Chapter 15

Prue

I was a sobbing mess, my chest tight, throat raw, tears spilling freely down my cheeks as I sat across from the principal. My fingers trembled as I clutched the edge of the chair, trying to steady myself, to find strength in the middle of the storm swirling inside me. I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate to remember all the lonely nights I cried myself to sleep because I had to grow up without a mom. This pain wasn’t new – but right now, it felt fresh all over again. And it was exactly what I needed to look like a victim.

I finally looked up, my voice cracking like glass.

"Why am I even here?"

The principal, composed behind his desk, replied with maddening calm.

"Fighting is not allowed in our school."

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound wet with grief and fury. It’s not like I didn’t expect to end up in this chair after the scene I caused in the cafeteria. Too many prying eyes who liked to add oil into the fire by ratting other students to principals.

But one of the greatest skills I’ve honed in life is survival – the stubborn, unyielding kind that keeps you standing no matter what gets hurled your way. I’ve been knocked down, cornered, and left with nothing, but I’ve always found a way to crawl back, teeth bared, ready for the next round.

So this – this was a whole different kind of performance. Honestly, with all the dramatic moments in my life, someone really should’ve handed me a Golden Globe by now.

"What was I supposed to do?" I cried, my voice rising. "He called me a bi.tch. A sl.ut. A psycho. He threatened to kick my as.s. What was I supposed to do – turn the other cheek and let him treat me like garbage? Just walk away and ignore it till the next time?"

I broke again, covering my face with my palms, the sobs shaking my shoulders. Every word from my mouth was drenched in pain, desperation, anything to keep the act alive – though, truth be told, some of it wasn’t fake.

From the corner, Andrew shifted, his voice quieter now – guilty, maybe.

"It was different…"

I snapped my head up, eyes blazing through the tears.

"Really?" I bit out. "You never said those things to me? You want to stand here and lie now? Go ahead, try."

He flinched, and I saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. I had chosen the timing perfectly. “Never” was a trap, and he knew it.

"Your best friends were right there too. Should we call them in and ask? I’m sure they’d love to back you up – or maybe not." My tone dripped with sarcasm and challenge. "Go on, let’s all share what really happened."

Before he could respond, the principal raised his hand, his tone sharper now.

"Enough." His voice cut clean through the tension. "Both of you – stop."

He turned to Andrew, his gaze firm.

Now that I was no longer sobbing and could breathe again, I took in the man properly. Principal Morrow. Balding, with grey stubble peppering his chin and a pair of tired, intelligent eyes that looked like they had seen a lot. His suit was slightly wrinkled, his tie loosened, like he’d had enough meetings with hormonal teenagers to last three lifetimes. But he wasn’t the type to snap or shout. He was the kind that observed, waited, then landed his words like darts.

"Andrew, I respect your father, but let me be clear – bullying is not tolerated in this school. And especially not when it comes to girls."

His words landed with a quiet force, pulling at threads of emotion that teenagers tried hard to keep knotted. There was a shift in the room. The air changed.

"Teenage girls have some of the highest rates of suicide because of bullying. You don’t want that kind of blood on your hands, Mr. Andrew."

The weight of his words landed like a punch. Even I was caught off guard by how direct he was. His voice wasn’t just authoritative – it was raw. Real. Like he wasn’t reading from a manual but maybe speaking from something personal. Regret. Or just sheer frustration with the world we lived in.

Then he looked at me, his expression softening. Not like at a student, or a misbehaving brat – but like someone… human.

"Prudence." My name sounded different in his mouth – gentler, like he saw the wound underneath my sharp edges. "Fighting still isn’t allowed, sweetheart."

I lowered my head, feigning shame, trying not to look too smug about the verbal slap Andrew just received.

"I understand now that you were defending yourself – and to a point, I admire that. But next time, please don’t let it get physical."

His tone was still firm, but not unkind.

"There are other ways to handle it. Report it. Record it – we have the technology now. One video could make all the difference. Do you understand?" He pressed more to get his point across.

I nodded, wiping my cheeks with the sleeve of my hoodie.

"Yes, sir. Thank you… for the advice."

I added a little sweetness to my voice – never know when being polite might come in handy. He gave me a warm, fatherly smile in return.

Then he dropped the bomb.

"As for the two of you… clearly, there are unresolved issues. So, for the next month, you’re both on school service duty. Detention through volunteering – together. Whatever the teachers or the school need, you’ll do. On demand."

My jaw dropped. Wait – together?

I could practically hear Andrew’s blood boiling. He stiffened, fists clenched.

"Yes, sir!" he barked through gritted teeth, then stormed out of the office like a hurricane.

I blinked, still stunned.

"Okay, sir… I’m really sorry for the scene I caused." I said quietly, trying to leave on a humble note.

The principal gave a tired nod.

"Good, good. Just don't repeat it. Off you go now."

As I walked out, I glanced back at him. He looked exhausted, probably up to his ears in moody teenagers with bad attitudes and raging hormones. Honestly, I didn’t blame him. His office smelled like coffee, old books, and years of accumulated stress.

But all I could think was – great. A month of awkward tension, shared chores, and pretending I didn’t want to strangle my mate. What could possibly go wrong?

Oh, wait. Everything.