Get Even (Don’t Get Mad)

BREE RUBBED HER ACHING WRIST AS SHE LOOKED AROUND Father Uberti’s office. She’d never actually been inside, and as she gazed at the overly polished wood and pristinely arranged bookshelves, she was struck by the fakeness of it all. This office had been designed to intimidate students and parents alike. But Bree knew that the ostentatious display was an attempt to overcompensate for insecurity and insignificance.

“I’m waiting,” Father Uberti said. His fingers were laced in front of him on the desk as he stared at Bree.

“What was the question?” Bree asked.

“Why,” Father Uberti said, with the utmost calm, “did you punch Rex Cavanaugh?”

“Oh, right,” Bree said with an easy smile. She flexed her wrist back and forth, as if loosening it up. “Because he threatened to kick my friend’s ass, and then called me a bitch. True story. I have witnesses.”

“So you think you were justified in your assault on a fellow student?”

Bree nodded. “Absolutely.” She knew damn well that F.U. was trying to scare her, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. The worst he could do to her was kick her out of school, and hey, would that really be so bad?

Father Uberti leaned back in his chair and stroked his pointy beard. Bree noticed for the first time how weak his chin was, perfectly camouflaged by his facial hair. “You realize that using violence against another student is grounds for expulsion, do you not?”

Bree’s smile widened. She was prepared for this one. “Except in cases where the student fears for his or her immediate personal safety.”

Father Uberti tilted his head. “Where does it say that?”

“Third page of the student code. Paragraph two.”

She half-expected him to look it up, but Father Uberti didn’t bother. “That clause is not applicable to this situation.”

“Isn’t it? Have you interviewed my witnesses?”

Father Uberti slapped both of his hands on the table. “I’ve talked to three upstanding members of the ’Maine Men student patrol, none of whom corroborate your story.”

Bree shrugged. “Because they picked the fight.”

She was really enjoying this. He kept trying to intimidate her, and Bree was cool as a cucumber. It was only a matter of time before her continued indifference really pissed him off.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” he said.

“Of course you don’t.”

Father Uberti rose to his feet. “Bree Deringer, I have no choice but to expel you from Bishop DuMaine Preparatory School for physical assault against a student, effective—”

The door of his office flew open, banging violently against the wall. “Good afternoon, Father Uberti.”

Bree cringed. How the hell did her dad get there?

“Senator Deringer,” Father Uberti said. A jagged row of sweat beads materialized on his forehead. “I didn’t realize you were in town.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Or you wouldn’t have tried to expel my daughter without due process.”

Father Uberti pointed at Bree like a petulant child placing blame on the playground. “But she hit a student. Punched him in the face.”

“After he threatened her and her friend.” Bree’s dad looked down at her. “Did you feel your physical safety was in jeopardy, Bree?”

Bree put on her best “I’m a victim” face. “Yes,” she said through a sniffle. “I was terrified.”

“That is absolutely not true!” Father Uberti cried.

Bree’s dad remained utterly calm. “Really? Were you there, Father Uberti?”

“Well, no.” The priest smoothed down the shoulder flaps on his capuche. “But I have an eyewitness who says—”

“I’ve spoken to six eyewitnesses,” Bree’s dad said, cutting him off. The sternness in his voice made Bree feel like a naughty five-year-old again. “Six eyewitnesses who state that Rex Cavanaugh, Tyler Brodsky, and Kyle Tanner purposefully sought out John Baggott and my daughter during the lunch hour, cornered them in a confined space, and threatened them with bodily harm unless they confessed to their involvement in a murder.” He strolled to the window and gazed out onto the lawn. “I also understand that these boys operate under your orders. Is that correct?”

“Senator Deringer,” Father Uberti started. His voice shook with a mix of fear and anger. “Perhaps you’re not aware of the situation at Bishop DuMaine, considering how frequently you’re away in Sacramento.”

“I am well-informed of all the goings-on at Bishop DuMaine, Father Uberti. All of them.”

Father Uberti straightened up. “If you’re accusing me of authorizing student-on-student violence, I suggest you contact the Archdiocese directly.”

Bree’s dad glanced sidelong at Father Uberti. “I already have.” He returned his gaze to the manicured front lawn of Bishop DuMaine. “However, I might be willing to withdraw my complaint about your obvious lack of good judgment in this matter, if all charges against my daughter are dropped, and she and her friend John Baggott are protected against any and all retribution in this matter.”

“I . . .” Father Uberti’s mouth worked up and down like a codfish in its death throes. Then he slowly sank back into his chair, defeated.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” Bree’s father strode to the door. “Bree? We’re leaving.”

Bree’s stomach dropped as she followed her dad out of the office. She detected the icy tone in his voice, the one reserved for the minority leader in the Senate and for reprimanding his youngest child.

“Dad, I can explain,” she said, as soon as they were clear of the school building.

He didn’t even look at her, just continued to storm toward the car. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“But—”

“Bree!” Bree spun around and saw John jogging toward them across the front lawn of the school. “Bree, wait up.”

Crap. This was not going to go well.

“What happened?” John asked, panting slightly. “What did F.U. do?”

“Nothing,” Bree said quickly. “It’s okay.” She glanced at her dad, who had turned his critical eye on John. She could practically see the judgment telegraphed across his face as he registered John’s jet-black hair and his beat-up Doc Martens.

“Oh,” John said. Then he quickly turned to Bree’s dad. “Senator Deringer, I’m John Baggott. What happened today wasn’t Bree’s fault at all. She was trying to help me and . . .”

Bree kicked John’s foot with the toe of her boot. “Shut up,” she mouthed.

“John Baggott,” her dad said. “You called me this afternoon to inform me of the situation at lunch, correct?”

“Yes,” John said. He swallowed, then added, “Sir.”

Bree’s jaw dropped. “You called my dad?”

“And you’re the boy my daughter sneaks into the house through the servants’ entrance.”

Bree groaned.

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you dating my daughter?”

“No!” Bree said quickly. Sheesh, why did everyone think they were dating?

Her dad looked from Bree to John and back. “I see. Well, understand this, both of you. Today was the last time I intervene on your behalf. I’ve given you nothing but the best advantages in life, Bree, but I will not continually bail you out and become the laughingstock of California parents. Next time, you’re on your own.”

“Fine,” Bree mumbled. And she meant it. She’d never ask for his help again.

“I understand, Senator,” John said.

“Very well, then.” Bree’s dad grabbed her by the arm and escorted her to the passenger door of his SUV. “Nice to finally meet you, John.”