“Miss Dunemark, please sit—” the sub requested.
I grabbed my bag, ignoring her. I’d win an interview no matter how pissed she was. She wouldn’t be able to help it. Not with how fast I’d finished.
And, perfect timing. My countdown had ended. Let the nuclear meltdown commence. I heard a buzz flit around the room, like a swarm of bees had flown inside. Students pulled out their phones.
“Phones away, this is an exam—” the sub protested.
Everyone pretended not to hear as they unlocked their devices and pressed play on a video that had just been sent to the entire school email list.
I started walking toward the door, smirking at Evan as I passed him. “Enjoy Medeis Academy. They’re just your kind of people.”
His initial confusion turned to anger when he realized the implication of my words. His mouth opened, but the loudspeaker interrupted him.
“Miss Dunemark, report to the headmaster’s office immediately.”
I smirked again and gave a little wave. Evan’s stalking was fucked. For now, at least. I savored the look of disbelief and fury on his face all the way down the hall. It looked like two things might work out in my favor today. Time to face the firing squad.
Chapter 2
The headmaster’s office was meant to be imposing, with its oil paintings of previous headmasters cozying up to world leaders, signifying how much the norms depended on magicals to keep the world afloat. The red carpet and red velvet chairs were Baroque monstrosities that were so busy, you couldn’t focus on one thing. Trophies that had been important to someone at some point littered every surface.
I sat down across from Headmaster Grogney, taking my time to compose my face as I put my book bag on the floor. I tried not to smirk, but it was difficult. I mean, a video of your headmaster masturbating at his desk as he rubbed a gerbil all over his bare chest—that was grade A material, right there. Especially when you knew said video had just gone viral throughout the school.
All over campus, magicals were snickering, and Headmaster Grogney's self-proclaimed love for animals had taken on an entirely new meaning.
I sat in his office, watching the vein pop in his forehead as he fast-forwarded through a genuine work of Photoshop and Adobe Premiere art. Instead of homework, I’d spent the last week in my dorm room creating that masterpiece, uploading it from a computer I knew his ridiculously incompetent IT professor could trace. And I’d done it all by hand too, so it would be identifiable even by a norm—which our IT professor was. I hadn’t magicked a single part of it.
I settled back in the plush red velvet of Grogney’s visitor seat and stroked the arm, letting the material change from lighter to darker and back again with each pass I made. I was kind of annoyed that Grogney wasn’t watching my hard work—he was missing out on the terrified little animal squeaks I’d painstakingly put in. Those finishing touches made all the difference. He wasn’t watching it, but he wasn’t yelling yet either. Seriously? Wasn’t this enough?
He was pissed, yeah, but he hadn’t said the words. The portly man was nearly purple with rage as he set down his wand on the desk (he’d nearly snapped it because he was squeezing it so hard); but really, Grogney had only himself to blame. Did he need another little push?
“You know this is all your fault, right?” I asked.
“Excuse me?”
“I've spent plenty of time in this chair.” I’d given him plenty of opportunities to kick me out before this. There was the obvious plagiarism that I’d done, buying crap spells off some fifth-year students and turning in word for word replicas. There was the fight I started in the bathroom with that bitch, Terra, who’d said vamps were worthless shits that needed to be put down. I’d pulled out a chunk of her fake pink weave. None of it—nothing—had gotten me kicked out. I shook my head at Grogney. “You’re too soft. You went with in-school suspension.”
“Young lady—”
“Shit, I'd even tried to get the combat teacher to make out with me.” That had been a sacrifice on my part, because while the man was ripped like a god, he had a nose the size of the Mississippi. “But a big donation from mommy made you shut up about that one.” The combat professor had been forced to quit, which I did feel bad about, but what asshole made out with seventeen-year-old students, anyway? Gross. I was doing some poor girl somewhere a favor, getting him out of the academy. What it all boiled down to was that it was Grogney’s fault that we were sitting here today. If he weren’t so blinded by deep pockets, or if he had any damn moral compass, he wouldn’t have subjected the students and professors to my bullshit antics.
Still, he delayed.
What the hell was it gonna take? I took out a pen and a notebook, squeaked my chair closer to the desk, and posed my pen in my hand. “So, Headmaster. What’s it gonna be? Lines this time? Time out? Or do you prefer spankings?”
I leaned forward and smiled as I watched him visibly shake with the effort of holding back. He didn’t even notice my hands sliding along the desk. Of course, I exuded a tiny bit of power to make the desk blur a bit in his vision, but I don’t think he noticed in his ire.
“Hayley Dunemark, you’re expelled,” he growled, jowls trembling. He was too worked up to get anything else out.
Finally. Shit, that was the most work I’ve had to do to get kicked out of an academy, I thought as I sat back, replacing my notebook and items in my bag. Then I stood and extended my hand to shake his. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, Headmaster.”
He did not take my hand. I shook my head. Even after you lost a duel, you were supposed to shake hands with your competitor. Poor breeding. So, I simply reached up to my hair and pulled down my oversized rhinestone sunglasses, gave him a finger gun salute and tongue click, and walked out the door. I waved at his prim little secretary as I left. I was sure she and her other turtle-neck-wearing, wand-waving windbags would enjoy gossiping about me tonight. She was probably sending out a group text already.
I walked down the halls to a mixed reception—there were as many hushed whispers as there were high-fives and catcalls from magic prep kids who wished they had half the guts I did, but not really. They were all just teenage posers, trying to get through the five stupid years of academy training before being unleashed on the world as full-scale magicals at age twenty. I did my best to ignore the uniform bunnies—as I’d started to call the timid, rule followers—beyond an extra little sway in my hips. A girl had to have a little sway to go with a badass performance like the one I’d just pulled. But not too much. Getting kicked out of yet another exclusive, magical academy was the easy part of my plan.
I pushed up my sunglasses as I unlocked my locker and started stuffing books into my backpack. I thought, I gotta stay on my toes. Acting like a badass was easy. Acting like a victim was harder. And I still had Act Two of this charade to pull off.
“Hales, you’re a fucking idiot!” Tia slammed her hand into the locker next to mine and I stiffened.
I stood and turned to see her worrying the black spikes in her hair. With her apple cheeks, short stature, and slightly rounded body, Tia did all she could to fight the label ‘cute.’ Her dark makeup and spiked hair were accented by chunky silver necklaces and leather bracelets that rode the line between emo and BDSM. As soon as Tia saw my eyes flicker toward her nervous habit, she lowered her hand from her hair. She leaned in close and whispered, "I know you want out of here. But don't go fucking up your chances for any kind of career. That was too much."