The classroom phone rang during Shakespeare.
That in itself was not a rare occurrence.
Nor was the fact that Mrs. Hamilton looked at me and said, “Miss Stone, would you mind stopping by the counselor’s office?”
Everyone knows that when I’m summoned to the counselor’s office, it’s because I’ve just won another ridiculous scholarship or maybe some representative from some college wants to speak to me, or it’s just some generally positive thing. So I leave everything on my desk (how long does it take to say, “Thank you!” and pose for a photo?) and skip down to Ms. Felcher’s office to see how I can be of service.
But what I did not expect to see is what I am looking at exactly now, with a very frozen smile on my face.
Because my parents are on one side of the desk, with very stock-photography concerned parents looks carefully aligned on their deliberately parental faces. How pleasant of them.
More concerning is that on the other side of the desk is Ms. Felcher, looking a bit surprised (although perhaps she got just a tad too much Restylane at her last appointment) alongside none other than Alex Belrose.
And judging by the rosiness along the tops of his ears and the perfectly even set of his lips, he is angry.
No one could know anything, could they? Wouldn’t the principal be here? Wouldn’t it all be a bigger deal than just this?
“Hello, Riley,” he says, his tone perfectly normal . . . for a teacher.
“Hello, Mr. Belrose. Mom. Dad. Ms. Felcher. To what do I owe the pleasure?” My tone is perfectly normal . . . for a student who has just been surprise-attacked by a meeting with her parents, a teacher (with whom she has zero romantic connection), and the school guidance counselor.
“Well,” Miss Felcher says, “please have a seat, Miss Stone.”
She has never called me Miss Stone before. Ever.
This is serious.
“There are no extra chairs,” I point out.
“Oh!” she says, and runs out into the general office for one of the lumpy green waiting-room chairs, which she drags in slowly, bumping it against either side of her door frame.
Alex doesn’t even offer to help her.
She leaves the seat sort of between my parents, but a bit behind, so that I when I sit down, crossing my legs, I don’t exactly feel like I’m part of the whole conversation. I spread out the skirt of my little blue dress neatly around my legs just like nothing is wrong. Nothing at all.
Then I swallow my feelings down in one great lump and try not to throw them up all over my parents.
Ms. Felcher continues, adjusting her cat-eye glasses just a bit. “First of all, we’d like to share that nothing about this meeting will be documented at this point.”
Something in my chest loosens, just a bit.
“However.”
It tightens again.
“Mr. Belrose has called your mother and father in for a rather unprecedented conference. It seems he is very confused and a bit concerned about your recent academic performance in his class, so he set up this unannounced meeting with your parents. Without informing me.” She shoots him a look, which he ignores. Instead, he steeples his fingers and looks at my father, then my mother, and finally, me.
“As you know, Riley is a smart girl. The most intelligent, I believe, in the school. Maybe the most intelligent and promising pupil I’ve ever had.”
My father puffs up, like he’s never heard this feedback before. “We’re very proud of her,” he says, and suddenly I’m actually a little embarrassed. Where has he been? Where have either of them been? He glances back at me and pats me awkwardly on the knee, his hand stiff and open.
What is the point of my entire existence?
“That’s why I’m so alarmed right now.”
My mother leans forward, both hands clutching her brown Coach handbag. “Excuse me? Concerned? About our Riley?” She shakes her head, like she must be hearing wrong.
“Yes, Mrs. Stone. Very concerned.” He produces copies of my recent homework. Homework I know for an absolute fact I aced. Homework that was perfect and flawless and double-checked before I turned it in. He presents it to my parents.
C. D. F. D. F. C minus. D plus.
And of course, neither of my parents nor Ms. Felcher speak French, so there’s no use telling them my French teacher is attempting to get back at me for trying to get him to leave his wife. There’s no use asking them to check my French.
I am at his mercy.
I glare at Alex across the table and let my parents gasp at the false red marks and clutch at their hearts.
“Riley,” my mother says. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
I scoot to the very edge of my seat and look over at the homework, and flick my eyes up to Alex’s face. I hope he’s enjoying his little show. He knows he has me trapped. He knows every student likes him. He knows he’s won Most Favored Teacher every second since he’s been here, and does loads of community service, and is generally held in high regard ever since the Hartsville News did a piece on him last year.
And what am I going to say, really?
I look back down at the work. “Funny,” I say lightly. “I thought I did a rather good job on these.”
Alex peers at me from behind his steepled fingers, unshakable. “It appears you need to take another look then, Riley. I think that might be your problem; perhaps you aren’t spending enough time on your homework.”
“What do you recommend, Mr. Belrose?” Mom asks, using her Voice of Motherly Concern, the one she hasn’t had to get out and dust off since the Ethan days, when parent-teacher-counselor conferences were a lot more frequent (and merited).
Belrose drops his fingers to my papers and moves forward conspiratorially. “Now, I wouldn’t normally do this, but as a bad grade for the semester would move Riley out of her valedictorian standing, I’d like to see her just a little more often. Perhaps she should spend some time with me after school, when she doesn’t have cheerleading practice. It will, I’m afraid, take a very serious time investment.”
“Is cheerleading getting in the way of her studies?” Dad asks.
“I wouldn’t pull her out of cheerleading . . . yet.” Alex studies me like I’m not even listening, like I’m something in a zoo behind glass instead of a real girl. “But she should be very, very careful.”
He’s threatening me.
He doesn’t want me to stop spending time with him. And he’s willing to drag my parents into this mess in order to prove it.
He’s willing to ruin my entire future just to keep me.
I feel my pulse quicken, but I don’t move.
“Does that sound okay, Miss Stone?” Miss Felcher prods.
I let a smile spread across my face. “Absolutely, Ms. Felcher.”
“Then I think we’re done here.” Mr. Belrose gathers my papers into a neat stack. “Unless there are any questions.” He stands and tucks the papers under his arm.
My dad stands and takes his hand. “Thanks for caring about our daughter this much, Mr. Belrose. You’re a good man.”
Alex looks at me. “I’m just trying to do the right thing, Mr. Stone.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Belrose,” I say. I stand, straightening my dress.
It’s only then that Mr. Belrose allows a flash of an emotion I can’t quite identify cross his face, and I let myself smile. If he’s going to play dirty, I’ll play dirtier.
And that means I’ll have to be more perfect than ever.