By 1:00 PM, the storm clouds breaking over Westchester yield to faint, amber rays of early autumn sunlight.
The grand stone quadrangle of Westbridge Academy glisten with rainwater, every oak leaf and stained-glass reflection dripping with fresh gold. The high-stakes atmosphere that gripped the campus three hours ago has dissolved into a strange, buzzing calm. The story of the board meeting has already spread through the dormitories and dining halls like wildfire.
I sit on the worn wooden bench beneath the shade of the ancient weeping willow near the library pond. A warm, dry cardigan borrowed from Tally wraps around my shoulders, replacing my damp blazer. Beside me on the bench lies a warm paper cup of chamomile tea, steam curling slowly into the cool afternoon air.
For the first time i
