demon - camren

one

Twelve hours before Camila Cabello's parents tried to kill her, she was sitting between them in the principal's office, her hands in her lap, stifling all the things she wanted to say.

"We don't stand for troublemakers in this school, " said Mrs Cobb. She was a fleshy woman in her fifties who wore a necklace so tight that when her neck quivered and her face went red, Camila expected her head to just pop off, maybe bounce on the floor and go rolling underneath her massively imposing desk. That would have been nice. "There is a reason we have been placed in the top three educational facilities in the great state of Florida, " Cobb continued, "and do you know why that is? It's because we run a tight ship." She paused for effect, as if what she'd said needed to be absorbed rather than merely tolerated. Cobb inclined her head slightly to one side.

"Mr and Mrs Cabello, I don't know you very well. In previous years, there has been no reason to summon you here. In previous years, Camila's behaviour has been perfectly adequate. But your daughter has been sent to my office three times in the past month for altercations with other students. Three times. That is, I'm sure you'll agree, beyond the pale. Speaking plainly, as I feel I must, her behaviour this semester has worsened to such a degree that I am, regrettably, forced to wonder if there might have been some drastic change in her home circumstances." Camila's mother nodded sympathetically.

"How terrible for you." Her parents were, as expected, completely calm in the face of overwhelming stupidity. That specific type of calm – detached, patient but at-times-veering-into condescension – was pretty much their default setting. Camila was used to it. Cobb was not. Sinu Cabello sat in her chair with perfect posture and perfect hair, dressed smartly yet demurely. Alejandro  Cabello sat with his legs crossed, hands resting on the understated buckle of his Italian belt, his fingers intertwined and his shoes gleaming. Both of them good-looking people, tall, healthy and trim.

Camila had more in common with Mrs Cobb than she did with her own parents – Cobb could, in fact, have been Camila in forty years' time, if she never found the discipline to go on that diet she'd been promising herself. The only thing she seemed to have inherited from her folks' combined gene pool was her brown hair. Sometimes Camila let herself wonder where it all went wrong with her – but she didn't ponder that mystery for very long. Such pondering led to the cold and darker places of her mind. "It gets worse, " Cobb said. "The parents of the other girl in this ... fracas, we'll call it, have intimated that they will report the incident to the local newspaper if we do not take appropriate measures.

I, for one, refuse to see this school's good name dragged through the mud because of the actions of one troublesome student." At that, Cobb glared at Camila, just to make sure everyone present knew to whom she was referring. "Can I say something?" Camila asked. "No, you may not." "Saffron's the one who started it. She picks on anyone who isn't as pretty and perfect as her and her friends." "Be quiet, " Cobb said sharply. "I'm just saying, if you want to blame someone, then blame—" "You may not speak!" Camila answered her glare with one of her own. "Then why am I here?"

"You are here to sit and be quiet and let me talk to your parents." "But I could let you talk to my parents from somewhere else, " Camila said. Cobb's face flushed and her neck quivered. Camila waited for the pop. "Young lady, you will be quiet when I tell you to be quiet. You will respect my authority and do as you are told. Do you understand?" "So I'm not allowed to speak up for—" "Do you understand?" Her mother patted Camila's leg. "Come on now, sweetie, let the nice old woman speak." Cobb's eyes widened. "Well, I think I have identified the source of the problem.

If this is how Camila has been raised, I am not surprised that she has no respect for authority." "Naturally, " Alejandro  said, as composed as ever. "What's so great about authority, anyway? It takes itself far too seriously, if you want my opinion. You have a little problem that you blow all out of proportion, drag Sinu and myself across town for a meeting we're obviously supposed to dread, and here you sit at your ridiculously large desk like a mini-despot, assuming you wield some sinister power over us. Sinu, are you feeling intimidated yet?" "Not yet, " Sinu said kindly, "but I'm sure it will kick in soon." Camila did her best not to squirm in her seat.