Page 18 of Framed

“Who hasn’t?” I muttered under my breath as I took her hand and gave it a firm shake. We both took a seat. Her in her large white desk chair and me in the brown leather chair located in front of her desk. The chair seemed out of place in her modern black-and-white office, plastered with various achievements and memorabilia. But the chair matched the rest of the building. Standard-issue, probably.

“I’m Raven Masters, but people here call me Dean Masters or Dr. Masters.”

I wasn’t sure how much Athena had disclosed to her, but I was sure the news of my release would eventually hit the wind.

Or not, I thought. Briggs had assured me that he would handle the media and kill any possible stories.I just have to trust him.Again.

I was thankful that Briggs had instructed me to ditch my phone. The burner I picked up didn’t have access to the wifi. Outside of school work, I strictly forbade myself from having access to the Internet. The last thing I wanted was to find myself going down a rabbit hole of tabloids.

“Mostly good things,” she added. The slight grin on her face confirmed that I may have said that out loud and not to myself. “You look just like her, you know. You sound like her too.” I didn’t have to ask to know who she was referring to. A tense silence passed. “Your mother was a wonderful woman and an old friend.”

Once again, I was at a disadvantage. There was so much I didn’t know about my mom or her past, but for whatever reason, the people of this town seemed to be haunted profoundly by her loss.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Her bright blue eyes stared straight through me. The painful remorse was unmistakable and it felt like a punch in the gut. It was so unusual to hear people openly discuss my mother. Now I’d already heard that twice in one day.

Not knowing how to respond, I nodded. It was hard to explain to people that while I felt the loss, keenly, every day, I also didn’t have any memories of my mother. I didn’t mourn a person I’d known specifically, so much as what my life might have been like if she hadn’t died.

She studied me again before shifting her attention to her computer screen. “I was able to secure your transcripts from your previous high school and the online classes you completed while you were…” She trailed off as if she was searching for the correct word. “Away.”

I could appreciate the way she skated around the big fat elephant in the room.

“The credits we were able to transfer from your previous college and the two A.P. courses you completed in high school puts you at 89 credit hours.”

I was surprised. “What year is that?” I knew I’d taken a decent amount of classes while at the center but I didn’t know it wasthatmany.

“That will make you a junior, assuming you want to keep your major as Pre-Law.” Dr. Masters smiled and it reached her eyes. “I think you’re actually ahead of most of the Pre-Law students in that year, so I have no doubt that you’ll adjust quite well.”

I waited as I expected her to take a jab at my major. About how no reputable law school would take a former convicted murderer seriously.

But she surprised me with the next words out of her mouth. “I think choosing Pre-Law despite everything that’s happened is admirable. Any law school would be lucky to have you. I have a few contacts, so let me know if you need help with finding a school or an internship.”

“Thank you.” A shy smile graced my lips. I had been looking into a few internships while at the center but ultimately I thought it was futile to even look. It wasn’t like I could intern from prison.

Now that I was out, I planned on resuming my search.

“Juniors and seniors are housed in an apartment-style building on the far side of the campus. Unfortunately, we enrolled you during the middle of the semester, so all of the one-bedroom apartments are taken. I’ll show you to your dorm and have a member of the student council show you around campus.”

“It’s fine,” I replied, for some odd reason feeling sheepish. “I’ve had a roommate for the past four years. And a guide isn’t really necessary, I’m sure that I can figure it out on my own.” I didn’t want to but I also didn’t want to impose any further than I already had.

“I have no doubt that you could but it’s customary for all new students. This is a big place, Scarlett. People tend to get lost if they aren’t offered any guidance.” The woman sighed and then an uncomfortable smile graced her face as if she didn’t know how to convince me. “Don’t fight me on this. Let us help you.”

I parted my lips and attempted to respond, but nothing came out. I wasn’t used to this type of kindness and I wasn’t sure what to say. How to accept the help. Everyone had an angle. But as I sat there dumbfounded, I couldn’t wrap my brain around her. What would she gain from helping me?

There was no benefit in allowing me to attend this school and that was the part that had me stumped the most.

At the center things were different. We looked out for one another because we had no one else. No one else would understand what it was like to be cut off from the world like we had been. No one would understand what it was like having their every hour being dictated and out of their control. Stuck in a system that was historically against us, women, and people of color. We were just a statistic to them. That’s why I was here. That’s why I wanted to become a lawyer. That’s how I planned to help the other women I met at the center.

Athena’s parting words repeated in my head on a continuous loop.Learn to accept help. Not everyone is operating at an angle.

After a beat of silence, an earnest expression took over her perfect face. “I want you to know you’ll be safe here. Our security measures are impenetrable and parents pay an astounding amount to ensure the privacy of their children. We pride ourselves on the fact that at this school, kids can seek higher education safe from the prying eye of the public.”

Then she hesitated and I braced myself.

“There is one thing we haven’t discussed, though. I’m sure Aaron mentioned that no one can know that you’re here.”

My newly dyed hair, eyebrows, and contact-coated eyes were a clear demonstration of that. If I was to raise my left hand, the evidence that I’d only done this a few hours ago could also be used as a testament to that statement. I didn’t think I’ll ever get used to this color. I almost had a heart attack when I spotted a fallen curl in my peripheral vision earlier.

But I nodded and she continued. “We registered you under your mom’s maiden name, Camillo.” My mother’s side had a long history of Italian descent. My grandmother was Italian and she had lived in Italy until she met my grandfather. Apparently, their story wasn’t too different from my parents’ own. My grandmother was a famous ballerina in her day and she too abandoned her passion for the love of her life. But that was as far as the extent of my knowledge went.

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