Beyond What is Given(83)

Her mouth flopped open.

“I thought not.”

She stuck out her tongue, and then moved on to the next machine a little further away.

I ripped open the envelope as soon as she was out of sight and unfolded my transcript.

What. The. Fuck. My grades freshman year were fine, all normal, but the transcript showed me failing classes in my sophomore year, when I knew for a fact I’d pulled straight A’s until fall of my junior year. Not that all were F’s. Some were D’s, or incompletes. These were wrong.

No wonder I wasn’t getting in.

I flipped the page to see the attachment I’d dreaded. My stomach dropped, and my cheeks burned like everyone in the gym knew what I’d done.

Disciplinary Report: Samantha Fitzgerald.

One count of assault against a teacher, November 2014

One count of misconduct regarding an academic grade, November 2014

One count of plagiarism, September 2014

One count of cheating on a final exam, May 2014.

I blinked. It had been doctored. Altered on purpose.

Roaring filled my ears, and embarrassment was no longer the issue. Oh no, I was going to rip apart the person who did this to me. Harrison. That cheating asswipe. He’d have access to the system to change my grades. He’d told me I’d never be rid of him.

I hopped on the computer and booted up my email, going straight to the spam file. There were four more suspicious emails. All with the subject lines of universities I’d applied to. The first three called me a whore, told me I’d never be rid of the shame of what I’d done.

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered and opened the last one.

Little Whore—

Haven’t you figured it out yet? There’s no hope, and the harder you press, the more joy I have ruining your future the way you ruined my life. Why didn’t you stay here, where I could watch over you? In case you really are as stupid as I figure, I’ll make it clear. For every application you send in, your past becomes a better reflection of you. One little F at a time.

Stop trying.

“Asshole,” I whispered, and closed out the email.

Grayson walked out of the locker room and shot me a longing look before heading to the weights.

For a split second, I debated telling him.

If anything, he’d kill Harrison, end up in prison, and I’d be to blame for ruining his life, too. Put that in your miracle-coma-girl movie.

No. I could do this myself. I couldn’t lie down anymore and pray my grades from here would outweigh what was clearly becoming an unusable transcript. I didn’t even have a way to dispute the grades.

I tried the online system to pull my old report cards, but I’d been locked out, which didn’t surprise me. I closed out the program and rolled back in my chair.

My eyes automatically drifted to where Grayson was lifting.

The muscles in his arms bulged with every rep, and my mouth went dry thinking of all the times he’d lifted me like I weighed nothing. All the times he’d held me against a wall while he worked my body into frenzy. I looked at the mirror so I could see his face in the reflection, and my lips parted. He was staring right at me, and his eyes said he’d seen me watching, and he liked it. The single arch of an eyebrow told me all I had to do was say the word and I’d be up against the lockers.

But I wasn’t right for him. I couldn’t even keep my bedroom clean, and I knew that drove him nuts. Hell, if I were as organized as Grayson, I’d have hard copies of my report card in order of date-received all filed away.

Like my mother.

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed.

“Hi, baby girl.”

“Hey, Mom. I’m at work, so I can’t chat, but I have a quick question for you.”

“Fire away.” Her curt tone told me she was still at work.

“Do you have hard copies of my report cards from UCCS?” I held my breath.

“Of course. Do you need them?”

Thank you, God. “Yes. Do you think you could scan them for me?”

“I’ll get it done tonight. Love you.”

“Thank you, Mom. I love you, too.”

We hung up, and I spied Avery wiping down the same piece of equipment she had been for the last ten minutes, staring at Grady as he used the leg machines.

“Avery?” I called out gently, and cringed when she fell forward, distracted. She caught herself before she hit the ground, but her face flushed scarlet.

“What’s up?” she asked at the counter.

“How good at computers are you really?”

She smiled slowly.





Chapter Twenty-Four


Sam


I shifted in my seat as my English teacher droned on. Maybe it was that I hated literature? Not reading it, but analyzing it. Math was easy. A problem, a solution, bingo, done.

“I think it’s about staying faithful,” a deep southern drawl to my left answered the question I hadn’t heard.

“And what’s the overall lesson learned?” the professor prodded.

“That you’re rewarded for staying true,” a girl answered behind me.

“Until your husband is killed and you’re married off like Penelope,” I muttered.

“Good point, Ms. Fitzgerald. So if staying true isn’t the lesson, what is?” He raised his clichéd glasses up his nose.