CHAPTER 4
1082 Words
The principal’s office smelled like old carpet, stale coffee, and authority. Mara hated it the moment she stepped inside.
Principal Hargrove sat behind his wooden desk, hands folded like a judge preparing a sentence. He was a heavy-set man with a permanent frown and the moral rigidity of someone who believed rules mattered more than people.
“Sit,” he said.
Mara and Ivy obeyed, side by side, knees almost touching.
Principal Hargrove cleared his throat. “There’s been… an incident.”
Ivy scoffed quietly. “Just say it.”
Hargrove’s eyes narrowed. “A video is circulating of inappropriate conduct on school grounds. It shows the two of you engaging in—”
“Being human?” Ivy interrupted.
“Moral misconduct,” he finished sharply.
Mara looked down at her hands. Her pulse was still unsteady, her fingertips cold.
Hargrove continued, “This school is committed to upholding community values. The administration cannot ignore behavior that undermines the standards we expect from our students.”
Ivy leaned forward. “We kissed. That’s it. Straight couples make out behind the bleachers all the time. Why aren’t they in here?”
Hargrove stiffened. “This is different.”
“How?” Ivy demanded.
“Because your behavior is inappropriate,” he snapped.
Mara flinched. Ivy noticed instantly and softened her voice.
“Sir,” Ivy said, “you’re punishing us because we’re girls.”
“I’m enforcing the values this school was built on.”
Ivy’s jaw locked. “No. You’re enforcing bigotry.”
Mara’s breath caught. Hargrove’s expression curdled.
“This attitude,” he said coldly, “is precisely why you two need intervention. I am contacting both of your parents. There will be consequences.”
Ivy stiffened. “My mom’s going to fight you on this.”
Hargrove smirked. “Your mother will be informed regardless.”
Then he turned to Mara.
“And your father,” he said, voice softening in a way that made Mara sick, “has a right to know what you’ve been… influenced into.”
Influenced.
The word stabbed deep.
Mara opened her mouth to speak — to defend Ivy, to defend herself — but no sound came out.
Ivy’s voice sharpened with fury. “Don’t you dare put this all on her.”
“Don’t use that tone with me,” Hargrove snapped. “You brought this on yourselves.”
Mara felt Ivy’s hand brush against hers under the desk — a secret, protective touch. She squeezed back weakly.
Hargrove sighed dramatically. “You will both stay home tomorrow. Until this matter is addressed, you are suspended for two days.”
Ivy shot to her feet. “Suspended? For a kiss?”
“For creating a public disruption,” he corrected.
“This is unbelievable.” Ivy’s voice cracked with rage. “You’re punishing us for being who we are.”
Hargrove stood too, towering. “I am protecting this school’s moral climate. The sooner you learn that the world does not revolve around your… identity, the better.”
Ivy opened her mouth to argue, but Mara touched her arm.
“Please,” Mara whispered. “Let’s go.”
Ivy looked at her — heartbreak, fury, protectiveness all tangled together — then reluctantly sat back down.
The principal dismissed them with a flick of his hand.
“Your parents will be arriving shortly.”
Mara’s heart stopped.
Her father.
Her father would be here.
Her palms grew slick with sweat. Her breathing shallow.
Ivy noticed immediately. She scooted her chair closer, voice low. “Hey… breathe with me. Okay? In. Out.”
But Mara couldn’t. She was falling back into memories — her father’s sermons, his rigid spine, his warnings about sin, his insistence that fear was a sign of moral weakness.
Ivy touched her arm gently. “I’ve got you, Mara.”
A knock on the door made Mara jolt so violently she nearly toppled the chair.
The door swung open.
Ivy’s mother entered first — Nurse Sofia Santos, still in scrubs, eyes blazing with righteous fury. She looked like a storm wrapped in a tired woman’s body.
“Mara,” she said gently, “sweetheart, are you okay?”
Mara nodded weakly.
Before anyone could speak, another figure appeared behind her.
Pastor Hayes.
Mara’s father.
His presence filled the room like smoke — suffocating, heavy, impossible to escape. He wore his church clothes, stiff collar tight around his thick neck, Bible clutched in one hand as though he might use it as a weapon.
“Mara,” he said quietly, too quietly, “we are going home.”
Ivy instinctively stepped between them. “Sir, please—”
“Don’t you speak to me,” Pastor Hayes snapped, eyes full of venom.
Ivy froze but didn’t back away.
Sofia Santos moved forward, her voice sharp. “Pastor Hayes, the girls have done nothing warranting this level of aggression.”
“They have committed sin,” he spat. “And you are defending it.”
“I am defending young women who are being persecuted,” Sofia shot back.
“Persecution?” he barked. “My daughter is being corrupted.”
Ivy stiffened. “She’s not corrupted. She’s—”
“I SAID DO NOT SPEAK TO ME!” he roared.
Mara flinched so hard she nearly fell.
Ivy stepped fully into his path, voice trembling but firm. “You don’t get to scare her.”
Pastor Hayes stared at Ivy — a long, cold, assessing stare.
Then he reached out and grabbed Mara’s arm.
Hard.
Mara gasped at the pain.
“Let her GO!” Ivy cried, reaching for Mara.
Pastor Hayes shoved her away. Ivy stumbled back, hitting the desk.
“Ivy!” Sofia rushed to her daughter.
Pastor Hayes yanked Mara toward the door. Mara’s breath hitched, panic clawing up her throat.
“I’m sorry,” Mara whispered to Ivy, tears streaming down her face.
Ivy struggled forward against her mother’s grip. “Mara! I’m going to find you! I promise!”
Pastor Hayes dragged Mara into the hallway.
“Dad, please— Dad, stop— you’re hurting me—”
“Enough,” he snapped. “We will deal with this sin properly.”
Mara’s vision blurred with terror.
She had no idea what he meant.
No idea what would happen when she got home.
No idea if she’d ever see Ivy again.
But she knew one thing:
The fire had started.
And this town was about to burn.
- Writer
