That was an empty threat. I doubted the headmaster wanted to deal with the parents of all those girls—or to explain to those parents that the Hardwicke administration still hadn’t managed to track down the person who was texting around pictures of borderline unconscious teenage girls.
“Remind me again,” I said. “Is it performance art or organized protest that’s against the Hardwicke code of conduct?”
The headmaster’s eyes narrowed.
I took advantage of his stormy silence. “In the past decade, Hardwicke has had exactly one female student-body president. For a school that claims to value diversity, tolerance, and equality, that’s shockingly disproportioned, wouldn’t you say? And now our only female candidate has been strong-armed into dropping out of the race, despite the fact that she has broken no actual Hardwicke rules.”
On my phone, I pulled up the picture Vivvie had taken of me and then slid the phone across the table.
DOUBLE STANDARD.
Raleigh looked at the photo like it was a snake. “There is no double standard at play here,” he said tersely. “I assure you that had Ms. Rhodes been male, the outcome would have been the same.”
“You can tell the press that when they call for a quote,” I suggested in the most helpful of tones. “I wasn’t sure they’d be interested in our little protest, but given that one of the girls participating in this protest is the vice president’s daughter . . . it’s seeming like we might be able to find some takers.”
“Is that a threat?”
“That’s a statement of probability,” I told the headmaster.
The headmaster looked as if he might actually leap over the desk to throttle me. “I did not require Ms. Rhodes to step down. I suggested she might find it a wise course of action.”
“Strongly suggested,” I said.
“Fine,” he returned. “Strongly suggested.”
I reached into my bag and pulled out a stack of pictures. My final phone call had paid off.
“I’m going to strongly suggest,” I told the headmaster, “that you take a look at these, and then tell me again that there’s no double standard at Hardwicke.”
I slid the pictures across to him. Luckily for me, some of the freshman boys on the lacrosse team were still holding a grudge about the extreme hazing. And as it turned out, they’d taken some very interesting pictures of upperclassmen at a couple of team parties.
“I especially like the one of John Thomas Wilcox doing a keg stand,” I said, a sarcastic edge creeping into my tone. “It’s so much less incriminating than a picture of a girl leaning against a wall, with nary an ounce of alcohol in sight.”
The headmaster thumbed through the pictures. “Where did you get these?”
“Does it matter?” I asked.
“I suppose you want me to suggest to Mr. Wilcox that he step down from this race as well?”
“You could,” I said. “Of course, then you would probably have to open nominations back up so that Henry Marquette wasn’t running unopposed.” My lips curved up in a subtle smile. “I’m sure the student body wouldn’t have any trouble finding another female nominee.”
“Yes, yes,” the headmaster said, seeing a way out of this. “Of course.” Then he seemed to realize that I was still smiling.
“It’s the funniest thing,” I said. “People keep telling me that I should run.”
I could see Raleigh playing the scenario out before his eyes with no small amount of horror. The last thing he wanted was me in a position of power.
“Perhaps,” he allowed through gritted teeth, “I could have another discussion with Ms. Rhodes. Convince her that I might have been . . . hasty. That she should run.”
“If you think that’s best.”
“This little social experiment of yours comes down,” he said flatly.
“The pictures come down,” I agreed. I stood and turned toward the door. Halfway out of the office, I stopped. I could feel the headmaster seething behind me.
He wasn’t the only one who was angry. “My first week at this school,” I said without turning back to face him, “an upperclassman boy was showing off photos he’d taken of a freshman girl, sans clothing.”
I didn’t say who the girl was. I didn’t say who the boy was. That wasn’t my truth to tell him—and he didn’t need to know. He did need to know that Emilia’s situation hadn’t happened in a vacuum. He needed to know that the Hardwicke administration was culpable, that the way he’d mishandled Emilia’s situation mattered.
“I’m the only reason those photos weren’t distributed,” I continued, steel in my voice. “You might think I’m a troublemaker, Headmaster, but believe me when I say that I solve more problems for you than I cause.”
CHAPTER 19
When Bodie picked me up after school, there was a garment bag hanging in the backseat.
“Ivy making an appearance at some kind of event tonight?” I asked him.
“Nope.” Bodie took his time with elaborating as he pulled past the Hardwicke gate, nodding to the guard on duty. “You are.”
I eyed the garment bag with significantly more suspicion. “What kind of event?”