Taking The Reins - Book 1 of The Rosewoods (teen romance)

Counterplot Execution

I had to admit, once she explained it, Emmie’s plan was pretty good. Sure, there were ways we could get busted, like if we got caught up in the guys’ dorms, or somehow the dean figured out my backpack suddenly contained boys’ underwear. But if that happened it would be a misdemeanor and result in us getting a talking to—nothing close to getting expelled. And, Emmie explained, they only called home for major things, since most busy parents who shipped their kids off to Rosewood did so because they didn’t want to be bothered with day to day school stuff like silly school pranks, and trusted the Rosewood administration to handle regular non-life-threatening teenage behavior. So the chance of our parents finding out, if we did get caught, was very slim.

So it looked like the first part of her plan was fairly low risk and I did appreciate that. The second part—the part that she had stayed up until almost five a.m. to set up, was pure brilliance.

My only complaint was that Emmie was including me in it as her one and only co-conspirator for the first part. But it was also flattering that she trusted me, and maybe it meant she was really okay with that whole Dave thing and wasn’t holding a grudge or anything.

And anyway, I wasn’t about to chicken out. Girls who want to fit in don’t chicken out on stuff like this. And the new Brooklyn really wanted to fit in.

This was the first part of her plan as she explained it to us: As the school liaison, she knew that Dean Haywood had dinner with Westwood’s Dean Peterson every Saturday to discuss…well, whatever it was deans discussed about their respective schools. She thought maybe it was a hookup, but whatever it was, it meant Dean Haywood would be traveling to Westwood in just a couple of hours. Emmie was going to go to the dean and suggest that she and I go with her on today’s trip. That way, Emmie would reason, she could hand over her school liaison duties to me as I’d be taking over the following week, and she’d be able to formally introduce me to Westwood’s dean and school liaison (Dave) and help me familiarize myself with the school and their procedures. She was going to stress how necessary this orientation would be, especially for one new to the school, such as myself.

Then, during the deans’ closed door meeting in the Westwood offices, we’d steal the boys’ underwear while they were at dinner.

Simple.

Though simple didn’t mean completely bulletproof.

But like I said, I wasn’t about to chicken out, so two hours later and after some fancy talking by Emmie, we were in the dean’s nondescript sedan, driving over to Westwood.

Thankfully, Emmie sat in the front passenger seat and easily chatted with the dean about her summer in Europe.

I sat in the back, getting more and more nervous. No matter how many times I smoothed my sweaty palms over my kilt, they just got clammy again.

Until, “Ms. Prescott, I understand your dressage is coming along nicely.”

I glanced up at the rear view mirror; the dean’s eyes were on me. I nodded. “Yes, thank you. Coach Fleming has been really helpful.”

“I also saw you dancing with him last night.”

Okay. “Yes, that’s right.”

“May I remind you he’s faculty.”

Huh? “I beg your pardon?”

Her eyes darted up to the mirror again. “His coaching you is not an invitation to hook up, as you kids call it.”

There was no way to hide the blush on my cheeks. But I wasn’t sure if I was blushing because she was onto me or because she’d just mentioned a hookup. “No ma’am,” I choked out.