Joan the Made (Throwbacks Series, Book 1)

Chapter 15

"Joan, please be careful and keep your head down," Sparkle begs. She has to help me put on my shirt because my back is so stiff that I can't raise my arms above my head.

I nod, practicing the beaten-down act that I plan to wear in public so that I don't draw the headmaster's attention again. If I'm honest, it's not only to get in his good graces so I can figure out how to bring him down. It's also because I'm terrified of another encounter with that whip.

I skip Costumes and Makeup and begin my day after lunch in Remedial Acting. Everyone watches me as I slink into the seat next to Harriet, who gives my hand a brief, warm squeeze.

"Today we will discuss Stanislavski's approach to acting and try some beginner's techniques to get in touch with sorrow," Crew says from the stage.

Huh? Where's my copy of The Art of War?

"This bullshit is thanks to you," Elizabeth, who is sitting behind me, hisses. "The headmaster will be keeping a close eye on you, which means three hours of this idiocy in case he comes into the classroom to observe today."

"Your breath reeks," I reply, hoping to throw her off-balance.

Next to me, Harriet stifles a laugh.

"I will have your attention or your absence," Crew says sternly, cutting off any more banter with Elizabeth.

Crew launches into his lecture, and I find myself being drawn into his discussion on characters' motivations in spite of myself. I realize that even though his lesson would appear completely innocent to an Evolved observer, everything he is saying can also be applied to human nature. The psychology of what makes people tick is fascinating.

About halfway through class, the door opens and Headmaster Hunter comes in. Everyone sits a little straighter, but Crew continues to lecture as if nothing has changed.

I turn and find the headmaster staring at me. I lower my eyes and my head as my cheeks flush. I hope he thinks it's from shame at my behavior, and not pure rage, which is the reality. I'm going to get my hands on his whip and beat him with it one day. I'll watch him beg me to stop.

I'm distracted from plotting my revenge when Crew has us partner up to practice crying on cue. I cheat when Crew comes by to check my progress, flexing my tender back so my eyes well with tears of pain.

"I expected more than that," he says, immediately guessing what I'm up to. Then he leans closer to me. "Dr. Hunter has requested that you stay after class today. I trust that you will remember your place in his presence."

His words are accompanied by a quick squeeze of my arm, and I understand that this is a command from the leader of the Throwback rebellion.

"It's what I planned on, sir," I say, my stomach churning at the thought of talking to the headmaster.

It's hard to concentrate for the rest of class, and I'm almost relieved when it's over because the anticipation of facing my worst enemy is eating me up.

"I'll wait for you outside," Harriet says. "Break a leg."

Her words buoy my mood, reminding me that I'm only playing the part of a beaten-down student. The class clears out quickly, and I shuffle to the front of the classroom, my shoulders slumped. The headmaster and Crew examine me.

"I hope you understand that your punishment was for your own good," Headmaster Hunter says. "Better that I teach you your place than the police. They wouldn't be nearly so lenient."

How hard would it be to choke him with my bare hands? But instead, I recall the humiliation I felt kneeling before this man, begging for his mercy, so that when I reply, my humility will appear authentic.