My eyes widen. “I do?”

I thought it would take days, hours, tons of unanswered letters full of apologies and some begging to get a meeting.

“Yeah. We don’t have much time to get you ready for it.”

From the way she looks at me, she seems to think that a few hours is not nearly enough time, but she doesn’t understand the change I’ve undergone in mere instants.

Yes, I was pretty sure of myself, rejecting her idea of what should be done yesterday after the video, and even today, when she told me how things were here.

This email changed everything. There’s nothing I won’t do to set things right.

14. Claire

14

CLAIRE

Lily spends the next three hours teaching me to act like an ant might when faced with a boot.

Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Ever so sorry, sir.

I can do this. I will happily do this to ensure I haven’t ruined my entire life.

After she’s certain I am aware the only response to anything the board might say is to agree with them, she focuses on my appearance, insisting I remove her skirt—she leaves it in my wardrobe—and picks one of my most conservative outfits.

My expulsion is suspended pending my meeting with the board tonight, so I can still say my wardrobe.

So much depends on tonight. I don’t think I’ve been this stressed before, even during my various virtual interviews with colleges last year. Back then, I was fairly certain I would get one offer; it was only a matter of picking the best one. Today, I have but one option: trying to convince those guys why they wanted me here in the first place.

I’m dressed in a full length, dark green skirt and a blouse with a big satin ribbon, rather like the evil stepmom in a Disney movie. My grandma would love it. I wouldn’t have paired the two together myself as both are extremely over-the-top prudish, but if I’m supposed to meet some old board member, I suppose Lily has a point.

The administrative building is across the street, just a ten-minute walk away from the dorm’s main doors, so once Lily’s done with me, I head over there, trying to appear prostrate, submissive, defeated.

Ugh, someone kill me.

I still feel like shit on top of anything else. I am sick to my stomach for a variety of reasons. The pancakes I ate before getting that email are threatening to come back up my throat. If the situation I’m in wasn’t enough, my hangover makes it a million times more miserable.

“The director will see you now, Ms. Fairmont,” the beautiful secretary tells me after a few minutes of waiting that I believe were mostly designed to spike my anxiety.

It worked.