Despicable, p.3
Despicable, page 3
I might not get a chance to help Vi or August or even myself. If this meeting went badly, this would be my last day at Rapetti Academy.
I walked along the asphalt path to the Dean’s Office. They’d recently repaired the schoolhouse and the Dean’s Office now sat on the left side of the building instead of the right. There weren’t any classes next to the Dean’s Office, just two music rooms for private music lessons.
I sat outside. Waiting. A Year 13 sat across from me, staring at me. I looked away.
“Black girl,” he hissed, “Black girl.”
I folded my arms across his chest and didn’t listen to him.
“Spread your legs. Let me see you, babe.”
“Shut up.”
He laughed.
“Good girl. Don’t let dirty Year 13s get into your pants.”
Dean Leonard opened the door and I flinched instinctively.
“Hewett. In here.”
The Year 13 winked at me and I felt embarrassed as Dean Leonard cast a judgmental glance in my direction. I followed her into the office and sank into her chair for horrible students about to get kicked out of boarding college. Again. Mom never let me forget what an embarrassment I’d been at Saint George’s. Here I was, repeating history.
“You’re in big trouble young lady,” Leonard began, pursing her lips into a nearly invisible line.
Chapter 2
My Last Day At Rapetti Academy
“I’m in trouble. What’s new,” I muttered, swaying my knees back and forth, trying to sound casual and accountable at the same time.
I failed.
Dean Leonard raised an irritated eyebrow. “Miss Hewett, is this amusing to you?”
“No,” I answered seriously. I didn’t want to screw this up, despite Dean Leonard’s conviction that I was some type of class clown.
“I know why you’re here, Amina. You may act like it doesn’t matter, but we both know what enrollment at Rapetti Academy means to you.”
My heart thumped. I didn’t want to have this discussion. I wasn’t ready to leave. I might have hated it at Rapetti Academy, but I could learn to love the school in a way I could never love the governor’s mansion.
“I don’t want to go home,” I admitted reluctantly.
Dean Leonard flicked through a stack of papers on her desk and wet her lips with her tongue. She reminded me of a lizard.
“Good. I don’t want you to go home. Unfortunately, your fate may be out of my hands. Your initial reports have come in. You haven’t turned in a single assignment in mathematics, history or literature.”
“Math is too hard. History is too white. And literature... I mean poetry, seriously?”
Leonard winced. But whenever I talked about white people in front of white people, it made them nervous enough to go easy on me. That trick worked with my parents.
“Young lady, your father is the Governor of Texas. Don’t you have any ambitions for yourself following such a big name?”
I squirmed at the mention of my father. His legacy. As if that meant anything to me. We aren’t blood related you know.
“I have ambitions.”
“Please, Amina. Share those ambitions now. I am trying everything in my power to keep you on this campus. I know what being here means to you. I understand your... family difficulties.”
She wasn’t talking about money. My parents paid my tuition in full and I got the grades to get in here on my own. I had to beg, but they finally let me go. I made sure my parents never read my admissions essay, but Dean Leonard did. She knows my secrets.
“I’m not the only one here with family difficulties.”
“No. You’re not. And you were a promising student in the United States throughout high school.”
A promising student with mental problems. And physical problems. And a drinking problem. And a marijuana problem. I’d graduated from Saint George’s by the skin of my teeth but unlike my classmates, I hadn’t made it to Harvard, Yale or Princeton. I hadn’t even landed flat on my ass at Bates or Bowdoin.
I sighed and leaned back in Dean Leonard’s chair, musing privately that it would be a perfect place to nap.
I explained to her, “I should be at college now. A real college.”
My mom has a theory that we can pretend I’m not repeating high school by sending me to England. She’d do anything to keep me out of the house now. At one point she wanted me, more than anything, but she doesn’t anymore. So here I am. In England.
Dean Leonard got all frustrated when I insinuated America’s better than England and she bit down on her lower lip as she intoned, “This is a real college, Amina. A boarding college. And it’s important for your future.”
“I don’t care about my future,” I said.
I didn’t impress Dean Leonard.
“You’re not here by accident,” she said, “If you want a future at all, you have to start caring.”
“My future won’t have anything to do with stupid math. Or history. Or literature.”
“You have to try. I spoke with your advisor and we’ve come to an agreement. You’re going to be the football team manager this year and you’re going to bring your grades up to at least a C+ in the three classes you’re failing. What you need is more of a challenge, not less.”
“Agatha, what the hell is a football team manager.”
“Young lady, we already had a little chat about calling me Agatha. It isn’t appropriate. And a football team manager attends every practice, every game, helps the coach by keeping track of workouts and supplying the water for the team daily. It’s an important job.
“I don’t like soccer.”
“Football is our school’s best sport. This year, the team may make it to the Commonwealth Championships. We may even beat Warwick Academy. Your advisor agrees taking this on will be the best chance for you to learn some simple responsibility while maintaining your studies.”
“This isn’t fair Dean Leonard. I’ll talk to Chewy. He can’t possibly agree with this.”
