Page 41 of In Prey We Trust

“You’ll be sorry, DD. Mark my words; we have plans for you.” Pink calls out as I go.

Snorting as I drop into my chair, I give them a wide, toothy grin. “Knock yourself out, ladies. The more you show everyone exactly who you are, the less your narrative makes sense. With time and distance, your focus on drawing this bullshit out is going to look like what it is—a desperate attempt to stay relevant by punching down. Chew on that for a while.”

I reach into my bag and pull my tablet out, purposefully ignoring them as I peruse my notes from earlier in the day. Adding their names to my list of people's details, I don’t respond to any further comments or growls. The other students are certainly watching, especially those close to Cappie’s current power structure.

I’d bet texts and DMs are whizzing to the celebrity mean girls’ group from my acting class as we speak. Those two cliques fighting one another for control of this school can only help me, and I’m happy to let them duke it out while I solve the mystery that brought them here.

After all, as long as they don’t go after me or my friends, I don’t need to deal with them, right?

My nose wrinkles as my brain protests because that was the old Dolly. I did that when I ran with the Heathers and look where it got me. Fuck. Sighing as I look around the room, I realize I’ll have to stand up for anyone either bitchy group picks on and it’s going to put an even bigger target on my back.

Just fucking peachy.

Rise

Delores

I’m pretty sure being a dick is a requirement to be a Shifter History professor. They probably ask about it on the application to teach at the academies. That’s the only explanation that makes any sense.

Herr Helmut Blitzen is an enormous aquatic shifter—my nose said shark, but I’m not as familiar with those—and he stomped into class like he was storming a beach in battle. His dark, glittering eyes looked over all of us hungrily and landed on me so quickly I know he was told who I am. He didn’t call me out like Abel; no, he simply called on me so many times I looked like the class dunce within minutes. The questions he asked about Council ‘victories’ weren’t things covered in last year’s curriculum, and I’m not sure if that was because Abel sucked or because he skipped ahead.

The result was the same, regardless. Everyone laughed at my expense for the entire class.

My eyes drifted to the clock constantly, watching the hand move wistfully as he bellowed and flashed his teeth. Instead of mouthing off like I did to Abel, I answered calmly and apologized for my lack of knowledge. He didn’t seem pacified by it, so that strategy won’t work for the rest of the semester. The only thing that might save me is having Aubrey give me private tutoring and reading far beyond our place in the texts. I’ll have to dedicate time daily to preventing him from humiliating me in every class which really chaps my thumpers.

“As if I have time to fuck around with this shit. Between Pred Games, people out to kill me, and fucking four productions a year, I’m already booked into oblivion. Now I have to make time for some cockwaffle’s neurosis, too.” I mutter as I leave the Scholastic building.

My brain is aching as potential schedules whiz through it. I can survive on less sleep and work on some of this shit on the weekend, but I also have five fucking boyfriends I actually want to spend time with. That’s not counting my besties, who I missed like a piece of my heart all summer. I thought Cappie would be less demanding than Apex—everyone has always ranked my school at the top of the heap for standards. Maybe that’s just PR, too?

Hell if I know. All I know is I’m screwed and now I have this meeting with Coach Cuntmuffin.

Sighing, I walk down the steps and head to the Dupree Student Center. The guidance offices are located there; Chess told me where to go last night while we were watching the movie. Cappie allowed him to teach some of the minor theater classes—apparently, the professors here hate all the technical courses, so he got those. However, his secondary role was guidance liaison for Apex transfers, so he spends half his time working for this woman.

Based on his experience the other day, I’m extremely uncomfortable with that. I thought she was odd at practice, but I figured it was the nature of being a cheerleading coach. The girls who gravitate towards those teams are pretty specific, if my memory of Shifter Secondary is correct, and you’d have to be a little weird to deal with them and their parents. But the story about her fishing for greater detail about Chessie’s private life and our discovery of her pen name made me wonder if there's more to it than lack of social skills.

According to our Google searches on her ‘work,’ I believe I know exactly who this chick is and what she was doing.

“You need evidence, though, Dolly, or you can’t accuse her.”

With that last pep talk, I step off the elevator onto the third floor and take the right turn, Chess told me. Coach Rockland’s guidance office is at the end of the hallway, sitting on the edge of the building. My nervous cheetah told me it’s huge, full of expensive snooty furnishings, and has a spectacular view of the campus. None of those things contradicted our suspicion that her position here was a bribe to keep her family from demanding money back from the defunct Rainbow Academy, so another strike goes against her name.

I knock on the door lightly, waiting until I hear a sing-song command to ‘enter’ ring out. Opening the door cautiously, I walk into an office that reminds me of the one for the dictator from the magic movie except it’s not decorated in pink, but rainbow. Everything in the room is a different color and the walls are a coordinating gradient. Posters declaring popular slogans like ‘Born This Way,’ ‘Yas Qween,’, ‘Slay All Day,’ ‘Love is Love,’ and ‘Proud ally’ are framed on the walls facing her desk. Under them are bookshelves filled with textbooks, reference books, and stacks of novels, but I notice most of them have the pseudonym Fitz found on the spine.

Likewise, single books are nestled in cubbies with small decorations to create displays for each title on the top shelves of each low case.

Holy mother of Cerberus, this place is a shrine to her own ego. I’m in serious trouble.

The woman in question beams at me from behind her standing desk, walking on a treadmill as she gestures for me to sit in one of the garish armchairs facing her. “Welcome, Delores! I’m so happy to have you join us at our elite institution. Forgive me for not letting you in, but I have to get in my steps and dictation. I may not be as prolific as some, but their derision can’t stop me!”

I nod, confused by her response. It sounds like she expects me to know details about her I’m not privy to and I’m unsure if it’s because she believes she’s that well known or if she’s just clueless. I don’t want to set her off, though, so I give her a tight smile. “No problem, Coach Rockland. I have to admit I was a bit surprised by this appointment; I was unaware I needed to see you once we settled my schedule.”

She laughs—a throaty, condescending sound that makes my skin itch. “Oh, no. This isn’t about your schedule. I called you here to discuss your mental health.”

What?

“I’m aware of your… interesting emergence and the subsequent issues that plagued you at Apex last year. Several students expressed their concern about your delusions and victim complex, so under our protocols, I contacted your mother.”

My face goes from friendly to blank within seconds. I know what’s expected of me as a Drew or Rostoff—whichever Lucille wants to equate me with this week—and I cannot allow this woman to glean any knowledge of my emotions. I don’t know if this is a trap set by my psycho mother or my ex-BFFs, but since they’re both involved, I have to be strong. “What did my mother say about these spurious accusations?”

---