AMARIS’S POV
"No f*****g way," I breathed.
Momentarily, my steps up the grand exterior twin staircase of the academy faltered, slowed by the sight of the sharply dressed man in a suit standing tall and commanding in his signature dignified manner at the top landing.
Nothing about his stiff form was strange—save for the big, uncomfortable smile on his face and the bouquet of flowers he held as he stared at my approaching form expectantly.
Principal Oakes.
Or, as Gladys loved to call him behind his back, of course, Principal Doom.
He was a bald, dark-skinned man whose single glare from behind his nose-perched spectacles could put the entire student population of Firestone Academy in order.
The few times we’d crossed paths—usually when he stopped by the kitchen for routine inspections
