Sparrow's Story - A Girl Defiant

Chapter 9

9.

The next afternoon, Wednesday classes are almost done when the school loudspeaker crackles overhead. “Sparrow Currie, come to Mr. Hope’s office. Sparrow Currie, Mr. Hope’s office.” 

The other girls whirl around in their seats to gape at Sparrow. 

“What the?” Portia says.

Sparrow wrestles her purse out of her backpack. “Unreal, right?”

She gets up out of her chair and swings her purse over her shoulder. She’s never been close to any of these girls, but each of them whispers as she walks up the aisle. “Stay cool.” “Don’t freak.” “It’ll be OK.”

Ms. Alexandra meets her at the classroom door. “How long have you known about this?” her teacher says. 

“I didn’t.” I could use a hug, Sparrow thinks, but the camera eye is trained on them.

Ms. Alexandra has her back to the camera. She rests her fingers on Sparrow’s shoulder and whispers, “Try to keep focused, and look for openings you can take advantage of. Don’t let what you’re feeling distract you.”  

Sparrow nods, her teeth clenched behind her fake smile, then she steps into the hall. Her ballet flats smack the Spanish floor tiles as she heads for the circular staircase in the foyer. 

Just as she thought, Dad couldn’t wait to set up a meeting with Mr. Hope. 

Sparrow pauses at the top of the curved staircase, wishing she had a baseball bat. Portraits of girls in white Signing dresses sparkling with Swarovski crystals line the lobby walls, because Masterson Academy prides itself on its graduate placement. 

She grips the iron railing as she comes down the stairs, and imagines smashing each one of those simpering, virginal faces, and the satisfying sound of glass splintering on the red tile floor. 

Hope’s door is cracked open, and she hears her dad say, “How did August Reveare get $50 million for his daughter?” 

Sparrow hangs by the door, the chemical surge of anger firing her brain. Really, Dad?

“That fifty million number is misleading, since Miss Reveare’s Contract included partial ownership of her father’s biotech company. Her true Signing price would probably be closer to five million on the open market.”

“Five million.”

“She’s not Sparrow, Mr. Currie.”

Stay focused, Sparrow tells herself and blows through the door. “You wanted to see me.”

Mr. Hope leaps to his feet.  “Sparrow, won’t you sit down. Your father and I were just getting started.” 

His hand brushes Sparrow’s back as he shuts the door behind her, and she catches herself as she winds back to deck him. 

 Hope has eyed her in the Masterson dining room for the last four years, and watched every field hockey game she played. When he walks behind her in the halls, she can feel his gaze lick her.  

Sparrow slides into the empty chair in front of Hope’s desk. She’s never been in his office before, but it’s not surprising that the dark furniture and thick emerald carpet is nicer than the Headmaster’s. 

Masterson awards him a bonus for placing students in lucrative matches. And the rumor is that he made the down payment for his new condo with thank you checks from the fathers of last year’s junior class. 

Mr. Hope slides the brochures for auction houses into her father’s waiting hands. “Very few girls meet the criteria for a Debutante Auction,” the Signing Counselor says. “Sparrow’s combination of beauty, intelligence and social position make her a rare and highly desirable offering.”