Page 139 of Insincerely Yours
I may as well have a baseball lodged in my throat from the lump that forms there. “Let’s just say the Eastons have a way of handling their messes.”
CHAPTER 31
HOLD THEM DOWN
JANUARY, 18 MONTHS AGO
I don’t knowwheremyclothes are, and I find myself sitting in Principal Harris’s office wearing a school-issued athletic hoodie and sweatpants. My hair is still wet, leaving the ends to soak through the material of the former. It only makes me colder, and I’m trembling so hard my entire body hurts. Trent, Sienna, and Olivia took off at some point, but Coach Miller must have seen them because she called 9-1-1 the second she found me curled up on the ground in the locker room. And since my screaming had attracted attention, she wanted to get me clothed and somewhere safe away from prying eyes. When I ended up in Principal Harris’s office, I expected to be interrogated, but now I’m just sitting here,alone.
Coach wanted to stay with me, but Harris insisted that I needed my privacy—despite me never asking for it—and that she return to the pep rally. I thought maybehewould stay with me, but Principal Harris said he needed to make a phone call and left the room. All that’s left is a deafening silence. I don’t even hear the usual chatter of the front office. My throat right now is raw, and I want to ask one of the secretaries if I can get something to drink, but I also don’t want to move. My head throbs and I can feel blood drying to a crust on the side of my head.
At least from my vantage point, I could see the police cruisers pull up in front of the building ten minutes ago, and all I’m doing now is waiting for them.
But another five minutes go by, and I’m still alone. I had never dealt with the police before, but I imagined the same urgency you got from paramedics. After all, 9-1-1 had been called. Theemergencywas kind of implied. It feels like the ground is shifting beneath my feet, and the pounding in my head only worsens, but I force myself to stand and head over to the door. There’s a window that looks out into the main office, and peering between the gaps of the blind slats, I can see the entire place is empty, all of the administrators and secretaries cleared out.
Is this normal? Are the police going to be taking over the offices?
I don’t get the time to really think about it or to even reach the door itself when I hear several pairs of footsteps coming down the main hallway. Principal Harris reenters the front office, and the tightness in my chest eases as I return to my seat, seeing the police chief enter next.
Facing forward in my chair, I’m left once again to look at Harris’s desk and the wall of books behind it, but their owner returns to the room a few seconds later. I’m not sure if it’s from the blood on the side of my face or just the situation in general, but he has been palpably uncomfortable since I walked in here.
Still unable to meet my eyes, he at least decides to finally address me. “Do you have your phone with you?”
It seems like an odd thing to ask, all things considered, but I nevertheless shake my head, instantly regretting it. Pain shoots through my right eye so sharply that I expect it to burst out of the socket.
Harris just nods, grabs a folder off his desk, and promptly exits the roomagain.
Seriously? I’m pastthinkingI need medical attention, now entering into the realm of certainty, because the pressure in my head keeps building, and my vision alternates between blurring and seeing doubles. I twist in my seat, not even sure what I’m about to say, but I see another silhouette in the doorway and relax. All I want is for the police to come in here, get my statement, and let me go to the hospital.
Chief Jeffrey Nohl had made a handful of appearances at fundraisers held at the country club, so it’s the only reason I recognize him…
But I’m not greeted by Nohl’s stocky build, balding head, and oversized glasses.
The man who steps into the room is at least six-three, with a muscular physique and handsome, chiseled features that make him look like a blonde Superman.
But he’s about the farthest thing from it, unless he’s the evil, Bizarro version.
Because he’s Roland Easton.
Trent’s father.
What the hell?
All I can do is watch in disbelief as he closes the door behind him. Through the blind slats, I see the police chief and Principal Harris make their way to the very front of the main office, as far out of earshot as they can get from us.
No.
No, no, no, no!
I can’t run out of here with him blocking the door. There isn’t another exit, and even if there was, I’d be lucky to make it five feet without passing out or throwing up. The only thing left I can do is scream, but the second my lips so much as part, Mr. Easton holds up his hand.
“Relax, I’m only here to have a quick word with you is all.” He says this so calmly that you’d think he was only stopping by to drop off a permission form or something.
And now I want to scream for a whole other reason.
Because I know what’s coming. It’s the very reason why Principal Harris made sure I didn’t have my phone on me. It’s the very reason why it seems my parents haven’t been called or why the other officers who pulled up to the school haven’t been brought back here yet.
Mr. Easton goes over to the desk, grabs a pen, and taps it against the side of his head in the same place where I have blood gathered on mine. “Nasty business there, tripping in the shower. You really should learn to be more careful.”