My advisor, Tom Charles, was an elderly man who’s been here forever who went by “Chewy”. He’d been on a two year sabbatical and just returned to Rapetti. I chose him because he didn’t bother me about grades. I thought he was chill. I guess I was wrong.
Dean Leonard continued with her speech, “It doesn’t matter what you think is fair. This is the only choice you’ve left us.”
She was right that I couldn’t go home. If I go home...
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“You’re an adult, Amina. I can’t make you do anything.”
“I consent.”
“Good. You start tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?! Don’t I get a grace period,” I shrieked.
Crispin played football. And his stupid brother, August. If they were going to be my new tormentors, I at least wanted a chance to write my own eulogy.
“Unfortunately, we’ve run out of grace, Miss Hewett. Friday afternoons, we meet here until the end of the semester to check on your progress.”
“Yes, Dean Leonard.”
“And are you eating okay? You look... thin.”
“I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t fine. The ringing in my ears grew louder. I didn’t even catch the Year 13’s name as Dean Leonard ushered him into her office.
He was cute enough. But filthy. I didn’t recognize him from any of the sports teams. An art freak, maybe.
Violet waited up in my room for me after the meeting. I could hear her arguing with my roommate before I pushed the door open.
I don’t know why Violet got into it with my roommate. I could hear Violet’s voice getting higher, like it usually did when she went on impassioned feminist rants, “The concept of virginity is archaic, patriarchal and culturally primitive.”
“Did you call me primitive?” Katrina said, her voice getting dangerously high-pitched as she asked.
I bristled. My roommate, Katrina Grigsby was the only person on campus who proudly announced she was a virgin and planned to stay that way. She was one of those people who didn’t seem to care that everyone laughed at her, not with her. It wasn’t even that she enjoyed the attention. She was too wrapped up in her own world to care.
Katrina spoke, loudly now, “There’s nothing patriarchal and backwards about wanting to be in love with someone before I have sex with them. And don’t call me primitive.”
Our rooms were anything but soundproof. An ancient form of British boarding school torture, perhaps?
“I’ve had sex with people I’m in love with. You don’t know you’re in love with them until you have sex,” Violet shot back.
I hoped entering the room would distract them rather than have them force me to join in on this dumb argument once I got there. Ugh. I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to push their conversation out of my head. Why the hell was everyone my age so obsessed with sex?
“Hey guys,” I muttered.
Katrina huffed and slammed her Bible shut on her desk.
”It’s hard to focus on the word of God when people around me insist on being disrespectful to my beliefs.”
She shoved her Bible into her Chanel purse and flicked her hair out of the way.
“Don’t go. I just got here. And I don’t want to tell the same boring story twice,” I said desperately to Katrina, who got along famously with Vi Bainbridge except when it came to matters of her faith. I could get along fine with Katrina under any circumstances as long as I kept quiet and let her talk, something Vi was virtually incapable of doing.
“What happened with Leonard?” Katrina said, getting straight to the point, but setting her bag down. At least Vi didn’t chase her off too quickly this time and they (temporarily) dropped the argument.
Katrina’s not exactly light-skinned but she’s lighter than me. I don’t know how she keeps her hair so perfectly straight all the time. You wouldn’t know she had any kink in it at all. But the hair is all hers and guys love it. Too bad Katrina doesn’t love guys — secular guys at least.
“You two have to promise not to tear each other’s throats out,” I said.
“She started it,” Violet mumbled.
I cautioned, “Vi...”
“Sorry.”
“Okay. Great. Leonard’s punishing me.”
“Having to get passing grades isn’t a punishment,” Katrina muttered.
She’s best friends with all the teachers and most of them probably tell her things they shouldn’t. Like the fate of my disciplinary future at Rapetti. Katrina may seem sweet because of the religious stuff, but she’s like a black version of my mother. With a British accent.
“She wants me to be the manager for the soccer... I mean... football team. I don’t even get what a manager is.”
“You get to be their slut,” Katrina hissed, sounding a bit disgusted, but oddly intrigued, as if the scandal of it all fascinated her.
Vi elbowed her.
”Don’t call Amina a slut.”
“I’m not saying she is a slut. But let’s be honest. The only reason the soccer boys have a manager at all is because they want a toy. They get away with everything. Or are both of you forgetting what happened when you went to that campus party I told you not to go to.”
Violet turned red but neither of us had any ground to stand on. Katrina warned us not to go. I folded my arms shrugged.
“Whatever. It’s stupid but I have to get through it. I don’t want them to kick me out.”
“You did not mention getting kicked out was on the line,” Katrina whined.
That was exactly why I didn’t tell her. She’d just freak out and go all mom-friend on me which was the last thing I needed. Vi shrugged, “If you get kicked out, maybe your parents will send you to Thornwood.”
I shuddered.
“Don’t remind me there’s a place worse than Rapetti.”
“I heard the boys at Thornwood are fitter,” Violet said, like she had some secret “in” to the reform school in the North. Which she didn’t.
“Is all you think about boys,” Katrina complained.
