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“No need to push,” he said. His name tag was pinned to the breast of his coat. Vice Principal Mr. McCoy.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. I swept my eyes down. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just crowded in here.”
He grumbled. “Kids in a hurry to get into school and the moment you’re in, you’re doing anything to get out again.” He backed himself off and then looked me over. His eyes hovered over the blouse I was wearing and then smoothed down over my waist and to my legs. “You also wear skirts that are too short,” he said. “What’s your name?”
My eyes widened. I wanted to glance around for Silas but Mr. McCoy stood right in front of me, his arms crossing. He wasn’t about to let me escape. “I’m Sang.”
“Last name?”
“Sorenson.”
“Hm,” he said. “Hippies with their names. What kind of mother names her kid Song?”
I bit my lip, too afraid to correct him. My heart thundered. School hadn’t started yet and I was already in trouble!
“Your skirt is too short. You’re going to have to go home and change. We can’t allow students to walk around like this.”
My mouth fell open. “I’m almost done,” I suggested. “I’ll just turn this in and I can...”
“I don’t think so.” He reached for the sheet of paper in my hands, ripping it from me. He looked at my list of classes. “Choir and typing. How typical.”
I bowed my head again, my eyes glassing over with tears. Why was he doing this to me?
“I’ll keep this. You tell your parents your clothes aren’t appropriate. Go home and change and then come back.”
“Mr. McCoy,” called a voice. We both turned to where the speaker had called from.
A man approached with sandy blond hair, the gentle curls cut to the middle of his ears. His eyes were a dazzling green and his face was just as kind as his voice. He was a head taller than me with tapered shoulders and a trim body. He had a heart shaped face and appeared young. Maybe 19? It surprised me. I wondered if he was a senior or a recent graduate who stopped by to help with registration day. His wore khaki pants, a white shirt and a green tie, Gucci loafers.
“I was just looking for you, Mr. McCoy.” He turned to me, looking down at my face. He used his forefinger to push away a lock of hair that fell in his eyes. “I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Mr. McCoy said. “She’s going home to change before she’s allowed to register.”
I felt my lip trembling. How humiliating.
The man raised an eyebrow at me, looking me over. “And what appears to be the problem?”
“Her skirt is too short.”
His lips pursed. “I believe the rule book states that a skirt must be as long as a lady’s fingertips when she has her hands pressed to her sides.” He motioned to me with a finger. “Miss, would you put your hands to your sides, please?” His tone was so gentle. I wanted to do anything he suggested.
I snapped straight as a rod. My hands pressed neatly to my thighs. I might have scrunched my elbows a little, but even so, my skirt was at least an inch and a half longer than my longest finger.
“It appears she’s within regulation,” he said.
“I don’t think it is appropriate for her to wear it,” Mr. McCoy said. His teeth were clenched together.
“Maybe not, but that’s not our judgment to make,” the man said. He turned to Mr. McCoy. “Is that her registration?”
“Yes, but...”
“I don’t see why we have to put the counselors through twice the work. They have enough to do today.”
“You know you can’t just walk in and take over how I handle these students, Dr. Green. She’s not one of your boys.” Mr. McCoy barked at him, his fists clenched to his sides.
A doctor? I blinked, disbelieving someone so young had a doctorate.
“I believe we were brought in to assist in any way we can. I think we have enough to worry about kids who have actually broken the rules than worry about one girl who hasn’t.” He reached for the paper Mr. McCoy was crumpling in his hands. He took it from him and handed it to me. His green eyes washed over my face, soothing and cheerful. He put a gentle hand on my arm. “I’ll show you where to turn that in. You were just heading that way, weren’t you?”
I nodded, trying not to look at Mr. McCoy. My heart thundered in my chest both from being so scared and from Dr. Green’s hand on me. I wondered for a quick moment if the situation could get any worse. Mr. McCoy would probably remember this.
Dr. Green guided me down the hallway. I was worried the boys would wonder where I had gone or if they thought I ditched them. I couldn’t simply walk away and look for them.
“I should apologize for Mr. McCoy’s behavior,” Dr. Green said, his hand still gently on the back of my arm. “I think he means well.”
“He’s pretty intimidating,” I said.
