Half the student body looks at me with shock. Others seem hopeful. I take that as a super-good sign because, honestly? I was worrying that they were all under some sort of spell.
Prescott’s voice lowers. “You’re new to this school, so I’ll only say this one more time. Students speak when spoken to, and they follow the rules.”
I fake a cough, but it sounds a lot like kiss my ass.
Prescott’s takes a half step backward. The entire room gasps and falls silent. “What did you just say?”
“I’m sorry.” I twiddle my fingers across my neck. “One second. I think I ate a bug or something. Let me try that again. I said…” I clear my throat. “Kiss. My. Ass.”
If Prescott were a cartoon, he’d have steam coming out of his ears. “Miss Cross! Into my office. Now!”
Mission accomplished.
I point in a few different directions. “Which way is your office, exactly?”
Prescott grits his teeth and makes a growly sound. For such a put-together-looking dude, when he falls apart, it’s really spectacular. “Miss Cross!”
I step toward the door. “You know what? I’ll find it.”
“I have to finish my faculty briefing, but rest assured, we will have words.”
“Got it.”
The room breaks out into animated chatter. About five teachers surround Prescott. They all wave their arms around and glare in my direction, evidently discussing how much I suck. As I head to the exit, a student pulls on my sleeve. I pause. “What’s up?”
“Prescott’s office is the cabin to the right of Jamboree Hall.” She’s got big eyes, red hair, and some attitude. Leave it to a ginger to break ranks and talk to me. I remember her from yesterday. She was the only girl in Prescott’s class who seemed to have any life in her.
“You’re Harper,” I say.
“And you’re Mysteria.”
Not Missy. “Damn right.”
Harper lowers her voice. “Thanks for standing up to him. I get that this is supposed to be an old fashioned and immersive learning experience.” She makes finger quotes when she says that last part. “But he takes it too far.”
I eye the door. “Let’s talk about it later, okay? I don’t want to…” I stop myself before saying “waste this opportunity to peep around his office.” Instead, I put on my best guilty face. It might look a little like I’m constipated, but I’m not a really expert in feeling guilt, let alone showing it. “I don’t want to anger the headmaster any more than I already have. I’m totally new and all.”
“Sure. I understand.” She raises her hand. “Don’t rush. His faculty briefings take forever, even if he is angry about someone.”
“Good to know.” Great, actually.
I saunter out the front door. This is going to be fun. If the headmaster’s angry now, wait until I get done with his office.
Chapter Eighteen
Once I leave Jamboree Hall, it isn’t hard to find Prescott’s HQ. It’s a traditional-looking log cabin, only on a huge scale. Two human guards stand at the front door, both of them men. What a sausage party. That can work to my advantage, though. I do my best to seem super-mopey as I slog my way closer. I pause before the guards. “I’ve been sent” —sniffle, sniffle— “to the headmaster’s office.”
One of the guards pushes the door open. “You should watch your mouth, girly. Headmaster doesn’t like it when the students sass off.”
I purse my lips. I have to admit, hearing about my little incident already? That’s impressive.
“You know what just happened in Jamboree Hall?” I ask.
The guard’s eyes narrow. “It’s a small island. We know about everything that happens on our side of it.”
Our side. Interesting. Guess the humans really do stay away from the north side and the Acca patrol.
I speed into the log cabin; the guard slams the door behind me. Inside, the place is basically one large room whose walls are lined with books. A large brushed-steel desk sits on the center of the floor. There’s no kitchen, reading area, or bedroom like with my place. The only windows are located on either side of the front door. Unfortunately, the blinds on both of them are open.
For what I plan to do, those windows need to get covered.
Tiptoeing forward, I carefully pull the blinds down, making sure that I whimper loudly as I do it. Hopefully I won’t have to keep playing the “I’m a girl and I’m crying” card as the excuse for what I’m up to.
A guard pounds on the door. “What’s going on in there?”
Then again, I might have to play it up even harder.
“I don’t want you to see me cry.”
“Pull up the damned blinds, girly.”
Huh. My initial plan isn’t working. Now I’ll have to call out my super-secret weapon. “Whatever you say. I’ll just…Oh, no!” I whip open the front door and pop my head out. “Hey, do either of you guys have a tampon?”
They stare at me, their mouths falling open. “Uh…”
“Because I like, really, really, really need one.” I glance over my shoulder and shudder. “I’ve got a gusher going on in here.” I’ve found that for this tactic to work, it’s absolutely critical to look sincere when saying the word gusher.
Am I evil to do this? Why yes, yes I am.
Does it work every time? Why yes, yes it does.