After breakfast, with a ck credit card snug in her pocket, Mirabe followed Shawn down the stairs. As they rode the elevator, she casually dropped a question, “Dad, aren’t we supposed to be pretty <b>broke</b><b>?</b>”
Shawn, caught off guard by his daughter’s question and unsure where she might have heard such a thing, sighed as memories of tough times surfaced. “We may not be <b>rolling </b>in <b>dough</b>, sweetheart, but don’t you worry, I won’t let you suffer,” he assured her.
Mirabe tilted her head slightly, skepticism written all over her face. She couldn’t reconcile the ck card and the <b>easy </b>talk of spending with being poor. That look made Shawn feel oddly guilty, but luckily, the elevator dinged, the doors slid open, and he coughed to cover his difort as he quickly exited.
Mirabe’s lips curved into a half–smile, following him out with an amused glint in her eyes.
The Davis residence wasn’t far from Parkside High School just a twenty–minute drive, so Mirabe didn’t need to board.
Shawn had wanted to walk his daughter into the school’s administration office to check in, but the scramble for parking spaces on the first day of school forced a change of ns. After Mirabe reassured him that she would be fine on her own, he reluctantly drove off.
Once Shawn’s car was out of sight, Mirabe strolled towards the school <b>gate </b><b>at </b>her own pace. Entry was by card swipe, and as a transfer student without an ID yet, she was stopped by the security guard.
Mirabe pulled out her transfer notice from her backpack <b>and </b>handed it over. “Will this work?”
The guard took a look, and his expression changed. He called over a colleague before telling her, “You’ll need to wait here while I check this with the administration office.” With that, he didn’t wait for a response and walked off with her transfer notice.
Mirabe watched his retreating back, narrowing her eyes slightly. Was getting into a high school always such a hassle? Annoying as it was, she waited patiently<b>. </b>
But ten minutes dragged on, and the guard hadn’t returned. Mirabe massaged her temples, resisting the urge to criticize the school’s efficiency.
“Could you chase up your colleague for me?” she <b>asked </b>the other guard politely.
Good looks often made things smoother, and the guard nodded quickly, pulling out his phone to make a call, but there was no answer. After several attempts, he looked apologetically at Mirabe, “My colleague must’ve left his phone somewhere. No one’s picking up.”
The thought of <b>waiting </b>indefinitely irked Mirabe, and she nced at her watch before asking. “Is there a contact number for the administration office or the principal?”
Scratching his head, the guard looked even more embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m new here <b>and </b>don’t really know these details. Maybe you could wait a bit longer. My colleague might be back soon.”
Deciding it was pointless to keep asking, Mirabe chose to wait. Just then, a ck sedan pulled up at the gate, and the guard hurried over, leaving Mirabe behind. The car window rolled down, and whatever was shown to the guard instantly brought a respectful look to his <b>face</b>.
Mirabe, head bowed, didn’t pay any attention until the sedan honked sharply. She looked up at the sound.