Page 43 of The Bleak Beginning

The air between us grows heavy with tense silence, the only sound the faint ticking of a clock.

“We’re not in the business of giving up on our students, Miss Prescott, despite what you may believe.”

“However,” she continues, her tone growing stern, “we do expect our students to make an effort to integrate into our community. Your intentional isolation is not just detrimental to you, but to the entire student body.”

I bite back a bitter laugh. As if the other students would even give me a chance.

“What do you suggest I do?” I ask, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“Well, it would appear you have yet to choose an extracurricular, and as we previously discussed, it’s mandatory for every student enrolled here.”

I suppress a groan. Extracurriculars. The bane of my existence. I’d managed to dodge that bullet for an entire week, but it seems my luck has finally run out.

“Chancellor, I’ve been adjusting,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “I wasn’t sure which activity would be the best fit.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying my excuse. “It’s time to make a decision. I have a list of available clubs and teams.” She slides a paper across her polished oak desk. “I’ve updated your schedule next week with a few suggestions that I thought might interest you.”

I take the list, my eyes scanning the options without really seeing them. Archery. Debate. Fencing. Rowing.

“You have until the end of next week to shadow a few, choose one, and inform me of your selection.”

“And if I don’t?” The words slip past my lips before I can stop them. Every single one of these clubs or teams would force me to interact with the very people I was hoping to avoid.

The Chancellor’s eyes flicker with irritation, her lips pulling into a stern line. “Then I will choose for you. And I assure you, my selection will be far less…accommodating to your preferences.”

I swallow hard, knowing full well what she means. Visions of me being forced into the school orchestra or—heaven forbid—the peppy, overly perky cheerleading squad flash through my mind. The thought alone is enough to make me want to crawl under a rock and never come out.

A cold stone settled in my stomach, heavy and unforgiving. Clara had always been the lively one growing up, full of energyand charm. Maybe that was why our mother had always favored her over me.

“I understand,” I mutter, clutching the paper a little tighter. “I’ll look into these options.”

“Excellent,” she says, her stern expression ever present. “Now onto our next topic of discussion,” she notes, her eyes briefly checking the time on the clock.

This woman and her need for being punctual.

“Your room. I heard about the unfortunate incident with the pipes.”

A fresh wave of dread washes over me. Of course she’d heard about that. Nothing stays secret for long in this place.

“It wasn’t my fault,” I blurt out, wincing at how defensive I sound.

“I know it wasn’t your fault. It appears the pipes had already rusted through, and you just happened to be the unlucky one there when they finally gave out.” She arches her brow. “Although I was confused as to why you didn’t use your call box as soon as the incident happened.”

Call box? What call box?

“Anyway,” she continues. “Seeing as this happened last night, I assume the RA for the building has already made accommodations for you?”

“Something like that…” I say.

“Do they meet your standards?”

A utility closet with a musty old cot? I wouldn’t consider that my first choice.

“My accommodations are…adequate.” I say slowly.

Chancellor Maxwell observes me, and I can tell she doesn’t fully believe me, but why should she? We just discussed how much I don’t fit in, and I haven’t had the best start here at this institution.

“Right, well, we’ve ordered a rushed cleanup, so you should have your room back by the end of the weekend.” She leans forward, appraising me once more. “Are you sure you’ll be fine for the next few days?”

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