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Welcome to Riverview
Henry
I folded my arms across the “B” embroidered on my sweatshirt and glared at my new headmaster, a puffy, pink-faced man whose swollen stomach was stressing out every button on his wrinkled dress shirt.
He pulled his glasses down to the end of his nose and cocked one eyebrow at me. “Welcome to Riverview Academy, Mister Walton. I’m Headmaster Waltz. I hope your transfer from Brixton is a positive one for you and for our esteemed institution. I think you’ll soon discover we offer a most excellent education.”
As if.
I glared at him, thinking about all the kiss-ass headmasters I’ve had to play nice to over the years, knowing their fake compliments and concern were paid for by my parents’ excessive donations.
He cleared his throat, choking on his next lie, while I thought about all the ways I was going to get myself back to Brixton and back to my friends. The old headmaster sighed, and I flinched, dodging the middle button I was sure was about to pop off and shoot straight at me. Flipping through a stack of papers that undoubtedly documented all the reasons I was standing in front of him, he looked at me over his glasses. “Your previous boarding school—um Brixton, is it? They sent over your transcripts.”
I laughed, “You like what you see?”
“Well, your grade nine and ten grades show room for improvement.” He nodded and kept scanning the paper in his hand. “I am encouraged that you transferred in October because we have time to clean up this semester’s grades before they end up on your transcript.” The headmaster took off his glasses and shook his head. “Your GPA is lower than what Riverview expects of our students—”
“You know what Waltzy, don’t even sweat it.” I stood up. “Call for my driver and tell my parents I’m on the way. We both know I’m not a good fit for River—”
“Oh, no. No. I hope I didn’t give you that impression, Mister Walton. I just meant we are making a slight exception.” Clearly annoyed I didn’t call him by his formal title, he turned the metal nameplate on his desk to face me, making sure I saw it read Headmaster Waltz and motioned for me to sit back down.
I threw my head back and laughed, letting him know these extra minutes were gonna cost him. After all, my parents wrote them the big checks. Waltzy and I both knew he was deciding with every word how fat their next check would be.
“There’s no need to alarm your parents.” He took a drink of coffee I figured was cold by now, obviously considering what to say next so as not to insult the Walton legacy.
“Since we are in the middle of the school year, I’m going to assign you to a tutor to help you catch up with the curriculum. One of Riverview’s brightest.”
“A tutor?” I winced, annoyed at the idea of spending my free time with some nerd who was probably at Riverview on scholarship. Waltzy smirked, clearly satisfied he’d pissed me off and probably thinking of other ways to get under my skin for the sake of my excellent education. What a bunch of crap. “What if I don’t want a tutor?” I leaned back and rested my loafers up on the edge of his obviously antique wooden desk.
He shook his head but knew better than to do anything else. “It is not for you to decide. You need to show your parents you can have a fresh start here.”
“I don't have to do crap for my parents. You want to make sure they don’t regret their decision and withdraw me and their money from your “esteemed institution.” I snapped back, with exaggerated air quotes. I had to admit, I kind of liked seeing the fear in his bugged-out eyes that were magnified behind his thick lenses. He’s gotta be tired of me, I thought, but little did Waltzy-Poo know this was just the tip of the iceberg. I’ve been handling headmasters since the first day of grade five.
He scribbled something on a slip of paper and handed it to me. “Mister Walton, give this to your homeroom teacher,” he said in a tone that let me know the conversation was over.
I snatched the note from his sausage fingers and gave him a mocking bow before leaving his office, without shutting the door behind me. In the hallway, I opened the note, squinting to decipher his old-school cursive.
Assign Mister Walton to scholarship student, Grace O'Connell.
She will be his tutor for the rest of the semester.
~Headmaster Waltz~
I rolled my eyes and stuffed the note into my shirt pocket.
My homeroom teacher, a petite woman with a tight bun and square bangs, stood on a slightly elevated stage in the front of the class that made her appear taller than she was. As I stepped toward her, I felt the heat of the students’ stares on my back, but I didn’t care because I wouldn’t be at this school long. “Here,” I said, tossing the note at her.
It landed on the floor in front of her perfectly shined, black heels. I snickered. “It’s from your boss. You might want to pick it up.”
She sighed and shook her head as she bent down, rolling her eyes as she seemed to realize she’d gotten stuck with me—the boarding school brat nobody wants to teach.
It’s your lucky day. I snickered under my breath.
She glared at me while unfolding the paper, like she suspected I’d hidden something in it that was going to leap out at her. As she read, her eyes moved from me toward the direction of a dark-haired girl sitting in the front row.
So, you’re Tutor Girl? I wondered, feeling a bit surprised by my own reaction, which was more interested in why she was actually reading the thick textbook on her desk—something I’d never done—than paying attention to my very obvious entrance into the classroom. She was different from the others, and I felt it right away.
