“Mrs. Summers?”
“Ms. Summers,” corrected Joyce coolly. She’d enrolled Buffy in the school—distant, expensive, and demanding—in the hope that the rigorous academics and high standards would help straighten out her wild child daughter.
Instead, it couldn’t even keep track of her during the first long weekend since she’d arrived.
“This is William Bloodsworth, Ms. Summers, headmaster of
“There’s the little matter of my daughter being off-campus all weekend, despite the fact that I alerted the school that she would not be going home for Thanksgiving,” Joyce said icily. “I had no idea that the school allowed children simply to come and go as they pleased. In fact, if that’s the case, I’m not exactly sure what I’m paying you for.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Summers. May I assure you that your daughter was in good hands for the holiday?” William flinched even as he said it. God, he was going to spend the afterlife pushing boulders for this wasn’t he? And he’d deserve it. “Your daughter went home with of our students, a young lady of fine family. There was a small misunderstanding, and the school was under the impression that she had your permission for the visit.”
“She didn’t,” said Joyce frigidly. “I’m not sure if the school is—”
She’s going to withdraw Buffy, thought William suddenly, paralyzed. Pull her out of the school. “And I believe I know what the problem is,” interrupted William. “It’s her roommate.”
There was a startled silence on the other end of the line. “Her roommate?”
“Yes, umm, Cordelia Chase—I think she may be a bad influence on Buffy,” William improvised hastily. He felt terrible for incriminating a student, but if the alternative was see Buffy leave the school … he couldn’t stand the thought.
“A bad influence on Buffy?” repeated Joyce. “I believe that would be the first time she’s been the one not influencing. Frankly, this isn’t the first time Buffy’s done this sort of thing. In fact, I’d say this is the last straw—a”
“Don’t be hasty,” William urged. “I’m sure we can come up with a solution that will put your mind to ease.”
There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “I’m waiting,” said Joyce finally.
~*~*~*~
Buffy squirmed in her seat. She hated Latin. The language was dead—why should she have to learn it?
And more importantly, why hadn’t William sent her a note or something, telling her that he’d soothed her mother’s feathers and everything was now a-okay? They were okay, right? Right? Because if not—
“Miss Summers, are you all right?”
Buffy snapped her head up. Apparently she’d laid it down and shut her eyes without thinking about it. “I—I—” she stumbled. “I don’t feel well,” she said, which wasn’t completely a lie. She didn’t feel good—okay, it was more that she was anxious, but didn’t they give mental health days or something? Her mental health was in danger from not knowing how the talk with her mother went. Big, serious danger.
“Do you need to go see the school nurse?”
Whose office was conveniently located inside the administration building. “Yes, please.”
~*~*~*~
William looked over the minutes to the last meeting of the school’s board of directors. It had been his experience that the board’s secretary tended to take rather skimpy notes and occasionally missed important details, but everything appeared in order this time. The school was doing nicely, and fundraising was going well. It was amazing, really, how many donations the school needed, considering how much tuition they charged, but everything was so expensive these days.
These days. God, he sounded like an old codger. Before you knew it he’d—
The shrill beeping of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. “Yes?”
“Mr. Bloodsworth?” asked a strange male voice somewhat tentatively.
“Yes, I’m William Bloodsworth,” William answered a little impatiently. He seldom gave out his cell phone number, preferring not to be interrupted incessantly. He usually didn’t even turn it on, but he’d turned it on after he’d dropped Buffy off on the street corner in town and apparently forgotten to turn it off. It was a miracle the charge hadn’t run out, really.
“I’m George Davis—the proprietor of the Edgewood Inn.”
“I see,” said William politely, although didn’t see at all. “Is there a problem? Did we leave something in the room?” He knew there couldn’t be a problem with the payment, because he always paid off his credit cards promptly.
The man at the other end of the line coughed. “There’s been a, uh, concern raised by a member of my staff.”
“Concern?”
“Yes, about, uh, the young lady who accompanied you over the weekend.”
William felt the pit of his stomach drop out. “What about her?” he asked, as if from a great distance.
“I was wondering if she was your daughter. Because there was the thought that perhaps the young lady was underage.”
Jesus. William grabbed a notebook and pen off his desk and hastily scribbled a note, talking on the phone all the while. “Buffy is neither my daughter nor underage. She’s a co-worker—we’ve been dating for some time,” he fabricated blindly. If it was discovered that he was consorting with a student, he would be ruined. He would be fired and arrested, presumably, and the school’s reputation would be tarnished. Buffy would be the subject of gossip, and their relationship would be mocked and denigrated as if it were nothing more than a series of tawdry encounters.
Wasn’t it? whispered something inside William, and his stomach coiled. No, it wasn’t, he thought fiercely.
He opened the door to the antechamber and waved the notebook at his secretary. Call Buffy Summers to my office immediately read his scrawled message. Before his secretary could take it Buffy walked into the room, and he hastily waved her into the office, shutting the door behind them and dropping the notebook on the floor. Covering the phone with his hand, he hissed to her, “It’s the innkeeper—somehow they found out you’re underage! I told him you’re a co-worker. Play along.”
“Mr. Davis? Here’s Buffy now,” he said, thrusting the phone at Buffy.
She took it without batting an eyelash. “Is there a problem?” she asked innocently.
“There’s been some concern raised about your age,” the man said rather coldly.
“Well, I’m twenty,” Buffy said. “But I didn’t drink anything, so I don’t see how there could be a problem.”
“That wasn’t the issue raised,” said the man. “There was the thought that perhaps you were underage. And I really can’t see how old you are over the phone.”
“If I was underage I’d be in school right now,” pointed out Buffy. Which was true, right?
“Well, yes,” admitted the man. “But for all I know you’re just a friend who’s doing Mr. Bloodsworth a favor by pretending to be the girl who accompanied him.”
“Look, it was really me, okay?” said Buffy impatiently.
“Convince me.”
“Fine. I asked for crème brulee for dessert instead of pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving, but there wasn’t any, despite the fact that it was listed on the menu. William got a picnic and we ate lunch out on Thanksgiving day. I wore ponytail the day we checked out. Your creepy busboy tries to peer down the female guests’ shirts. And your damn bleach blond maid was drooling all over my man and giving me a bitchface when she thought I wasn’t looking,” Buffy concluded crankily. In her experience, lying always went better when it was accompanied by a little righteous fury.
Besides, she was still pissed about the maid.
Silence greeted her tirade. Finally the man sighed. “Please convey my apologies to Mr. Bloodsworth. And I’m sorry about Connie—I told her she had to be mistaken.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Buffy soothingly. “It’s good that you cared enough to check.”
Buffy turned off the phone and smiled triumphantly at William.
The relief was evident on his face. “Baby!” he exclaimed, hauling her against him and raining kisses upon her face. “You were perfect.”
She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feathery-soft brushings against her face. He could keep that up all day, as far as she was concerned.
“That’s one problem out of the way,” she sighed. “What about the other one?” He looked at her curiously. “My mother?”
“Ah, yes.” He pulled back from her a little, and looked down into her eyes, his face serious.
“Is something wrong?” she asked worriedly.
“Buffy? When classes get out for the day, go up to your room and pack.”
