I winced in pain as I clutched my chest. I knew the pain would only worsen once the adrenaline faded, but I hadn't expected it to be this bad.
My chest felt red-hot, and even the slightest movement sent jolts radiating through my body.
I couldn't imagine how I'd feel if Phill had actually broken my ribs. I was battered, with an ugly bruise already forming across most of my chest, but it seemed my bones were stronger than I'd thought.
Or maybe Phill hadn't used his full strength in the position I'd had him in earlier.
I gritted my teeth and tried to ignore the searing pain for now. I could've asked the doc for painkillers, but I'd seen how fast that spiral starts. Really, the American system loves turning patients into addicts.
Another jolt of pain hit, and I instantly regretted my choice. Maybe I could build a gadget to heal me faster. I didn't know how that would work, but if I could make a rubber duck pack the yield of high-grade C4, anything was possible.
My internal musing was interrupted by Phill's grating voice.
"I'm telling you, it's got to be the loser's fault. He had this shitty lamp held together with duct tape, that had to be what started the fire," Phill whined, leaning back in his chair. He was in better shape than me, even though his wound was far worse.
He'd taken the painkillers, after all. Something told me addiction was the last thing on Phill's mind. Hell, he might've already been on stronger stuff before our little fight.
"Watch your language, Mr. Piece. I understand this is an emotional situation, but that does not excuse your language. This is a civilized discussion, and we will keep it that way. Is that understood?" the dean said with soft authority. His voice never rose, but it carried weight that demanded obedience.
Phill rolled his eyes. Clearly, the reprimand meant nothing to him, though he held back further insults, for now.
"Do you have anything to add, Mr. Moore?" the dean asked, shifting his gaze to me.
His eyes were indifferent, impartial, at least that's the front he put up. But I could tell. There was a flicker of disdain as he sized me up. I was sure he wanted nothing more than to sweep this under the rug and pin it on the penniless orphan who'd made a mess of his night.
I nearly rolled my eyes but stopped myself. The Academy might offer scholarships to high-achieving kids from the lower class, but it was mostly a PR stunt.
This world ran on interests, and families like Phill's brought in the real money. I was just a mascot to show the world the Academy was a "swell place."
Thankfully, I didn't need his support to get out of this.
"Phill's right, my lamp was trash and probably on its last leg," I admitted stiffly. The glare from Phill softened, replaced by smug amusement, like he was watching a clown perform, the tension that was hanging on his shoulders melting. The dean, meanwhile, fixed me with sternness, ready to reprimand.
"But my lamp had nothing to do with the fire. It broke this morning, so I threw it out," I added, cutting the dean off just before he could speak. He blinked, thrown off by my timing, deliberate on my part.
I could've made my point another way, but these pricks were ready to throw me under the bus. So messing with them? Perfectly fair.
"Bullshit!" Phill snarled, the mirth vanishing from his eyes. The tension was back in even greater vigor. The dean huffed in annoyance, but Phill ignored it again.
This time, I did roll my eyes. Phill was a perfect target for my disdain. Judging by the way his glare intensified, he didn't appreciate it.
"It's not a lie. They're investigating the room right now. There'd be no point hiding it. I guarantee they won't find that lamp in there. So that just leaves your stuff," I said flatly, twisting the truth just enough.
They wouldn't find the lamp, because every part of it had gone into making my little pen.
Phill practically vibrated with frustration, desperate to claw back ground in the argument. Too bad he wasn't the sharpest knife in the shed.
"You probably started the fire and just left the room," he shot back, arguing for the sake of it. Everyone in the room could tell he didn't even believe himself, but he was dead-set on blaming me.
Which was odd even if the fire was blamed on Phill it would not ruin his life. It was clear this was an accident so the school could not fault him, the worst outcome would be to pay for the damages but that would only be a punishment for me.
So why was Phill so gung ho about pinning everything on me? Was it just the mutual dislike we shared or was there something deeper sleeping here?
I narrowed my eyes at Phill for a moment but all I saw was the same bluster. Just a boy venting anger over and over.
The dean opened his mouth to intervene, but I cut him off again. A smirk almost bursting out of my pokerface. Keeping control of the conversation was for my best, besides I enjoyed tweaking the prick's nose.
