Marco, Polo

LINA TATE

Her fingers were tapping against the steering wheel, the thudding sound echoing into the silence of the car. My eyes shift to the road ahead of us, the long empty motorways that continued and wouldn’t stop. She turns on the radio, the urgent news about the flood happening in Boston ring into my ears.

I plug in my headphones, blocking out any distractions, trying to calm myself down.

My head turns and faces the window beside me, the trees passing by me within seconds. I barely had enough time to figure out the colour of the leaves because of how fast my mum was driving.

Suddenly my sanctuary was shattered as my headphones were yanked from my ears. “I’m speaking to you, Lina.”

“I didn’t realise,” I muttered, a feeble attempt to deflect confrontation.

“This is good for you, the best medical school in Boston,” she declared, her words laden with an unspoken expectation. I felt the urge to claw my way out of my own skin as I scratched my forehead in frustration. “Maybe you could actually pass your fourth year instead of failing it.”

“I didn’t fail,” I protested.

“You didn’t write anything on the exam,” she scoffed, dismissing my efforts with a wave of her hand. “That, my dear, is failing.”

A bitter taste lingered on my tongue as I mustered the courage to speak. “You only care because it hurts your precious reputation.” In that fleeting moment, her gaze met mine, and the darkness in her brown eyes sent shivers down my spine.

“Watch your mouth,” she warned, a sharpness cutting through the air. I mechanically wrap my headphones around my phone, turning away to shield myself from her scrutiny. “I’ve worked hard for what I have. It wasn’t handed to me on a silver platter like it was for you.”

“Easy?” I retorted incredulously. “You think I had it easy? I worked day and night—”

“As have I!” She interjected, her voice rising. “And all for you to fail your last year in medical school, all because of your damn ego.”

“My ego?” I whispered, the tension escalating as we approached the imposing black gates of the school. “You’re one to talk. You’re sending me off to a medical school in the middle of nowhere, so if I do fail again, no one will know because you pay for complete confidentiality,” I continued, my voice growing stronger. “You can’t have one of the top general surgeons in the world raising a stupid daughter.”

“Stupid is right.”

The imposing gates slowly creak open, granting us passage into the school grounds. My mother navigates the car until we arrive at an old, grandiose building that seemed to sprawl over twelve acres of land.

The air buzzes with the energy of students engaged in various activities—some seated on the lush grass engrossed in books, while others partake in a spirited game of rugby in a distant corner. As my mother puts the car in park, we both step out into the open.

A collective hush falls over the students as all eyes, like curious creatures, fixate on us, or more precisely, on my mother. The weight of her reputation, it seems, precedes us.

Before we even make our way toward the entrance staircase, a woman clutching a folder descends hurriedly. She stops in front of us, a warm smile on her face, and extends her hand towards my mother. “Mrs. Tate, what a pleasure to have you walking our grounds.”

My mother reciprocates the handshake with a practiced charm. “The pleasure is mine. I’ve heard wonderful things about this institution.”

The woman’s gaze then shifts to me, and she offers a friendly smile. “And you must be Lina. Welcome to our school. I’m Ms. Anderson, the admissions coordinator. We’re delighted to have you here.”

I manage a polite nod, feeling the weight of scrutiny from the onlooking students.

Ms. Anderson takes the lead, guiding us toward the grand entrance of the building. The corridors exude an air of academic significance, adorned with portraits of distinguished alumni and shelves of trophies.

As we walk, she shares snippets about the school’s rich history. I tried my hardest to not zone out. Her words punctuated by the distant echoes of student chatter and the occasional slam of a locker.

We ascend a magnificent staircase, its mahogany banister gleaming with the patina of years gone by. Ms. Anderson leads us down a corridor adorned with oak-panelled walls until we reach an ornate door marked “Headmaster’s Office.”

She knocks gently before opening it, revealing a spacious office filled with antique furniture and lined with shelves of leather-bound books.

As we settle into the chairs in front of the desk, the headmaster offers refreshments. “Would you like some beverages?”

“A water, please,” my mother replies with a gracious smile, a departure from the earlier tension in the car. I take a moment to glance around the spacious but somewhat sterile office. It lacks the warmth and character one might expect in a headmaster’s domain.

“This place is stupid.” I whisper.

“Stop being so negative, if your father-”

“Don’t even bring him up-”

A sudden creak of the side door draws my attention, and my eyes lock onto the figure entering the room. This can’t possibly be the headmaster. He looks more like a model than an educator. At best, he appears to be in his mid-twenties, and there’s an air of casual confidence about him that defies the traditional image of a school authority figure.

He takes a seat in front of us, omitting the customary gesture of shaking my mother’s hand. His dark brown eyes, sharp and piercing, seem to effortlessly penetrate the air of formality in the room.

It’s as if our presence is an unwelcome intrusion into his world.

The tanned skin complements his well-defined features, and his dark hair falls in an effortlessly tousled manner. Dressed in a sharp, dark navy suit, the white shirt beneath it is crisp, clean, and meticulously ironed.

