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"Yes, Miss Brennan?" Headmaster Cromwell said, his upper lip curled in distaste. At least he hadn't used his godlike voice to cut
me down too. That was something. Unfortunately, I had no idea what I was going to say next. "This... this isn't fair," I stated, sounding
unresolved, even to myself. My querulous words were met with snickers around the room. I hadn't meant to whine, but whine I had. I
took a deep breath and tried again. "With all due respect, Headmaster Cromwell, you haven't given us a chance," I said, trying for a
more authoritative tone. I saw a few people sit forward in their seats, intrigued, including towheaded freshman Amberly Carmichael
and her friends, who had a vested interest in keeping Billings open. Noelle and I had, after all, promised that they would get in to the
house their junior year if they caused a diversion so we could sneak off campus the night before, and they had come through. From
what I'd heard, they had staged the most convincing and violent catfight in the history of Easton, drawing security personnel and
Headmaster Cromwell to their dorm, right when we needed them to.
"Haven't I?" Cromwell sniffed and looked down at his all-important papers. "I believe you and your housemates have had plenty of
chances." His dismissive attitude shot right under my skin, and I felt a surge of adrenaline take over. "No, sir, we have not," I replied
firmly, earning a few surprised murmurs from my peers. They couldn't believe I was standing up to Cromwell like this. Honestly, nei-
ther could I, but I kept going. "I'm the first to admit that things at Billings have been pretty terrible this year. But in case you've forgot-
ten, one of our best friends just died. And yeah, okay, maybe we're having a hard time dealing with that right now, but Billings has
been an asset to this school in the past and it will be again. You just have to give us a chance to prove it."
My friends in the front two rows all sat up a bit straighter, held their heads a bit higher. A flutter of pride tickled my chest. My
speech was working. On them, at least. "And how, exactly, are you going to do that?" Headmaster Cromwell asked, leaning his weight
on his forearms as he eyed me expectantly. Oh. Right. I should have had a "how" ready here. I turned to look at the Billings Girls,
widening my eyes in desperation and praying one of them had an answer. Noelle cleared her throat and brought her hand down to her
side where she surreptitiously rubbed her fingers together.
Money. Of course. Money talked around here. Louder than just about anything else. But how much money? I knew what a lot of
cash was to me--a scholarship student from a lower-middle-class family with one car and two mortgages--but how many zeros did I
need to add to impress people who paid for plastic surgery for their dogs and had personal chefs to toast their French bread? "We'll
hold a fund-raiser," I announced. "Billings will pledge to raise... one million dollars for Easton." Gasps and whispers filled the room.
"If we succeed, Billings stays as is," I continued, on firmer footing now. "If we fail, you can do what you want with us." Cromwell's
sharp blue eyes narrowed. He covered his microphone with one hand and turned to whisper to the gentleman next to him. Soon the
whole board was playing a game of telephone, each whispering to the next and on down the line. Finally, their comments made it back
to Cromwell and he cleared his throat. I held my breath. Everyone in the room held their breath.
Slowly, Cromwell leaned toward the microphone. It was impossible to read his expression. Possibly because he had only one--an-
noyed. Please. Please don't take this away from me. Not now. "Make it five million, Miss Brennan," he said with a small but devilish