"It's been hours since I was in our room. The cameras can confirm that. Besides, if I started the fire, there'd be evidence. Just wait for the investigation," I said calmly.
Phill sputtered, but I was more worried about the dean's reaction. His brow tightened, his gaze narrowing as he finally looked at me, really looked. Not as some disposable idiot he could manipulate, but as a player running a game right in front of him.
That was scrutiny I hadn't expected. Then I realized why: I was too calm. My arguments were airtight. My demeanor screamed confidence, like I knew I wouldn't take the fall, no matter what.
I'd made a mistake, but I couldn't change it now. Shifting my behavior would only highlight how unnaturally composed I'd been. A contradiction I didn't need.
Before the dean could speak, his eyes flicked to his computer monitor. He read something for a moment, then clenched his jaw and looked back at us.
"Mr. Moore is right, the truth will come out regardless of your statements. I'd hoped one of you might confess to an intentional act for leniency, but it seems this was just an accident that got out of hand. Go get some rest. When the report is finished, I'll inform you both of the outcome," the dean said with a thin smile, ushering us out.
We were led out as if a major fire had not taken place. Our punishment for blatantly fighting in the square was completely and utterly forgotten. It was almost comical how fast he wanted us out of his office.
As we left his room, I decided to put my newfound phone to good use. I opened the camera, started recording, and slipped it into my pocket.
Phill looked stunned that it was being let go so easily. I wasn't.
The dean had likely received a preliminary report saying Phill's computer malfunctioned and started the fire. So he'd write it off as an accident with no fault assigned, even if it was clearly Phill's mess.
Or he was cooking up a narrative to pin it on me. Time would tell. If he tried to frame me, I could always drag Barbara into it; her sense of justice would lead her to interfere despite our lackluster relationship. Hell, this whole mess might even improve our relationship.
As long as she didn't reach the real truth of tonight and only hit the truth I wanted the world to know.
"I know this is all your fault, loser," Phill snarled at me, his face a storm of emotions as he tried to figure out his next move.
I glared back and let out a scoff.
"It's not, but I doubt you care. I think you have bigger things on your mind," I spat back. Phill froze, trying to parse what I meant.
"Your little collection of cans blew up in the fire. I wonder how the dean's going to react when he finds that?" I asked with a smug, almost mocking look. Phill's gaze darkened as he got the message.
For the first time in our conversation I saw something other than rage and petulance, a spark of fear.
"I don't know what you're talking about," He shot back in a snarl with a bluster I was becoming more than familiar with.
Damn, I was hoping he'd let more slip, but he wasn't riled up enough. So I rolled my eyes, which made him grit his teeth.
"Sure, play ignorant. I doubt that's the worst thing they'll find in our room," I fired back. Again that struck a nerve which had Phill grab my shirt and yank me forward, snarling right in my face.
"You think you're so fucking smart, loser? Well, guess what, if they do find something, who's going to take the fall? The heir of one of Gotham's upper class or the thug from the streets? It'll be clear who owns shit like that, right?" He snarled, then flashed a smug, mocking grin as he drove his point home. He looked like he finally managed to get control of the situation.
Goddamn it. Phill was a reckless idiot, but he was dancing around the subject with grace I did not think he had. I hadn't expected that level of composure, maybe he was just getting lucky.
So I let out another scoff and faced him down.
"Everyone knows about your habits, Phill! How hard would it be to get them to tell the truth? I may be worthless in their eyes, but when blood's in the water, sharks come to play," I snarled back.
Phill narrowed his eyes and looked nervous for a split second, that spark of fear almost a bonfire now but then his veins bulged in his neck with rage.
"You fucking smug piece of shit. As long as I don't admit the drugs are mine, no one's words will fucking matter," he hissed before storming off.
I let out a soft curse. I'd been hoping for a clearer confession. Hopefully, what I got would be enough. I pulled out my phone, stopped the recording, and watched Phill's retreating back.
I narrowed my eyes. Phill was going to be a problem if left unchecked. Today's fight proved he was reckless, willing to drag himself into the mud if it meant getting his way. And with his family's influence, he could really screw up my life if he got serious.
Not a combination I liked in an enemy.
Hopefully, this little recording would be the leash I needed around his neck. If not, I'd just have to find another way to collar the snarling dog