Page 15 of Payback

“Miss Hobson.” Mr. Jenkins hovered by my table. “There’s a pressing matter I wish to discuss with you.”

Dread lined my belly with a layer of cold lead. Charlotte might have convinced him that I had been the one who had set up those cameras. I glanced at Edward in a silent request to accompany me to the housemaster’s office. My few interactions with Mr. Jenkins revealed him to be the kind of man who sided with bullies simply to get an easier life.

Edward and I stood, and the three of us walked out of the dining room to Mr. Jenkins’ room. The musty scent of old paper filled my nostrils and made me cough. Even more documents than before piled his desk, and I wondered how he got any work done. He sat at desk chair and groaned.

“Sir?” I said.

“The school received a letter from Rudolph Trommel’s office, explaining that this would be your last term here at Mercia Academy. Will you return to Park Preparatory? We need somewhere to send your records.”

A jolt of panic shot through my heart. What the fuck was the old bastard planning this time? I exchanged a confused look with Edward and turned back to Mr. Jenkins. “I’m returning here next year.”

Our housemaster leaned back in his creaky desk chair. “That’s not what the letter says.”

“Was it written by my mom?”

He rubbed the back of his silver hair. “No, but—”

“Rudolph didn’t adopt me. He has no say in where I study.” Now that Mom knew about his behind-the-scenes machinations, and I had her number, there was no way I would get nervous over this matter.

His cheeks pinked. “I do beg your pardon, but if you wish to maintain your place at Mercia Academy, your parents or guardian must inform us in writing no later than two weeks after the end of term.”

“Thank you for the information,” said Edward in his most cordial tone.

We both stood and marched out of the room.

“Is this a preemptive strike?” Edward asked.

“I think so.”

Edward shook his head. “Let’s discuss this tonight, outside the academy.”

My hands balled into fists. If we didn’t come up with a way to stop Rudolph soon, I was screwed.

Chapter 5

Rudolph’s latest stunt soured my mood for the rest of the day. I couldn’t even focus in class, earning me two demerits from Mr. Weatherford in Creative Writing for daydreaming. I couldn’t tell whether Rudolph’s attempt to withdraw me from Mercia Academy was revenge for refusing to supply him with new stories or a warning. Maybe he knew I was plotting against him with the triumvirate.

By the last lesson, Spanish class, my thoughts had become so paranoid, I pictured Rudolph and Philippe holding Mom at gunpoint for some imagined slight.

Henry and I sat in the back of the classroom, translating a passage of El Buscón by Francisco de Quevedo. I pulled out my phone and sent Mom a text to ask how she was doing, hoping to get a response in a few hours.

Just as I slipped the phone in the pocket of my blazer, it buzzed with her reply. She was shopping in Paris and would soon leave for Casablanca to stay with friends. My shoulders sagged with relief, and I focused on our translation.

As soon as the bell sounded, indicating the end of the school day, I stuffed my books in my bag and shot out of my seat.

Henry grabbed my wrist. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“I can’t stop thinking about that letter he sent the school. What if there’s a deeper meaning?”

With a sigh, he placed his books in his satchel. “He doesn’t strike me as the kind who sends cryptic messages.”

“He isn’t.”

Henry stood. “Perhaps the letter means exactly what it says: he’s no longer willing to fund your education.”

I blew out a long breath, and we walked out of the classroom together into the hallway. A gaggle of first years crowded around a bank of lockers, seeming less tiny than they had been in September. Many of them, who had started the academic year with blazers a size too large, now fit into their clothes. I smiled and turned back to Henry, who looked down at me with concern in his green eyes.

“Come on.” I slid my hand down his arm and interlaced our fingers. “Let’s meet the others.”