A faint aura of mystery surrounds him, the sense that he doesn’t easily reveal his thoughts or emotions. His presence commands attention, and I can’t help but wonder how such a young man ended up as the headmaster of this school.

As he sits, his gaze lingers on us, studying with an intensity that borders on unsettling. It becomes clear that this man is not just attractive; he possesses an allure that goes beyond physical appearance.

“Mrs Tate.” He speaks.

His voice dark.

His tone unmatched.

“Mr Kane, thank you for accepting my daughter.” My mother, always one to gauge social cues, attempts to engage him in conversation. “Your school has an outstanding reputation. Lina is eager to excel here.”

Eager.

Thats funny.

Because I don’t feel fucking eager.

He leans back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him, and a faint smile plays on his lips. “Excellence is a standard we uphold rigorously at this institution. We expect nothing less. Now Miss Tate, explain this for me?” He picks up a slim folder and slides it over to me.

I raise a brow and lift it, opening the folder to see my exam paper. The same exam paper I failed. How did he get this?

“How did you get this?”

“Answer my question.” He demands.

My gaze flitting between the scrutinising intensity of Mr. Kane’s eyes and the damning evidence of my academic shortcomings in the folder before me.

“I...” I stammer, the weight of his demand settling uneasily on my shoulders. “I suppose I didn’t perform as well as I’d hoped.”

His smile fades, replaced by a stern expression that could freeze time. “Hoped? Miss Tate, hope has no place in the realm of my school. Explain your lackluster performance.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

The room feels suffocating, and I struggle to find words that won’t further disappoint him.

Why was I scared to disappoint him?

“I faced some challenges during the exam. It was...unexpected.”

“Challenges are a constant in life,” he retorts, his tone unwavering. “What separates the exceptional from the mediocre is the ability to overcome them. Tell me, what challenges could have hindered your performance?”

His gaze doesn’t waver, and I can feel the weight of him probing into the recesses of my thoughts. I take a deep breath, attempting to steady myself. “Personal issues,” I finally admit, the words hanging in the air like an admission of guilt.

He leans forward, his fingers now laced together, forming a formidable barrier on his desk.

“We expect our students to rise above personal challenges and deliver exceptional results. You were given an opportunity to prove yourself, and you fell short. Explain why I should believe that you won’t repeat this pattern here?”

He was annoying me.

Almost as if I was asking him questions.

I shake my head, acknowledging the gravity of his words, my fingers tracing the edges of the folder.

“As you embark on your journey here,” he continues, his tone softening just a fraction, “remember that success is not bestowed; it is earned. We shall be watching closely, Miss Tate.”

“This is stupid, I want to leave this fucking place.”

I glance over at my mother, hoping for some support, but her expression remains stoic, devoid of any sympathy. Before I can protest further, Mr. Kane’s voice cuts through the air, authoritative and unyielding.

“Don’t look at her, look at me.” My eyes automatically locks with his. “She won’t help you,” he states matter-of-factly, his dark eyes piercing through the defiance in my gaze. “She’s signed your life over to us already, Miss Tate.”

“Excuse me?”

“You will be living here, until you pass this year.” My mother finally decides to talk, but when she does-nothing good came out of here. “Thank you Mr Kane.” She stands up, shaking Mr Kanes hand as she walks out of the office.

“Where are you going?” I yell out, shooting up from my seat. “You’re not leaving me in this fucking place!” I scream out into the hallway, everyone’s eyes are suddenly on me and my mother spins around.

“You’re in a church! Watch your mouth.” My brows furrow.

“I don’t believe in god, you cannot keep me here against my will!”

“Yes I can. And I will. I signed the papers before you turned eighteen. And as did you.”

She knew I would fail.

“What?”

“You aren’t cut out for medical school, I knew you weren’t, so I signed the papers to get you into the best school in case you did fail.”

I felt as if I had no home at all.

She closes her eyes for a second.

“Your stuff is already in your dorm room, goodbye Lina. I’ll see you when you graduate.” She turns away.

“Fuck you! I fucking hate you!” She tricked me.

She tricked me.

I watch her as she leaves and suddenly feel my heart break.

I turn around and look up to see Mr Kane standing there with his assistant. The hallway was suddenly deserted.

“Miss Tate, we are in a church building, if you use ever use such dirty words, I’ll make sure you’re punished accordingly. Is that understood?” I scoff, this man is really trying to threaten me?

“It isn’t understood.”

“You’ve made that very clear. You’ll be banned from breaks, and instead will spend your time in confinement with me. Until you understand.” My neck aches from looking at him, but I didn’t show it.

“I guess you better get used to my face Mr Kane.”

“It’s not a pleasant one, but I’ll get used to it.”

I fucking hate this man.

I watch him walk away, until his assistant steps forward. “You have a very pleasant face, love.” She smiles.

I know that.