Credentials of Fame (Tyga/Roc Royal Story) *Sequel*

Chapter 29: Suspended

Janelle’s POV:

Wesley Prestigious Boarding School is not playing when they say prestigious.

I’ve never worked so hard in my life, not in regular school and not in music. During the first class of the day, I learned about a million facts that probably no one else on Earth knows or even cares to know. In fact, I shouldn’t say I learned them, because I didn’t. I just listened, memorized them for the period in case the teacher called on me to ask me a question (which she did), and dropped everything I heard right when I got out the door.

Mavia didn’t even bother to give the teacher, Mr. Caleb, a good impression. Her head remained on the desk the entire time. She wasn’t sleeping though. She was just being purposely disrespectful. At one point she started snoring loudly, and I almost got in trouble for giggling.

“That was horrible,” I said as we walked down the hallway and away from our Intro to Scientific Discoveries classroom. Mavia and I seemed to be the only ones that felt like we were coming up from the deep sea for air after an hour. It was a relief to be away from that teacher, even for a few moments.

“Eh, most of what I heard was horrible. But it was bearable, since I refused to pay any attention to that vanilla bean.” She replied. I laughed; her new name for Mr. Caleb was ‘vanilla bean’, since he had a vanilla skin tone but a slight darkness to him.

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

She made a face. The next class required us to go up the stairs, but since every other student was going up Staircase A, we decided to take the back staircase, Staircase C. I don’t think either of us realized it was the staircase the boy’s used until we got halfway up the stairs and saw Chresanto and Sean coming down the stairs. My heart did a backflip; it was like I hadn’t seen him in years.

I leaped into Chresanto’s arms and he laughed. I knew he missed me just as much, or even more.

“How’s ‘school’?” He asked, using air quotes for the word school. I shrugged.

“It’s okay, I guess.”

“It’s horrible.” Mavia jumped in. Chres laughed. He shook her hand and they introduced themselves, and Sean and I did the same. Then the late bell rang…our cue.

Chresanto kissed me softly, waved Mavia goodbye, and headed out the door. Sean followed close behind. But before he made it all the way down the stairs, he stopped to wink at Mavia. She blushed like a fool.

“Hmm, I guess somebody’s feeling the love today.” I said jovially. She nudged my arm.

“Shut up.” She said, laughing. She couldn’t even deny it; they obviously liked each other. That little incident, including my kiss with Chresanto, spiced up the rest of my day.

Maybe WPBS (Wesley Prestigious Boarding School) isn’t so bad.  

                                                                * * *

After Social Studies class, where we discussed teen pregnancy and the history of transvestites, Mavia and I were called to the deans’ office.

Mind you, this was a first experience for me. I’ve never been called to a dean’s office before. I’ve been called to the principal’s office, but only because of things like receiving awards or having my mother called to pick me up because it was that time of the month for me. Besides that, I used to watch my peers get sent to the office for unnecessary brawls and shake my head.

This time, when I knew I wasn’t receiving any award and I wasn’t on my period, I was scared to death.

Mavia was trying to act chill, but I could tell she was scared too. We hadn’t done anything wrong, had we? I kept hoping it was nothing serious as Mrs. Ester, the student coordinator, led us to the dean’s office. I had been to his office before, on my first day here. That day I was with those Senior Rep chicks.

“That’s Miranda and Heather, from the National Honors Society. They’ll be looking in on your visit to the dean, reporting any funny business.” Mrs. Ester said to us, pointing to two Barbie-looking girls down the hall.

Speak of the Devil, I thought.

Mrs. Ester practically pushed us into the office and pulled the door behind us. I looked back to see Miranda and Heather looking intensely into the office, as if Mavia, Mr. Jackson and I were going to start making out.

“Take a seat, girls.” Mr. Jackson said in a monotone. Mavia and I exchanged quick glances before sliding into the deep, red chairs. The cushion was soft; so soft that I was gradually sinking into the chair, sinking into my deep worry about what Mr. Jackson had to say.

He had a remote control in his hand. He acknowledged us with a nod, and then used the remote to turn on a little flat screen TV on the wall.

The television was displaying what the surveillance cameras picked up. It was a shady, dark looking place. It was some staircase in the school. A door opened, and two girls walked in. Just as they walked in, two boys started walking in the opposite direction toward them. I watched in horror as the TV showed Chresanto hug and kiss me, and introduce himself to Mavia.

They caught us.

Mr. Jackson paused the video—he was smart enough to know that since we were there, we know how the story ends—and looked at us.

“Well what do you have to say?” He asked after a while.

“Um…I, for one, would like to apologize. Janelle and I weren’t aware that we couldn’t use that particular staircase. So, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Mavia humbly said. Mr. Jackson looked from her and over to me with an expectant look on his face. I felt like he didn’t even want to her Mavia’s apology, he was just waiting to see what the semi-famous girl had to say.

“Mr. Jackson,” I gulped, “with all due respect…I don’t think we need to apologize. You should have some consideration. We’re two new students, we’re not used to this at all, and we made a slight mistake in the staircase we used. So what? You should just us know the proper way to go, and the story would be over. It’s that simple.”

Mr. Jackson looked astonished. He definitely wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t want to sound so disrespectful. I could feel Mavia’s surprised eyes boring into my skin, just as Mr. Jackson’s eyes were. I sighed. Maybe I should’ve apologized.

“You’re right, Ms. Stevenson. Since you already know the proper staircase to use by now, I assume, allow me to show you what happens when you make mistakes like that.”

We left the office with a week’s suspension—cleaning up in the kitchen, cleaning the dorms, grooming the garden outside the building, and helping Ms. Lowe with filing in the main office.

Torture is not the word to describe this.

But it doesn’t matter, because I have a plan. An under-developed plan, but a plan.

I’m leaving here in two weeks. Two.