He laughed, his voice smooth and light. “I think that, too. But usually intimidating people feel the same way about us. I think a psychologist would say... well, something boring to young students, I’m sure.”
“Something about the worst we see in others is what we actually see in ourselves?”
He smiled, his eyes lighting up. “Well said.”
“I hope it doesn’t mean Mr. McCoy doesn’t like that I wear a skirt because he doesn’t look good in a skirt.”
Dr. Green’s head rocked back, his hand going to his forehead and he laughed loud enough to attract attention from other students. “Now every time I see him, I’ll be thinking of him in a skirt.”
I smiled. I would, too.
We stopped outside of room 103. The students had thinned out around us. Dr. Green turned to me at the door. He reached out, surprising me and touched the collar of my shirt. He buttoned it up to the top and then smoothed down the fabric of the collar. “And so you know,” he said. “If you wear a short skirt, you should keep your top modest. As a lady, it will make you look more elegant.”
His eyes were gentle and he looked up. I knew I was blushing. His smile was so casual and confident. I felt like an idiot near him.
“Shall we go in?” he asked. He held open the door for me.
“Thank you,” I said. “I don’t mean to keep you.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I was headed in this direction anyway.
The room was an inner office. There were orange cloth covered chairs, all occupied, and a long orange counter at the far side of the room. There were two secretaries on the other side of the counter. They were busy taking papers from students and talking to them.
“Why don’t you come with me?” Dr. Green said. “I’ll let you cut through this line.”
I swallowed, swinging my eyes around, hoping the other students in the room didn’t hear. It felt wrong to bypass. Dr. Green went to a door on the other side of the room and he turned and waited for me. I didn’t have much choice I guess. He was so nice to me. There was no reason for me to turn down his offer.
Silas and Victor must be mad, I thought. There was no way they could follow me now.
Mr. Blackbourne
I followed Dr. Green through a series of small hallways with a shaggy orange carpet and painted white bricks. The hallway was dim as there weren’t any windows and only half of the overhead fluorescent lights were turned on. Most of the doors we passed were closed, looking eerily untouched. He stopped at an unmarked door and gave it a gentle knock before opening.
Inside was an inner office with a double set of brown, faux-wood office desks facing each other. Each had a computer and several stacks of papers piled neatly in brown plastic bins. There were a couple of file cabinets in the corners and a cork board nailed to the far wall, with a calendar and some other notes tacked to it. There was a small radio sitting on top of one of the file cabinets. A violin concerto was playing on a low volume.
At the desk against the far wall sat a man who looked similar in age as Dr. Green. His eyes were a steel gray, his skin pale like mine. His hair was a soft
brown, cut short and brushed back away from his face. He wore black rimmed glasses that were similar in style to Kota’s. His face was angled in a way that he could have been a model. His hands were smooth, perfect. His lips were pursed as he looked up. He scowled at us. This was not the type of person I ever wanted to disappoint. His eyes alone bore into me in a way that made me shiver through my core. He was as perfect and as cold as a polished diamond.
“Dr. Green,” he said sharply. “You don’t have to knock. This is your office, too, now.”
“Sorry,” Dr. Green said, smiling at him and taking a seat at the second desk. The office chair creaked, biting my ears. “Old habit when I see a shut door. Never want to surprise anyone. Besides, the offices here are so small. If anyone were standing behind the door, I’d hit them.”
The man across the desk frowned and focused on me. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, this is Miss Sang Sorenson,” Dr. Green raised a hand toward me and then gestured toward the man at the desk. “Miss Sang, this is Mr. Blackbourne.”
The name caught in my mind. Could it be the same one Victor had deleted from my phone? “Hello,” I said softly, dipping my head in a polite nod.
Mr. Blackbourne’s sharp eyes settled over my outfit and then at my face. “That’s wonderful. Now why are you here?”
“I am assisting her with getting registered,” Dr. Green said. He reached for the paper in my hands. “Shall I help you?”
“She should be outside with the other students,” warned Mr. Blackbourne. He swung his eyes at me. “Couldn’t you wait in line?”
“She’s perfectly capable of doing so,” Dr. Green said, shaking his computer mouse to warm up the sleeping monitor. “But she had a run in with Mr. McCoy. I didn’t want a good student to be scared away because of him.”
“Hm,” Mr. Blackbourne chuffed.
