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I stare at him. “But I was latebecauseI was doing detention. How is that fair?”
To his credit, Dr. Moncrieff looks torn. “It’s not about fairness. It’s about following the rules, and Lochkelvin has a great number of them.” For some reason, I get the impression that this isn’t his true belief. He watches me carefully as though he thinks I might shatter. He may be right. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
And yet…
I’ll never allow anyone to witnessthatparticular emotion, no matter how much they all believe I’m on the verge of crumbling. Of giving up. Of turning my back on everything I’ve fought for in the past.
I fought to be here.
“Tell you what,” he begins, looking hesitant. “I assist in the library most nights and I have a few errands that need doing. General filing, organizing, shelving books. You can serve detention with me tonight and I promise you the time will simply fly by.”
Dr. Moncrieff laughs as though he’s told a great joke, which makes me skeptical about this claim.
Still, I remind myself about Operation Strike Second. “Does it have to be tonight?” I ask, sounding as dismal as I can.
He raises an eyebrow.
“It’s just… I’d quite like the chance to catch up on homework.” I shift from foot to foot. “I feel like I’m falling behind with the number of detentions I’ve had. I’m not getting the same opportunities as the other students to study.” It’s not a lie, but itisblowing it out of proportion slightly. The only major homework assignment I have is the presentation in politics, and Arabella’s designated herself in sole charge of that.
“I understand your concerns, Jessa. However, I feel it’s best you get this detention out the way before the school term really ramps up and you find yourself struggling.”
Struggling. Like I’m not already.
I agree to meet Dr. Moncrieff in the library after dinner.
Thankfully, I manage to make it through my second day relatively unscathed. In French class, I’m picked on to provide a translation, and Rory mocks my French accent. The gremlins mimic my limp and hobble whenever they’re around me. I somehow acquire the nickname “Porridge Bawbag,” to the gremlins’ hysterical delight. But I don’t receive any further detentions, as though perhaps the teachers have been informed that I’m already sinking under the weight of them.
As I said: relatively unscathed.
In physics, my shelter from the rest of the sadists at this school, Daniel smiles at me and says hello. He’s the one bright spot in Lochkelvin, and I find myself smiling back.
