Chapter 79 Chapter Eighty

Chapter 79 Chapter Eighty
“Miss Thompson.”
Mrs. Weathers ambushed me just as I was about to walk into the cafeteria, appearing out of nowhere. She cleared her throat, her hands clasped tightly behind her back and her face giving nothing away. 
My pulse jumped immediately, running off in the other direction. Like it instantly assumed I was in danger. 
“H-hi,” I squeaked, my voice cracking on the single syllable. 
“The director would like to see you in his office,” she said evenly. “Please come with me.”
“Me?” I pressed a trembling hand to my chest, the word tumbling out high-pitched and shaky. My stomach dropped straight through the floor. Sharpman had never been my biggest fan. 
And the last time I’d been summoned to his office was when I found out my mom was hospitalized. 
My mind spiraled instantly.
“Wait—wait, please,” I blurted, my voice rising into full panic mode. My breathing turned shallow and ragged, fingers twisting into the hem of my shirt. “Is it my mom? Did something happen to her? Is she okay? Oh God, tell me she’s not—”
“Miss Thompson,” Mrs. Weathers interrupted gently but firmly, raising one hand. Her expression softened just a fraction. “It’s not about your mother. She’s fine. This is something else entirely.”
I stared at her, still breathing too fast. 
The relief that should have come didn’t fully land. 
If it wasn’t my mom, then why did Sharpman want to see me? My thoughts raced through every possible worst-case scenario: he was finally going to punish me for the gala incident. He couldn’t do it before, but now that exams were over, he had enough time to make me regret ever stirring up trouble. 
“Could you tell me?” I asked, wringing my hands and peeling my cuticle. “Like a hint, maybe?” 
Mrs. Weathers gave the tiniest sigh. “It’s nothing to be worried about, Grace. The director thinks highly of you. That’s why he’s asked for you. Your breakfast will be delivered after the meeting—but he has somewhere else to be in an hour, so there’s no time to waste.”
I followed her, two paces behind, my legs moving forward with muscle memory, while my thoughts raced elsewhere. 
Sharpman thinks highly of me? That was hard to believe. 
After all, Regina was supposed to take credit for planning the gala, not me. 
A question I hadn’t let myself think about in weeks suddenly surfaced. Why did Mrs. Weathers single me out on stage that night? She had looked almost proud when our eyes met across the crowded room.
“May I ask you something?” I said after a long pause.
She nodded, still facing forward.
I swallowed hard. “I know how things work here. You didn’t have to tell everyone I was the one in charge of planning and organizing. You could’ve just given the credit to Regina. She’s the team leader… more popular. She actually fits in at Beacon High.”
Mrs. Weathers’s sensible shoes clicked steadily for a few more steps before she slowed to a stop. She turned to face me fully, her expression softer than usual.
“Because you deserved it, Grace Thompson,” she said quietly. “When I asked you to tutor Mr. Hunter, it wasn’t just about earning points for your college application. His parents had specifically asked me to find someone who could actually help him improve.”
“Oh,” I whispered, caught off guard.
She nodded. “I knew it wouldn’t be easy for you. But you proved everyone wrong—including me.” Her hand gently rested on my shoulder. “And I’ve seen how hard it’s been with Miss Michaels and Miss Sinclair. You never quit. Not once.”
My eyes stung with sudden tears. I hadn’t realized anyone had been paying attention. All this time I’d just been trying to survive…trying to make my mom proud.
“If anyone deserved to stand up there and receive applause from the entire school,” she continued, “it’s you.”
I sniffed, blinking quickly. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” She gave my shoulder a light squeeze before continuing down the hall. “Now, I can give you a small hint about what the director wants, but you have to act surprised and honored when he asks. He wants you to oversee the planning of the Christmas party.”
She glanced sideways at me, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Just make sure you tell your friend not to bodyslam anyone this time.”
A surprised snort-laugh escaped me as I realized she meant Seraphine. I nodded quickly. “Yes, ma’am. What about Regina?”
“Miss Michaels is leaving today for medical reasons,” Mrs. Weathers replied, a faint note of disapproval in her tone. “You don’t need to worry about her anymore. Just focus on making this Christmas party even better than the last. You’ve set a high standard—now it’s time to raise it.”
