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“Eve!” I call, but she gives me a short wave and anI love youas she looks from me to Scarlett, before making her exit.
“Ms. Winters,” I greet. “How are you?”
“I’m so glad I ran into you before you left,” she says.
I nod but look over her shoulder to see Eve disappear onto the elevators up to her dorm room. I go to head in that direction, but Ms. Winters steps in front of me, blocking.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, getting irritated.
My phone in my pocket buzzes again. My fingers itch to answer, suspecting it’s not going to be good news, but I refrain.
“Well, no, not a problem per say.” There’s a hesitance in Ms. Winters voice that I don’t like.
“Is Eve in some sort of trouble? Because—”
“No, nothing like that,” she answers quickly.
My shoulders drop but I’m still on the defense.
“Eve is a great student. You know how smart she is.”
“She’s brilliant.” My voice comes out more defensive than I intend but I don’t like the tone this woman is taking.
“Yes, of course. As you know, we have a lot of brilliant, as you say, students here at Bowen.”
“But none of them is Eve,” I respond.
This school is one of the top schools in the nation. It’s hard not to be when the children of senators, former presidents, fortune 500 CEOs all attend. Close to ninety five percent of graduates end up at Ivy league universities.
I want to tell Ms. Winters it’s not because most of them are as half as bright as my niece. It’s because their parents have the money to afford this school, the best tutors, and extra classes to get them into those schools.
She gives me a plastic smile. “Yes, of course. Eve is wonderful. All of her teachers adore her.”
I nod because that’s exactly what her last student report said.
“However, there is an issue with Eve’s … tidiness, and with some of the girls on her floor.”
I squint at her. “What girls?” My voice grows louder. Eve never told me she’s having a problem with anyone.
She glances away and then looks back at me. “Eve’s a bit messy. Some of the girls saw her room and mentioned it to me. It was no big deal. But when we try to get her to clean up, she seems to have trouble remaining on task.”
“She’s eleven,” I defend. “Do you know many eleven year olds who put cleanliness at the top of their priority list? And why were those girls in her room in the first place?”
Eve’s had a private room since the beginning of this year when her roommate abruptly withdrew from Bowen due to a family member’s illness.
“Well, it was during social hour.” She scratches the back of her head. “It was nothing, really. However, she seems to have a problem focusing on tasks.”
“Eve’s the most focused person I know,” I counter, feeling defensive. “Is she having any behavioral issues?” The question is preposterous because I know my niece. She’s the sweetest, most loving child you could ever meet. Her teachers have always loved her.
“Not quite.”
I open my mouth to ask her to explain, but instead of a text my phone starts ringing. On instinct, I pull it out to send the caller to voicemail. I freeze at the sight of the number on the screen.
Dean Walsh.
Fucking bastard.
“You appear to be busy,” Ms. Winters says, bringing my attention back to her.
