Page 2 of Ruined Wolfsbane

Knowing there’s nothing I can do to make the skirt longer, I pull back my shoulders and lift my chin. The only thing worse than looking like I’m trying too hard is looking meek and terrified. While I’m scared shitless at having to spend four years here, I’m sure as hell not going to show it. I’m a professional at faking it until I make it, though I’m still waiting on the “making it” part.

With a neutral expression and confident strides, I pull open the heavy oak door to my first class and step inside.

The classroom has a soaring ceiling. Even though the room itself isn’t huge, it feels airy with the vaulting. A wall of arched, leaded glass windows opposite the door lets the sunlight stream in from outside. The sunshine falls in stripes on the dark wood floors and across the gray stone walls.

At the front of the classroom, there’s an old-fashioned blackboard. It looks pristine since it’s the first day. The classroom slopes upward from the front. With tiered seating, students in every row have a good view of the professor. Although, he isn’t here yet.

Luck must be on my side, for once, because a few seats are open in the second row, which is objectively the best row. Sitting in the first row looks too eager, and being too far back will make it almost impossible for me to hear the lecture.

As I make my way to an open seat in the second row next to the wall, I observe my fellow students. Most of the other freshmen chatter excitedly. With how much noise they make, it should be easy to get lost in the crowd.

Just the way I like it.

Sitting down at a worn, standard-issue desk-and-chair combo seems strangely anticlimactic. The dark green chair and beige desk are familiar. College is supposed to be a whole new chapter in my life. Yet here I am, sitting at the same shitty desks I had throughout high school.

I set my bag on the ground and start pulling out what I need for this class. As I rifle through it, I hear someone sit at the desk next to mine.

“Hi, I’m Rory!” Startled by the unexpected voice near my ear, I turn toward the sound and find my new seat neighbor staring expectantly at me. With white-blonde hair flowing in gentle waves down to her waist, petite stature, and porcelain pale skin, Rory looks delicate. Elven, even. Her perfect Cupid’s bow mouth stretches in a wide grin as she waits for my response.

“Hi?” I murmur.

Jesus, Briar, no wonder you have no fucking friends when you’re this painfully awkward. Pretty sure the lack of friends has to do more with my stepfather’s stifling rules, but my snarky inner voice doesn’t really care about that.

“We’re going to be best friends!” Rory bounces in her seat as she announces our friendship, like it’s a perfectly normal occurrence. Hell, maybe it is for her.

“Ror, you can’t tell someone you’re best friends. That’s not how it works.” The boy behind Rory looks like he’s trying to smother a grin as he explains the rules of friendship. With the same white-blonde hair, sapphire eyes, and elven features, the boy looks almost exactly like Rory. They are definitely siblings, if not twins.

“Shut the fuck up, Rone. It works however the fucking hell I say it works.” As Rory snarls at her maybe twin, I choke on a laugh. This girl isn’t what I expected at all. I guess her angelic looks don’t extend to her vocab.

Twisting back in her seat, Rory gives me another bright smile. “As I was saying, I’m your new best friend. And this negative Nancy is Ronan, my twin brother.” Ronan gives me a wave and half smile over her shoulder. His presence is a calm counterpoint to Rory’s loud declarations.

Spotting my unlocked phone on my desk, Rory snatches it before I have a chance to stop her. I let her mess with it because I don’t want to make a scene in class. After a minute, Rory sets my phone back on my desk with a wink. “There, now I have your number and you have mine. I can just feel the best friend harmonizing happening!”

Anything else she was going to say is interrupted by the professor walking in the door. “Sorry I’m late, class.” The professor’s voice is deep, rumbling across the room.

Pulling my attention from Rory, I glance toward the front and suck in a surprised breath as I take in Professor Grimm.

Instead of the gnarled old man I anticipated, my statistics professor can’t be more than a couple years older than me. He stands a few inches over six feet. Professor Grimm has broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and muscles for days. He looks more like a star football player than a college professor. He’s wearing polished black dress shoes and black slacks that hug his powerful thighs. His dark gray button-down is rolled up, showcasing defined forearms. Blond stubble outlines Professor Grimm’s strong jaw.

His golden blond hair is trimmed shorter on the sides and longer on top. It hangs slightly in front of his eyes in an intentionally tousled way.

What stops me in my tracks, though, are his eyes. He has the deepest green eyes I’ve ever seen. And they stare unblinkingly back at me. When our eyes connect, the rest of the classroom falls away. All I hear is static as I get lost in his gaze.

I don’t know how long we stare at each other. It could be minutes or hours. Only a light tap on my shoulder forces me to look away. Turning to Rory, I see her furrowed brow and a question in her gaze. Mustering a smile, I try to tell her without words that I’m fine.

I don’t know what the hell just happened, but I refuse to show how off-kilter I feel.

Clearing his throat, he introduces himself as Professor Xander Grimm. He launches into an explanation of his class, rules, and expectations.

During his speech, I see him glance more than once at my phone on my desk with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Thankfully, he doesn’t call me out in front of the class for it. I plan to talk to him about it at the end of the period.

Absorbed in my thoughts, I struggle to pay attention to what he says. I’m startled when he dismisses us, having lost track of time. He’s letting us out a couple minutes early. We have a few problems to work through for homework.

I quickly note the assignment down in my planner and begin to put my stuff away.

“What’s your next class?” Rory asks as she haphazardly shoves everything in her bag. My skin crawls at the thought of putting anything away not in its proper place.

Humming, I try to remember my schedule. “Western Civ, I think.” I pull out my schedule just to double-check. Sure enough, Western Civilization I is next.

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