The day was passing in a blur — the Juniors having spent the afternoon flying through interviews and preparing which decorations to be hung for the mixer. But, the school-day had finally come to an end — and it was a good job it had, given Scarlett may have ripped Kati's head off had she showed her another strip of yellow bunting or tacky lights that she suggested should be hung for the festivities.
However, Scarlett's job was mostly done for the week. She'd weaselled out ushers and supervised the majority of function decorating and had just enough time to cancel the week's honour society meeting so she could meet with her father and hopefully defuse the situation with her grandad — who she'd been informed by Greyson had taken Eli out for the day, meaning her father had a free slot.
With a huff, the girl texted away — phone in one hand and tray of coffees in the other. She'd have called Caroline, but the poor woman was no doubt tending to her mother's plans for whatever she'd done that day. Scarlett was texting with Nate, allowing the boy to complain about his burden of being chosen as the Dartmouth usher, with no offence to her Grandfather.
Neither Scarlett nor Nate were aiming for him to get that usher position — truth be told, Scarlett didn't even know how it happed, given he would be ushering an English Literature professor and as the two had discussed, he was awful at it. It was her job to highlight the interviewees strengths, or at least have the rest of the honour society do it for her. She'd pegged him for Princeton or Harvard for his high grade in athletics, given it was one of his best attributes.
Though, men's soccer was Dartmouth's strong suit which would fit Nate nicely — but he didn't want it, and that was fine by Scarlett. "Scarlett, hey!" A voice called, the brunette stopping dead in her tracks — her head snapping up to look at Serena who was headed her way. Scarlett's expression turned from one of annoyance to confusion, the girl slowly snapping her phone shut and slipping it into her coat pocket.
