Page 57 of Outcast

The bell signifying the end of second break rang, and the boys filed out of my little prison without a backward glance. Mr. Carbuncle stepped into the doorway, keys in hand.

“Did you hear that?” I asked. “They arranged Henry’s kidnapping. I’m innocent.”

The huge man rolled his eyes and placed the key in the lock. “I don’t get paid to eavesdrop, girl.”

Chapter 20

I didn’t see the boys again after that initial visit, but for the next few days, I stared at the white walls, going over every interaction I’d had with the triumvirate. All that bullshit about wanting a relationship with me had had a sole purpose: to keep me quiet when I eventually discovered they had scammed Henry’s parents. They had even devised a contingency plan with the kidnappers in case I ever went to the police. For an extra share of the ransom, the kidnappers would say I had been working with them, keeping Henry and the rest of the triumvirate out of trouble.

I lay back on the cot, letting my arm trail off its edge to the floor. What an idiot I had been. What an arrogant fool. I had thought I was different. Special, somehow. That beneath their hatred and resentment for me was the suppressed desire for a relationship.

I snorted a bitter laugh. “Yeah, right.”

Maybe Rita’s strategy to keep to the shadows was the only way to survive Mercia Academy. She was the best of us all. Always cautious, always vigilant, always fearful of the wickedness that hid behind the triumvirate’s handsome facades.

Each day blurred into the other with only the briefest interaction with the matron, who delivered plastic bottles of Evian and cheese sandwiches wrapped in paper, the upper-crust equivalent of bread and water rations, I supposed. After five days of captivity, I stopped counting and gave into despair.

Noelle and I had lost contact, but she was in no position to help. Mom had probably found a way to disassociate herself from me, Rudolph Trommel didn’t care, and Dad was probably scrounging together the money for a plane ticket to England… if he hadn’t already relapsed with the shock of discovering his daughter was a kidnapper.

I pushed the morbid image out of my head and fumbled under the bed for my water bottle. What were the triumvirate doing? Toasting themselves at their triumph over the trollop?

Of all the stunts they had pulled, this one had to be the cruelest because they had made me ache for them. The worst bit about it was that a part of me still did.

“Fool.” I pushed myself up onto the bed, bent my knees to my chest and hugged my shins. “Fool.” My rocking back and forth made the bedsprings creak. “I’m the biggest, fucking fool.”

The key turned in the lock, and I sprang to my feet. Mrs. Jenkins usually knocked before entering. This had to be someone else.

Mr. Carbuncle filled the doorway, his lips twisted into a smirk. “Climbing the walls, then?”

“That’s Spiderman.”

He wrinkled his nose, spreading the bristles of his broom handle mustache. “Headmaster wants to see you.”

“Right.” I smoothed down my shirt. It was rumpled from near-constant wear.

“Now, unless you want to stay in there for another seven days.”

“Seven—“ I stopped myself from giving him a reaction. Mr. Carbuncle was the symbol of my oppression. He’d worked behind the scenes on at least three of the so-called pranks. The man was probably observing me so he could describe my every weakness to the triumvirate.

I kept my head up as I walked through the humid, basement hallway, past the cleaning and kitchen staff too busy with their duties to cast me a glance. Behind me, Mr. Carbuncle’s keys jangled with every step. It was like the ringing of the bell to my walk of shame.

He ushered me up the stairs, and when I reached the ground floor, my heart stopped. Students stood in rows on both sides of the hallway, forming an obscene gauntlet of burgundy blazers.

“They all left the dining room to see you off,” murmured Mr. Carbuncle into my ear. “Isn’t that nice?”

I would have asked him why he was being such a sadistic dick, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing his actions had gotten to me. At the end of the hallway, the double doors stood open, revealing a bright December morning. Cameraphones pinged into action, and a third of the goons turned their raised screens in my direction. I’d bet Rudolph’s fortune that the videos of my leaving would grace the Mercia-Net before the hour was out.

I squared my shoulders. Whatever they said or did, I would not react. I’d die before I give them the satisfaction of a scene.

“Go on, then.” Mr. Carbuncle prodded the small of my back with his this finger.

Disgust rippled through my spine, but I suppressed the reaction. The first step toward the gauntlet was agony. The second was excruciating. As I neared them, the students stepped away from the walls, narrowing my path.

“Trollop,” hissed a voice.

“Whore,” whispered another.

The chant spread, a cacophony of filthy slurs, all undeserved. A well of despair emptied into my gut, filling my innards with its foul contents. If I hadn’t cared for Henry and tried to protect him, none of this would have happened. If I hadn’t accepted Edward’s invitation to sit at the head table, none of this would have happened. If I hadn’t succumbed to Blake’s seductive ways and let him demonstrate how good it could be with more than one boy, none of this would have happened.