Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
A couple people have their laptops out, but I don’t see the point. On the first day, professors usually only give us the syllabus and talk about their guidelines. There are still people who will drop this class or register later this week, so what’s the point of getting deep into the material?
As it turns out, it’s a good thing we probably won’t stay in the hall for the full fifty minutes class is scheduled for, since it takes a few seconds before I see a familiar strawberry blonde head two rows in front of where I’m sitting.
Fucking hell. There goes my blood, pumping hard again. There was a time not that long ago when I would’ve liked sitting here. I could watch her without her thinking I’m a stalker. Now? I don’t give a shit what she thinks about me.
In fact, I wish she’d notice me staring. I’d love to watch her try to pretend it doesn’t get to her, the way it did in the cafeteria.
The guy sitting behind her in the row between us leans down to mumble something. She turns her head slightly and gives me a look at her profile. Delicate. Almost fragile. Like one of those old-fashioned china dolls.
Wouldn’t it be nice to smash her to pieces?
I need to stop thinking shit like that—my fists are tight and my teeth are grinding, and it’s probably better if I look at literally anybody else. The poor dude trying to hold her attention is wasting his time, though. I almost want to warn him about her. That he should talk to literally any other girl in this huge room.
If he laughed me off or rolled his eyes, I might have to tell him I’ve been in his place.
Maya’s soft giggle sets my teeth on edge all over again. Something in me snaps. I need her to know I’m here. Watching. Which is why I loudly clear my throat.
The color drains from her face like somebody flipped a switch and, all at once, she turns around to face the front of the room. Good. I would rather not look at her face. It’s bad enough I have to breathe the same air as her.
Just like I figured, the class doesn’t last long. I’m out of my chair in a hurry, but she beats me, somehow, gathering her stuff and slipping past the other people in her row. She thinks I’m going to let her get away.
Instead, when she tries running past me up the stairs leading to the door, I lunge out of my row and bump into her. Not hard enough that anybody says anything, but enough to knock her books out of her arms and send them falling down the stairs. It’s nowhere near what I wish I could get away with right now—there are too many people between us, in my way—but it’s enough to let her know this semester is going to be a real bitch for her.
And if she drops the class, I’ll just have to find out which other classes she’s taking. One of the perks of my dad being headmaster. I can sort of get away with a lot of shit most people can’t.
The thought of Dad reminds me I’m supposed to drive him to pick up his car from the shop. I promised I would after my last class. Instead of going straight to the parking lot, it’s his office I head to, taking the stairs in front of the admin building two at a time. Fuck, there are so many ways to make Maya miserable this semester. And there I was, thinking PoliSci would be boring.
His assistant knows better than to keep me from walking into his office when the door is open, so I walk past her desk without slowing down and go straight into the room where Dad is sitting with his chair turned around, facing the window. “This is ridiculous. The son of a bitch didn’t disappear into thin air. There are only so many places he can hide.”
I think I know what he’s talking about. Briggs’ dad broke into Wren’s dorm room to leave a death threat, then tore the room apart. Dad takes that kind of shit seriously—student safety and all that. Then there’s the fact that Wren is only here because Robert asked for a favor in the first place. The whole thing is too fucked up.
When my foot presses a squeaky floorboard, his chair swings around. He’s scowling, though the expression softens a little bit when he sees it’s me who disturbed him. “I’ll call you later,” he mutters into the phone before hanging it up on the desk.
“What was that about?” I ask, since he still looks pissed.
“Nothing you need to worry about.” He offers me a brief, tight smile that’s probably supposed to make me forget all about it.