then, tipping his chin at my book, “If you’re attempting to read that, might I suggest having it right side up? Instead of upside down. Like you do right now.”

With that, he dismisses me and leaves. And I’m so shocked by the turn of events that I let him leave.

I even watch him leave.

I watch him climb the stairs with the same authority and purpose that he exudes every day. And when he reaches the landing and disappears through the doors of hell, I clench my fists around my book, finally coming out of my stupor.

Fucking asshole.

Fucking devil.

I could smack him right now. I could climb these stairs, go through the same door, run after him and slap his fucking face as soon as I catch up. And then I could scratch it too.

With my purple-painted nails.

You know, our old principal — Principal Carlisle — was no picnic in the park to deal with. I know; I’ve had to deal with her a lot over the years, being the troublemaker I am. But she wasn’t even remotely this crazy. There are a fuck-ton of rules in the St. Mary’s manual and while she enforced ninety percent of them with an iron fist no less, even she understood that some rules are just super fucking cruel.

Like taking a girl’s makeup away.

So everyone was allowed to use some. Definitely not heavy but something.

But not him.

Not the new fucking principal.

It’s okay though.

I already knew what a douchebag he is.

If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.

And if I want to get out, I need to play by his rules. So that’s what I’m going to do.

I’ll hand over my Purple Durple. I’ll make an appointment to talk to him.

And I’ll try to not kill him in the process.

Because I was right. Nothing has changed at all.

I’m going to kill him.

I am.

That’s the only way out of this hellhole.

Because the plan that I came up with, he isn’t ready to listen to.

It’s been two days since I intercepted him on the stairs and he dismissed me by saying that I needed an appointment to talk to him. Since then I have gone to his office five times — yes, five — to either make an appointment or to simply catch him if he’s there.

Twice, I was turned away by his assistant, Janet, with the excuse that he has no time to meet with students. Once, she did say that he had some time but when I got there, that time vanished because he had to run out for a meeting. And then, the other two times, I hung around the office during lunch and after school to see if I could run into him.

I didn’t.

Because somehow he was nowhere to be found.

He didn’t even take his usual route to the school building like he has in the past.