The Anti-Delinquent System

T w e l v e : Hoedown Throw-down

So sorry for the late update! Pls forgive <3

☆☆Dedication to @Ashleethegoodgirl ☆☆

T w e l v e : Hoedown Throw-down 

"Hi, Sir," I mumble. It's barely audible over the click of the door behind me.

"Erika Monroe," Blythe replies, without looking up. I watch with aching apprehension as he lifts his thumb slowly to the garnered moisture in the corner of his mouth, before using the dampness to slide another page across his notebook. It slices through the air with no resistance. "Take a seat."

Without hesitation, I stumble forwards and collapse into the leather seat in front of his desk. The room hasn't changed much from my last visit. It's still stark and strangely cold, denied the luxury of plush furnishing or trinkets. There is, however, the addition of a small potted cactus. Somehow, the plant covered in long spines seems to be the friendlier of the two living creatures facing me.

Oblivious, or ignorant of, my nerves, Blythe continues leisurely reading through immaculate lines of serif font. Only after half a minute of perusal does he lazily lift his chin to face me.

"What can I help you with, Erika?"

I meet his unfeeling gaze and remind myself to have courage. After weeks of guilty sickness and nauseous doubt, the words tumble out of me like vomit: fast, messy and yet strangely relieving.

"I can't do this anymore."

Blythe doesn't respond.

"I can't help you anymore," I reaffirm, listening to my shaky voice say the words that I've been screaming internally for weeks. "I don't want to help you with evidence. I want to back out."

The words float uncomfortably in the air for a few seconds, then sink into acceptance, like a feather dancing its way down to a stagnant demise.

Finally, Principal Blythe makes a humming noise of content and leans further back into his chair with practised nonchalance. It complains a little under his weight, but the squeak does not deter his icy cold expression. "And why, pray tell, did you come to this decision?"

"He's my friend." I squeeze my knuckles tightly, just below his eyeline. "I don't want this."

"Ah." Blythe taps his pen on the lip of his desk, and for the first time, I see a strained smile on his thin lips. "I didn't pin you as the sort of person that would let anything get in the way of your priorities...let alone a boy you've known for a measly two weeks. Interesting how a person can surprise you."

My mouth dries. I watch him as he lifts the pen into the air, flicks it dismissively.

"No matter. I can find a replacement for you easily enough."

"A replacement?"

Mr Blythe meets my eye again, and there's something about the glinting defiance in his pupils that ignites my instinct to step back. "Well, yes. Plenty of students in this school want to get into Stanford, Erika, regardless of the people they need to let go of to get there. Stanford University wants bright, business-savvy young students who know what they want and how they'll get it."

Defensiveness flares before I can help it and I find myself leaning forward slightly with my fists clenched around the weathered arm rests. "I know how I'll get it. I'll work hard."

"Of course, you will," Blythe responds dryly, with the air of someone telling a child that of course the tooth fairy is real. I watch in angered silence as he runs his fingers along the length of his fountain pen. "With or without you, however, the job will be done."