Page 23 of Mercy & Malice

“You’re my best student.” He grows edgy as he tucks my paper in the stack on his desk. “I was surprised when your mom said you didn’t want to do the extra credit coursework. Vivienne jumped on it.”

“What extra credit coursework?” I ask, noting his unease as he lines up the pencils on his desk.

“She came to me at the start of the school year about additional coursework available to select students, Vivienne being the only one who wanted the bonus.” Mr. LeBlanc must see the shock and truth on my face because he says, “I thought you knew. She said you had enough on your plate and didn’t want it. She even said not to mention it because you were already stressing about your courses and she was worried you’d overextend yourself. I thought it was strange you’d pass. You kept begging for extra credit last year in my class.”

His words don’t register as I go through the reasons Mom would ask him to do that and tell him not to speak to me about it. There’s no connecting the dots.

“Thanks for letting me take the final.” I walk to the main office in a zombielike haze, struggling to make it make sense.

Mom’s office door is open and she’s speaking with one of the art teachers as I knock my knuckles against the door.

“Brooke, give me a moment.” Mom continues, “Yes, that’d be a wonderful addition to the event.”

My brain has turned into mush, and she’s worried about impressing people. “Did you refuse extra credit coursework for my AP Calculus class?”

Mom shuffles the teacher out of her office. “My apologies. I’ll swing by your classroom in a few to go over the details.”

After her staff member steps out, Mom clasps my hand and pulls me into her office, shutting the door. “That was extremely rude, young lady.”

“So is lying,” I retort. “Did you tell Mr. LeBlanc that I didn’t want to do extra credit assignments?”

Her uneasiness as she moves behind her desk answers my question. “Why would you do that?”

“You have to understand, Brooke.”

“Understand what?” I squeak out.

She takes a seat, placing her palms flat on her desk. “How do you think it’d look if the principal’s daughter was valedictorian?”

“Like I worked my ass off. Wait.” I press my fingers against my temples as I clench my eyelids shut and take a deep breath before asking, “You did it so Vivienne would have a higher GPA than me?”

Her explanation starts. “You already have a full scholarship lined up at DUNO. There’s no harm in letting Vivienne have the valedictorian spot.”

“Yes, there is harm in it. I never had a chance.” I finally fully comprehend what Micah meant. Someone I trusted, who’s supposed to be in my corner, went out of their way to sabotage me. There was no way for me to win. I never had a chance.

“Your GPA is the highest for your grade level every year. It might not appear probable to others, and they might assume you had help being better than everyone else.”

I scream, “Because I had to be. I had to prove why I deserve to be here. The principal’s daughter who gets a free ride.”

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me, Brooke Elise. I taught you better than that.”

“No, you taught me to put on a fucking show no matter how miserable I am. You’re so worried about what people think that you’d rather hurt me than give them a false impression. Why not channel that energy into actually being a fair principal, supportive mother, and not staying with an abusive man.”

I see the hurt in her expression, but I can’t feel bad. She lied to me about Micah. And she was sabotaging my GPA all while lecturing me to do better. The moment my grades slipped a little, she was preaching for me to try harder, study more, keep my focus.

When she swipes her face, wiping a tear from her cheek, I dig the blade deeper, finally understanding why miserable people want to inflict pain. Because I want her to hurt as much as I am right now. “Don’t cry. What will people think? Put on a smile and fake it until you make it.”

It’s mean. But it’s the same thing she told me on the way to the salon after Dad had pulled me so hard by my hair, that I swore I’d never have long hair again and cut it off myself with kitchen scissors. And she knew exactly why I did it. When Mom saw it, she flipped out and scolded me the entire drive to get it fixed. But she didn’t realize my crying had nothing to do with my hair or her sermon, it was because I had to go back to that house afterwards. Dad’s favorite way to snatch both of us was by our hair, mainly when it was in a ponytail. He always criticized women with short hair and called them disparaging slurs. He’d called me the same thing later that night when he saw my new haircut and every day afterwards until it was past my shoulders and long enough for a ponytail, but I’d avoided putting it up in when I was at home.

As I walk out of Belgrave Academy, I have the same overwhelming urge to grab a pair of scissors and cut my hair off again.

13

BROOKE

FOUR MONTHS AGO, DARE 6

Being the Deceiver was supposed to help. Like, I knew ahead of time that the challenge tonight would be spending the night in an abandoned hospital. However, nothing about my roll makes this easier. Around every corner, I’m waiting for rats or some other vermin to jump out and latch onto my leg. Plus, I’m worried about Micah. The more he jokes about taking out other players, the more I question if he’s serious or not. I’ve vowed to not think worse-case scenarios and chose to believe he’s all talk.