Chapter 108
Elara
The implication hung in the air, heavy and accusatory. My heart sank even as my classmates' cheers died into uncertain murmurs. I'd known the Vane family wouldn't let this stand without a fight. I just hadn't expected them to move quite this fast.
I stood, forcing my trembling legs to support me. "Fine. Let's go."
Raven grabbed my arm. "Do you want me to come with you?"
I shook my head, managing something that might have passed for a reassuring smile. "No. I can handle this."
I could feel the weight of every eye in the classroom as I followed Victoria out. In the hallway, other students parted for us, their whispers following in our wake. Some looked sympathetic. Others wore expressions of schadenfreude that suggested they were already anticipating my downfall.
Victoria kept up a running commentary as we walked, her voice dripping with disdain. "Did you really think you could cheat your way to first place? Tristan's been the top student for three years running. He spotted the anomaly in your scores immediately."
I didn't bother responding. There was no point in defending myself to her—Victoria had already decided I was guilty. She always did.
The principal's office loomed ahead, its heavy oak door closed. Through the frosted glass panel, I could make out multiple silhouettes. My mouth went dry.
---
I pushed open the door to find Tristan seated at Dr. Pemberton's desk as if he owned it, his gold-rimmed glasses catching the light as he looked up at my entrance. His expression was carefully neutral, but something cruel lurked in the set of his mouth—that particular smile he wore when he was about to enjoy someone else's humiliation.
Several teachers stood around the room: my calculus instructor, the art history professor, and the Dean of Students, Ms. Whitmore. Victoria swept past me to stand beside Tristan, her arms crossed in an attitude of vindication.
Dr. Pemberton sat behind his desk with his hands folded. His face was grave.
Tristan rose slowly, adjusting his cufflinks with deliberate precision. He was shorter than Julian but carried the same aura of unquestionable authority that seemed bred into the Vane bloodline.
"Miss Vance," he said, his voice smooth and measured. "Thank you for joining us. We've been waiting."
I stood just inside the doorway, keeping my voice level despite my racing heart. "What's this about, Mr. Vane?"
He crossed the room toward me with unhurried steps, stopping close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The height difference was calculated, meant to emphasize the power imbalance between us.
"As a member of the Vane family and as an alumnus of St. Valerius Academy," he began, his tone taking on the quality of a prepared speech, "I have a responsibility to ensure this institution's academic integrity remains beyond reproach."
He paused, letting his words settle. "Your midterm performance, Miss Vance, presents a statistical anomaly that demands investigation. You achieved the highest score in the grade—a ninety-seven-point-eight percent average across all subjects. This is... unusual, particularly for a student who has never ranked above fortieth place in three years of attendance."
Victoria jumped in immediately, her voice sharp with accusation. "She was sixty-eighth on the last practice exam! There's no way she could jump to first without cheating!"
I forced myself to meet Tristan's gaze steadily. "So your logic is that if I do well, I must have cheated?"
"Not at all, Miss Vance." Tristan's smile didn't reach his eyes. "My logic is that when a student's performance shows statistically improbable improvement, the school has an obligation to investigate. Academic integrity is the foundation of this institution."
He turned to retrieve a folder from Dr. Pemberton's desk, opening it with theatrical precision. "I've reviewed your complete academic record. For the past three years, you've maintained a ranking between fiftieth and seventieth place. Your highest achievement was forty-ninth, during sophomore year second semester. Yet this midterm exam shows you scoring ninety-seven-point-eight percent, fifteen points higher than the honors track valedictorian."
He set the folder down in front of me, his finger tapping against a highlighted section of data. "Can you explain this anomaly?"
I took a slow breath, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I've been studying. Hard. I spend every evening at the library until closing, working through practice problems. Is it really that impossible to believe someone could improve through effort?"
Tristan's laugh was soft and condescending. "Effort? Miss Vance, do you expect us to believe that mere effort could produce a fifteen-point jump in performance? That's not how statistics work."
Victoria leaned forward, her voice dripping with false concern. "And we all know you've been busy with other things lately. I saw posts about you selling art at Brooklyn Flea. People said you were making over a thousand dollars a day. Who knows where you got the money to buy exam answers?"
The accusation was so absurd I almost laughed. "You think I bought answers with money I earned selling my own art?"
"The source of funding is irrelevant," Ms. Whitmore interjected, her tone businesslike. "Miss Vance, we have reason to believe that portions of this exam were compromised. Your scores in Calculus, Art History, English Literature, and Physics all exceeded ninety-five percent. The probability of this occurring naturally, given your historical performance, is extremely low."
Dr. Pemberton cleared his throat. "According to St. Valerius Academy's honor code, we will be invalidating your exam scores and placing a notation of major academic dishonesty in your permanent file. This will impact your college applications."
Tristan turned from where he'd been standing by the window, his expression arranging itself into something that might have been pity if you didn't know him well enough to recognize the cruelty underneath.
"Of course," he said softly, "if you admit to the misconduct now, we can consider a lighter punishment. After all..." He let the pause stretch, his eyes traveling over my school uniform with its slightly frayed cuffs and the scuff marks on my shoes that no amount of polish could hide. "You've had a difficult time lately. We understand that circumstances can drive people to desperate measures."
The condescension in his voice—the implication that my poverty and precarious position somehow explained criminal behavior—made rage flare hot in my chest. But I forced it down, forced myself to think clearly.
Several teachers were watching me with expressions of pity mixed with disapproval, as if they'd already convicted me in their minds. Mrs. Caldwell, my English teacher, stepped forward.
"Miss Vance, if you confess now, we can show leniency. St. Valerius values honor, but we also believe in giving students the opportunity to learn from their mistakes."
I looked around the room at their expectant faces—Tristan's cold satisfaction, Victoria's barely concealed glee, the teachers' patronizing concern, Dr. Pemberton's stern disappointment. They'd already decided I was guilty. This wasn't an investigation; it was a sentencing.
Fine. If they wanted proof, I'd give them proof.
"Okay," I said, my voice coming out calmer than I felt. "You want to know if I earned these scores legitimately? Give me a test. Right now. Same difficulty level as the midterm. If I can complete it in front of you, that proves I didn't cheat."
The room went silent. Tristan's eyebrows rose fractionally—the only sign of surprise he allowed himself.
"Interesting," he murmured. "You're quite bold, Miss Vance. I'll give you that."
He turned to Dr. Pemberton. "I propose we give Miss Vance an opportunity to demonstrate her supposed abilities. Provide her with a sample exam from Phillips Exeter Academy—one of the most rigorous preparatory schools in the country. If she can complete the final calculus problem within the allotted time, we'll accept that she didn't cheat."
Victoria shot to her feet. "That's not fair! How do we know she hasn't prepared for this specific test?"
I kept my eyes on Tristan. "Then you tell me—how exactly am I supposed to prove I didn't cheat? Should I carry this accusation for the rest of my life?"
Victoria opened her mouth to argue, but Tristan raised a hand to silence her. His gaze remained fixed on me, calculating.
"Very well, Miss Vance. I admire your courage. But I should warn you—last year, only twelve percent of Phillips Exeter students answered this particular problem correctly. If you fail, it will serve as evidence that you did indeed cheat on the midterm."
Dr. Pemberton retrieved a sealed envelope from his filing cabinet, opening it in front of everyone to demonstrate it hadn't been tampered with. He handed me several stapled pages.
"You have fifteen minutes," he said.