CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

CHAPTER 37

"Come in," Mrs. Wilkins' gravelly voice demanded from within.

Miranda braced herself with a haughty flip of her blonde hair before clutching the tarnished doorknob and storming into the dingy office like an enraged prima donna. She held back a scowl of scorn at the small, barely lighted chamber crammed with stacks of disorganised folders and worn books.

"Mrs. Wilkins, we need to talk," Miranda said without hesitation, firmly placing her palms on the broken desk that separated them. "This pathetic little game you're playing with the group assignments is unacceptable."

The desiccated teacher slowly lifted her rheumy eyes from the documents before her, completely unimpressed by Miranda's theatrical display of entitlement. She gave the glowering socialite a glare that might curdle milk.

"Is that so, Miss Prescott?" She rasped in her distinctive snarl of scorn and nicotine. "And which part of my precise instructions on the matter were too oblique for your pampered supremacist se