Page 40 of Cruel Games

“So is allowing twats to call me names, stick things on my clothes, and push harassing messages under my door. And so is having to watch my back every mealtime in case Myra or some other demented ass-licker decides to shove something down the back of my blazer. I’m tired of being a whipping girl.”

“I thought you were coping.” His brows drew together.

My shoulders sagged. Just because I wasn’t a gibbering mess, it didn’t mean that the constant name-calling and petty pranks didn’t wear down my nerves. It was an extra layer of stress I didn’t need.

“Why should I have to put up with it at all?” I snarled.

He lowered his gaze. “You’re absolutely right. Sorry for judging you harshly.”

The next day, Elizabeth greeted me in the Fashion and Textiles hallway with a warm smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Hackles rising, I gave her a brief nod and continued into Miss Martin’s classroom, where the teacher gave the introduction to a lecture on the mechanics of blending different fibers.

Throughout the class, Elizabeth sat back with the most blissful expression. I wondered if Orlando had hidden a third camera in his room on Saturday night but dismissed that thought. If they had such leverage, they would have used it against me already.

Elizabeth’s glee continued throughout lunch, and by dinnertime, the butterflies in my stomach flapped so hard, they made me nauseous.

Every ounce of good sense told me I should sit this one out. To stay in my room and avoid whatever nonsense Elizabeth would spout, but I needed to be there to fight back even if it meant punching her in the mouth.

I walked through the double doors to find the head table empty—the first sign that something was wrong. On legs that felt like wooden pegs, I made my way to the table I shared with Gideon. He sat in his usual seat, looking composed.

“Where are all the teachers?” I asked.

“They hold their staff meetings on Monday evenings after Glasgow weekends.”

Bile rose to the back of my throat. “She’s going to stitch me up.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

Elizabeth leaned back in her seat, refusing the watercress soup. I tried to eat mine, but it tasted like puréed, peppery leaves.

Gideon asked what was wrong. I tried explaining that she looked too happy for a person about to give a public apology, but even when Gideon pointed out she wasn’t eating, I still wasn’t convinced she wasn’t planning something horrible.

After a course of baked salmon, the servers brought lemon meringue pie. Elizabeth strode up to the head table and stood behind Mr. Burgh’s seat.

At the same time, Myra, the tawny-haired maniac who had poured gazpacho soup down my back, pushed a portable projector screen to obscure the right side of the head table.

Elizabeth made a clinking sound by tapping her fork on a glass. “Everyone, can I have your attention, please?”

The chatter petered out, and the dining room went silent.

“I wish to confess.”

My shoulders stiffened, and the rest of my body stilled. Gideon leaned forward in his seat, watching with rapt interest.

Elizabeth made a soft, throat-clearing sound. “I slandered a student of this academy, which resulted in her becoming the academy’s whipping girl. It was unfair, vindictive, and I wish to extend my full apology to Miss Delilah Hancock.”

My stomach hardened. How did she know my real first name?

“You see, I accused Delilah Hancock of being a slut who gave out handjobs. A lie that I based on her peculiar last name.”

An image of my name appeared on the projector in black, with a red ‘D’ in between the N and the C. Something every idiot at the academy had pointed out a hundred times before.

A few people around the room tittered. I rolled my eyes and let my shoulders relax. If she was just going to make fun of my name, I wouldn’t stop her from acting like a dick.

“But I digress. She’s the daughter of a notorious drug baron, William ‘Billy’ Hancock, who was imprisoned for the largest haul of cocaine in the London borough of Richley.” Elizabeth snapped her fingers.

A picture of Billy Hancock’s mugshot appeared on the screen. His right eye was swollen, his lip bruised and cut. Either he’d gotten into a fight during the arrest, or the police had roughed him up in the back of their van.