ELLE’S POV
Declaring I'd join the contest was one thing. Actually getting my name on that sign-up sheet? That was going to be a whole different battle.
I spent my morning classes strategizing, tapping my pen against my notebook while teachers droned on about calculus and literary themes. The problem was crystal clear: Benita was in charge of the sign-up sheet. And Benita would rather eat her designer handbag than let me participate.
By lunch period, I'd made my decision. If the mountain wouldn't come to Mohammed, then Mohammed would go straight to the top.
I figured the only way to sign up for the contest was to go directly to the Principal since Benita was the one in charge of signing up, and I knew she'd never let me put my name down. The walk to his office felt like marching into enemy territory, each step heavier than the last.
When I got to Principal Richard's door, I hesitated, my knuckles hovering inches from the polished wood.
Was I really doing this? Drawing even more attention to myself after the masquerade fiasco?
Before I could chicken out, I knocked and entered.
Principal Richard glanced up from his computer, his silver-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Unlike most people at DE-Fountain, he'd always treated me with kindness.
"Elle," he said, sounding surprised. "What can I do for you?"
I took a deep breath. "Sir, I wanted to sign up for the musical contest this Friday."
He gestured toward the chair across from his desk. "That's wonderful. Go ahead."
"I—" I stopped, not knowing how to tell him that Benita wouldn't let me sign up without sounding like I was tattling. "I'm not sure how."
Understanding dawned on his face. "Is something or someone stopping you?"
The news of how I had been bullied since I came to this school a few months ago was no secret. I didn't know if it was because I was a scholarship kid among the elites that caused the bullying, or if it was just their pure hatred for me.
Either way, Principal Richard had stepped in more than once when things got too obvious.
I nodded slowly, my eyes fixed on the floor.
Without another word, he stood up. "Let's take care of this together, shall we?"
My head snapped up. "You don't have to—"
"I insist," he said, already moving toward the door. "Show me where the sign-up sheet is."
He walked out with me, his presence beside me like a shield as we navigated the crowded hallways. Students parted for him like the Red Sea, some doing double-takes when they saw me at his side.
"Lead the way," he instructed once we reached the main hall.
I pointed toward the table set up near the auditorium entrance, where Benita sat with her court of admirers, gatekeeping the contest with a clipboard and a sneer.
My stomach knotted as we approached. A small line had formed, mostly freshmen too new to understand the social hierarchy. As soon as I stepped in line, conversations hushed, heads turned, and I felt the weight of dozens of eyes on me.
Principal Richard stood just behind me, partially hidden by a decorative pillar. I hadn't asked him to stay, but I was pathetically grateful he had.
When my turn came, Benita asked with her head bowed and her finger ready to scribble on the list before her, "Name?"
When I didn't say a word, she looked up to see me. A smirk fell on her face, spreading slowly like poison.
"So you came?" She leaned back, crossing her arms. "What does a fatty ass like you have to sing for us, huh? Because you're privileged to be amongst us doesn't mean you're like us, so get the hell out of here."
Her friend Madison was nudging her, eyes darting nervously to the side, but Benita was too engrossed in bullying me to notice Principal Richard behind me.
When I didn't move, she snapped, "I said out."
She shot to her feet to grab me when Principal's voice cut out, sharp as a knife. "Touch her and you'll be out of the contest!"
Benita froze, her hand suspended in mid-air, face draining of color.
Principal stepped away from behind me and took the list from her before stretching it to me. And with a smile that held no warmth whatsoever, he demanded, "Write your name down now, Elle."
"The slots are filled up already, sir," Benita stuttered, recovering quickly. Principal looked at the numbers on the sheet.
"We requested 20 contestants. There are only 19 names here, so what do you mean?" His voice was calm but edged with steel.
"Frederick already asked me to put his name but I forgot..." She attempted, fluttering her eyelashes in a way that probably worked on boys like Noah but did nothing for Principal Richard.
"You're not allowed to include anyone's name unless they come to show interest," he reminded her sharply.
"Yes, I—"
"Shut up, Benita." Principal shoved the paper back to me. "Write your name now, Elle."
The silence in the hallway was deafening. Even the perpetual gossipers had gone quiet, watching the drama unfold with wide eyes and open mouths. This would be all over the school in minutes.
I took the paper and with trembling hands, I scribbled my name.
Ella Willsmith as the last contestant.