Page 24 of Lessons in Power
I sat and leaned back in my chair, balancing it on two legs. The headmaster’s silence was probably aimed at making me sweat, but thus far, things were going exactly according to plan. While I waited for Headmaster Raleigh to tell me that my behavior was unfitting of a Hardwicke student, my eyes found their way to the wall behind his desk. It was bare.
The front legs of my chair thudded against the floor.
Weeks ago, there had been a framed photograph on that wall—of Headmaster Raleigh and five other men, taken at a Camp David retreat. All three of the known conspirators in the murder of Justice Marquette had been there that weekend. It was entirely possible that the fourth co-conspirator—the one whose identity we didn’t know—had been there as well.
The headmaster took the photo down.I tried not to read too much into that.
Headmaster Raleigh turned away from the window. He took a seat at his desk and turned his desktop computer screen to face me. “What is the meaning of this?”
Thiswas a series of pictures—representing more than 80 percent of the female students in grades nine through twelve—like the ones Vivvie and I had taken in her bathroom.Slumped. Unfocused. Seemingly drunk—and holding a sign.
“You—all of you—will take these pictures down, or I will have the lot of you up on misconduct charges.”
That was an empty threat. I doubted the headmaster wanted to deal with the parents ofallthose girls—or to explain to those parents that the Hardwicke administration still hadn’t managed to track down the person who was texting around pictures of borderline unconscious teenage girls.
“Remind me again,” I said. “Is it performance art or organized protest that’s against the Hardwicke code of conduct?”
The headmaster’s eyes narrowed.
I took advantage of his stormy silence. “In the past decade, Hardwicke has had exactly one female student-body president. For a school that claims to value diversity, tolerance, and equality,that’s shockingly disproportioned, wouldn’t you say? And now our only female candidate has been strong-armed into dropping out of the race, despite the fact that she has broken no actual Hardwicke rules.”
On my phone, I pulled up the picture Vivvie had taken of me and then slid the phone across the table.
DOUBLE STANDARD.
Raleigh looked at the photo like it was a snake. “There is no double standard at play here,” he said tersely. “I assure you that had Ms. Rhodes been male, the outcome would have been the same.”
“You can tell the press that when they call for a quote,” I suggested in the most helpful of tones. “I wasn’t sure they’d be interested in our little protest, but given that one of the girls participating in this protest is the vice president’s daughter … it’s seeming like we might be able to find some takers.”
“Is that a threat?”
“That’s a statement of probability,” I told the headmaster.
The headmaster looked as if he might actually leap over the desk to throttle me. “I did not require Ms. Rhodes to step down. I suggested she might find it a wise course of action.”
“Strongly suggested,” I said.
“Fine,” he returned. “Strongly suggested.”
I reached into my bag and pulled out a stack of pictures. My final phone call had paid off.
“I’m going tostrongly suggest,” I told the headmaster, “that you take a look at these, and then tell me again that there’s no double standard at Hardwicke.”
I slid the pictures across to him. Luckily for me, some of the freshman boys on the lacrosse team were still holding a grudge about theextreme hazing. And as it turned out, they’d taken some very interesting pictures of upperclassmen at a couple of team parties.
“I especially like the one of John Thomas Wilcox doing a keg stand,” I said, a sarcastic edge creeping into my tone. “It’s so much less incriminating than a picture of a girl leaning against a wall, with nary an ounce of alcohol in sight.”
The headmaster thumbed through the pictures. “Where did you get these?”
“Does it matter?” I asked.
“I suppose you want me to suggest to Mr. Wilcox that he step down from this race as well?”
“You could,” I said. “Of course, then you would probably have to open nominations back up so that Henry Marquette wasn’t running unopposed.” My lips curved up in a subtle smile. “I’m sure the student body wouldn’t have any trouble finding another female nominee.”
“Yes, yes,” the headmaster said, seeing a way out of this. “Of course.” Then he seemed to realize that I wasstillsmiling.
“It’s the funniest thing,” I said. “People keep telling me thatIshould run.”