I rubbed my hands together, a flutter of nervous excitement blooming in my chest. The first time had been terrifying, but now I wasn’t alone. I had Seraphine and Jackson with their brilliant ideas, Jace to rally the athletes, and Nicholas for steady moral support.
I was more than ready.

I did everything as Mrs. Weathers asked, feigning surprise when Sharpman brought it up, his face stern and fingers crossed on the desk. 
“The Christmas party is the biggest event in Beacon High, Miss Thompson. After prom, that is.” His mouth twitched with something like…a smile? I wasn’t sure if he’s happy about the party or prom, but neither of them sat well with me, so I pushed them aside. 
“Yes, sir,” I nodded. “I’ll do well not to disappoint you.”
“You shouldn’t,” he said. “Because this will go on your record. It’ll show that you have leadership and organizational qualities, which will help you get into college. Have you chosen one yet?”
I nodded. 
I went through my list last week, ticking off the ones I knew I had a chance of getting into. Then Jace barged into my room—actually his room because he convinced me to spend a few nights at his apartment, and told me I was selling myself short. 
“You’re Grace Thompson.” His exact words as he kissed me. “You can do anything.”
“Good,” Sharpman nodded. “If you need anything, you can ask Mrs. Weathers. I’ve also told Mrs. James to make sure the students are ready to help if you need more hands.”
My brows shot up. 
Mrs. James? 
Another Beacon High staff member that had it out for me. I doubted she would be willing to help. 
“Thank you,” I told him anyway.  
“That’s all. You may go.”
Mrs. Weathers touched my shoulder just as I turned to leave. “If you need anything,” she whispered, “come to my office. At any time.”
I paused as warmth spread through my chest. When did Beacon High become a place of peace, love, and compassion?
I shook my head with a soft sigh as I stepped into the hallway. “I suppose I should enjoy it while it lasts.”
“You don’t deserve anything good, you bitch.”
I froze, brows pulling together. Regina materialized a few steps away like an unwanted shadow. She stood there with expensive designer luggage rolling behind her and a matching tracksuit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. 
I didn’t know people with medical issues so severe they had to take an emergency leave, could still look so flawless.
“What do you want?” I asked dryly, in no mood for her games.
“You think it’s over, don’t you?” She let out a sharp, bitter scoff. “Just because Sharpman handed you my position and you’ve collected a little pity party doesn’t mean you belong here. They’re all just taking pity on you, Grace. Poor, lonely, charity-case you.”
Her words hit hard, but this time I didn’t flinch. 
I was done playing the weaker student who couldn’t stand up to her bully because she was worried about being expelled. 
I was going to give her what she deserved for a long time now. 
“You’ve had it out for me since day one,” I said, clicking my tongue. “You’ve taken joy in spreading rumors, ruining everything I touch and making life here hell to live, and for what? Because it pisses you off to see someone you think is lesser, doing better than you?”
Regina flipped her hair back in a loud, ugly laugh. “Please. You’re nothing but a desperate little try-hard. Once I’m gone, they’ll all remember who the real leader is. You’ll crash and burn at that Christmas party, and everyone will see exactly what you are: a fraud.”
I stared at her for a long second, my heart pounding and my fists clenched at my sides. All the years of her cruelty, the whispers and the constant humiliation flashed through my mind.
“By the way,” she said snottily, “Sharpman asked me first. I told him I’d be leaving for medical reasons—that’s why he picked you. Because you’re second fiddle to me. You’ll always be, Grace Thompson. Just like your mother is, picking up after other people, taking the scraps they toss at her.”
I moved before I registered it, my palm cracking across her face. 
The sound echoed through the hallway like a whip. Regina’s head snapped to the side, her perfect hair swinging with the force. She stumbled back a step, one manicured hand flying up to her reddening cheek, eyes wide with shock.
For once, she had nothing to say.
“Stay the hell away from me,” I said, breathing hard. My palm was stinging but it felt so good. So freaking good. “And don’t ever talk about my mother again.”