“No. But the guys are cuter there. Bad boys.”
Vi wiggled her eyebrows.
“I don’t like bad boys,” Katrina complained, “And neither should you Miss Feminist.”
I snapped my fingers, “Ladies! Pay attention. I’m not going to become a slut. I just need... survival tips. Crispin’s on the team and he...”
How could I tell them about what happened that night. Vi tilted her head to the side.
She vividly remembered him calling her “Tits” and how that led to everything else. The burns. The humiliation.
“Did he do something to you?” Violet asked quickly, ready to get revenge before I gave her any information. Vi fantasized often about revenge, but I wasn’t sure she could ever go through with it. She wanted to, though. And maybe one day she could be the cold, ruthless revenge-seeker she wanted to be. Knowing this might not lead to anything specifically, I wanted to tell her more about Crispin and admit the details of that night.
“Something weird happened that night,” I admitted, biting my lip and trying to put into words the mystery of Crispin Barclay. How breathtaking and terrifying he was. Vi and Katrina gazed up at me wide-eyed. Our small bedroom was sparsely decorated on my side, but decorated with tasteful design on Katrina’s side. She glanced nervously at the cross hanging over her desk as if she sensed something dark about to leave my lips.
Weird didn’t begin to describe what I had to tell my friends…
Chapter 3
Crispin’s Catch
I told them what happened, leaving out some parts. I told them how the night ended at least...
FIRST WEEK(END) OF RAPETTI ACADEMY
I ended the night on my back, grass prickling my bare back as my breasts pointed toward the moon. My lungs withered like a baby bird’s as Crispin’s body fell against mine. He was heavy. And wet from the cold. He pinned me naked to the ground. I couldn’t move and as I felt his pants moving, I knew what he was thinking. What he wanted from me. He kissed me. I screamed and tried to fight him off. He eased his weight off me.
I wish I could say I fought him off. But I didn’t. I let him kiss me and I shut my eyes. But he didn’t kiss me again. He pressed his lips to my ears and whispered, “If you stay still, they won’t see you.”
I shuddered and whimpered. He clamped his hand over my mouth. His voice sounded almost gentle.
“Don’t make a sound.”
His cock moved in his pants and instead of obeying his command, I tried to scream. His grip over my lips tightened and he snarled into my ear, “Shut up, Amina. I’m trying to save you. Fuck’s sake.”
Tears streamed from my eyes and I lay limp beneath him. Crispin and I both listened to the screaming on the moor. I couldn’t stop myself whimpering.
Crispin tried to comfort me.
“Quiet... You have to be quiet.”
When the shouting waned and there was only silence, Crispin rolled off my naked body and onto his back. He wasn’t raping me. Not yet.
“Fucking hell,” he snarled, his disgust with either me or himself apparent in his tone. I was convinced it was me. That I was deformed somehow and that he couldn’t bear to look at me.
I didn’t want to sit up. I couldn’t. Because if I moved a muscle, he’d look at me. And that last thing I wanted was to feel his eyes on me and know he wanted me. It sucked understanding men so well. Every muscle in my body told me to run but I’d learned to override that instinct years ago.
He sneered, “Aren’t you going to run?”
“Leave,” I gasped, “I’m naked.”
“I can see that. And your tits are gorgeous.”
His voice turned into a low growl. He was strong. And fast. I never stood a chance against him. And then he had to make a comment like that. To remind me he wasn’t sweet at all. He’d done this to me.
“Shut up...” I snapped at him.
“Are you cold?”
“I said shut up.”
He took off his wool coat and tossed it onto me. I was grateful for the warmth but couldn’t will myself to move unless he left. He wore a white button down beneath the coat. It was so clean...
“Put it on. Don’t just lie there,” he snapped.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Why not? I saved your life. You owe me.”
“Saved my life? You cut my stomach! You set that psychopath Daniella Friedrich on me. Vi probably didn’t make it.”
“Your friend doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut,” he snarled.
So that warranted his friends chasing us both and threatening to burn us alive? This place was insane.
What’s crazier was that I’d rather be at Rapetti than at home. But I still loathed him.
“Your cunt’s exposed to the breeze,” Crispin snapped back.
“Stop it,” I snapped.
“Don’t be so prudish. I thought your people lived in huts and danced naked under the stars.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Africans. You lot dance around with your tits out.”
“You are despicable,” I hissed.
I wanted to push him but I was too cold to move any of my limbs out from underneath the blanket. It’s dewy, damp and cold out here, but not rainy. Still, the damp cold gets into your bones and makes it that much worse. His body shifted over mine and I wanted to push him off again, but I still froze.
“Is that the longest word you know, lips?”
“My name isn’t lips.”
“It should be. Both sets look delicious.”
He glanced down at my bare crotch, now covered by the jacket. But when I caught Crispin looking, he looked away.
He’s evil, I told myself.
I pulled his jacket tighter around my shoulders. His smell saturated the wool and cloaked me in a woody musk. Which was gross. Obviously. But I was naked enough to need the warmth.
