Changing the Rules (Richter Book 1)(13)

Claire looked at herself. Jeans and a T-shirt, flat sneakers that lots of teenage kids wore. She applied a little eyeliner and pale lipstick, but otherwise kept the makeup off. At her side, on the floor by her chair, was one of the secondhand backpacks she and Jax had gone out of their way to find so they didn’t look like they’d just hit Target for back-to-school supplies.

Claire stood and extended her hand. “I’m Claire.”

Mr. Green started to smile as he shook her hand.

They both took a seat.

Mrs. Hanley handed Claire’s profile to him.

“Mr. Green is in charge of all disciplinary needs at Auburn High. Any kids caught skipping school, bringing illegal substances or paraphernalia, or engaging in possibly dangerous activities . . .”

“Unless it requires our local police.” Mr. Green looked up from the paper. “Or you.”

“I’m not a cop,” Claire told him.

He looked confused.

“But you work with them,” he said.

“Yes. But blowing our cover for anything that isn’t directly related to our goal isn’t an option for this detail.”

“We have resource officers that work with the police,” Mrs. Hanley directed.

“None of which know we’re here. Once I walk out of this office, I’m Claire Porter, a teenager who’s pretty pissed she had to relocate. You need to treat me like any other student. On or off campus.”

“We can do that.”

“Good.”

Claire sat forward in her chair. “I’ll find a reason to come in contact with one of you every week. If there are names of students you suspect as either a potential victim or perp, it will help that we know.”

“All due respect, if we knew that, we wouldn’t need Twenty-One Jump Street invading our school,” Mr. Green said as he stared down his nose at her.

“Twenty-one what?”

He shook his head. “It was an old TV show.”

“I don’t watch a lot of TV.”

“It was before your time,” Mrs. Hanley told her.

Good, because a lot of American references were lost on her.

The morning bell rang, alerting them of the time.

Mrs. Hanley reached across the desk and handed Claire her schedule. “Our teachers give all incoming transfers time to catch up. Any issues with class placement will be shuffled in a couple of weeks. We’ll accommodate what we can, but if you don’t do some of the work, the teachers will request a change to give you the best opportunity to succeed. If you need help with anything, I’m here.”

Claire glanced at the schedule before shoving it in her backpack. “I’m sure I can manage.”

Mr. Green stood and indicated the door. “I’ll show you to your homeroom.”

As they walked into the halls of the school, students buzzed past as they hustled to their destinations.

The stares of students followed her as she walked down the hall. Reminding herself that she walked beside the disciplinary figure of the school, Claire attempted to appear aloof.

Rebel.

The word rolled in her head. I’m a rebel!

Reaching back in her memory of her years at Richter, she scanned the faces of those walking by.

Saw them.

Studied them.

Judged them.

Mr. Green walked her outside the administrative building and across a quad. “Your math and science classes are in C building. Literature and social studies are in B. Arts in A. Everything computer related is in E.” As he explained the campus, he pointed toward different areas, although nothing he said was foreign to her. Did he really think she didn’t look at a map before showing up for work?

“Got it.”

“Most seniors have a limited schedule, but because you decided to skip most of your junior year, it looks like you have some making up to do.”

Claire rolled her eyes.

Beside her, the vice principal chuckled. “You do that well,” he said under his breath.

She didn’t reply.

“Homeroom is twenty minutes at the start of second period. You’re with a selective group.”

“Selective?”

“Challenging.”

The bell rang again, and the last of the kids scurrying in the halls funneled into rooms. “Challenging for the vice principal, you mean,” she said.

He put his hand on the door, looked at her. “I know the name of every kid in this room and their reason for being placed there.”

Copy that, she said to herself.

“Ready?”

She blew out a breath, looked at him, rolled her eyes . . . and ignored his smirk.



“This is the faculty lounge,” Mrs. Hanley said as she showed Cooper around the administration building. Neil had arranged for knowledge of Cooper’s presence at the school to be limited to the principal only. It wasn’t that Mr. Green was a suspect so much as he just didn’t need to know Cooper was there. Mrs. Hanley would deal with any problems Cooper experienced in the classroom. “Food tends to disappear from the refrigerator, so use at your own risk,” she teased.

Cooper smiled and allowed her to introduce him to the few teachers that were in the space.

The administration building was filled with offices and reception desks. A scattering of chairs occupied a small waiting area, with very few people there. He was shown the nurse’s office, where a nurse only came once a week. Next were the counseling offices, where the counselors split their time on campus and were available to the students by appointment only. The halls were bare of lockers, taken out at least twenty years before and the walls patched to erase that they’d ever been there. Students were given a set of books for home, and another was available in the classrooms, removing the need for lockers altogether. Sad, really . . . that kids who wanted to deal drugs and bring weapons to campus ruined the high school experience for so many.