“Just me—” I say, but he doesn’t let me finish.

“You are all being formally charged with immoral conduct—”

The rest of his sentence was blotted out by the thunder in my ears. I feel Katherine jerk, and Nevaeh is raising her voice, but all I can think is immoral conduct.

His voice breaks in. “The three of you girls will be appearing before the honor board on Monday,” he says.

I can’t let this happen. If I do, they’ll lose everything. Everything.

Immoral conduct is a serious violation. That’s not detention on Saturdays.

I ball my hands into fists, willing him to listen to me.

“Dean Pembrooke!” Raising my voice to drown his out. His eyebrows climb all the way up into his hairline, and his lips disappear. “They didn’t do anything,” I say desperately. “Whoever said so was wrong. It was just me. All of it.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I believe I was clear.”

“But I’m the one who—”

“You will have to tell it to the honor board,” he says.

“But you can’t do this,” I say.

He smiles at that one.

“I’m sorry to say I can, Ms. Grant,” he says, shaking his head at me. “I truly am. I don’t want to do this. I want to believe in all my students. I want to think you have good judgment. That you’re trustworthy. That you will make me proud—honor Lakeshore Academy.”

None of us reply to that. Katherine’s hand is still tight around mine.

“Well, then,” the dean says. “I don’t think I have to tell you that there will be serious consequences for your future because of your poor judgment.”

“What’s going to happen to us?” I ask. I can’t even look at Katherine and Nevaeh. They did this for me. I know it’s bad, but I don’t know how bad.

“You should have worried about that, and your college acceptances, a little sooner. For now, you’re all on campus restriction until next Monday,” he says, taking a seat and pulling a notebook in front of him. “After that, it will be up to the honor board. Maybe if you had read your student handbook, you’d understand the consequences of your actions a little more clearly.”

I flush, and Katherine tugs my hand before I can blurt out something rude. The dean looks up, nods at us. “Ms. Flores, if you could escort them out.”

“Real power move, having us escorted from the room,” Nevaeh says, dragging her scarf around her neck, our boots squeaking again on the marble hallway.

“Your college acceptances,” I say to them. My chest feels hollow. “It can’t be true. I’m so sorry.”

Nevaeh whacks me in the arm.