Before Tegan can answer, Mrs. Lewis, the Head of School’s secretary, hurries out of her cubicle to greet me. “Miss Hessington.” She’s a chubby woman in her late fifties with gray hair collected at the nape of her neck in a low chignon and dressed in a dark green granny dress. Her only stylish note is the black-rimmed, cat-eye glasses perched on her nose. Underneath the lenses, her gaze is shifty and she’s visibly embarrassed. “The principal is waiting for you.” Mrs. Lewis addresses Tegan next, “You should both get in.”

Like the rest of the school, Mr. Wentworth’s office is straight out of a time capsule. Same dark wood décor, books-filled shelves, metal cabinets, and, yep, same old coffee stain on the carpet in the lower-left corner of the principal’s desk.

I sit in the empty chair on the left while Tegan sits on the right, the big desk the only thing separating us from the principal’s disapproving stare. If I had to describe Mr. Wentworth, I’d say: bald, thin, severe, and with impeccable taste for stuffy tweed suits that belong in the previous century.

“Good morning, Miss Hessington,” the principal says. “Sorry we had to rush you here, but the circumstances are quite dire.”

I brace myself for whatever is coming next, and the bad news arrives pronto.

“Your daughter, along with several of her peers, was caught consuming alcohol on the school’s premises—vodka, to be precise. This not only goes against TAG’s policies, but, as I’m sure you’re well aware, underage drinking also constitutes a crime.”

I turn an incredulous stare on Tegan, but she’s too busy staring at her feet to notice.

“Now, if it were only a matter of consumption,” the principal continues, “we could let your daughter off with a simple suspension. But since Tegan instigated the drinking and procured the vodka, I’m afraid we have no other choice other than to expel—”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “How do you know the alcohol belongs to Tegan?”

I can picture my daughter getting roped into a wrongdoing because of peer pressure—but bringing a bottle of vodka to school and being the instigator of a lunch-break booze fest? Nuh-uh. Not my daughter. Where would she even get the vodka in the first place? I don’t keep alcohol at home—not even wine.

“A few of the students involved in the… ah… mischief, indicated your daughter as the one responsible for smuggling the bottle into the school.”

I might want to strangle Tegan for how reckless she’s been, but my role right now is to do everything in my power not to have her expelled and her life ruined by a stupid mistake. And that’s when the lawyer in me takes over.

“Other than this testimony, do you have definitive proof my daughter brought the vodka to school?”

“As I said, a few witnesses have stated—”