Page 28 of Learning Curve

“But, Ty—”

“Ace,” Finn says then with a firm shake of his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Ace’s eyes narrow. He’s a good friend, but even in the short time I’ve known him, he’s made it abundantly clear he’s not the type to drop something just because someone suggested he should.

“Fine. But if you need bail money, I know plenty of investors.”

Finn manages a small smile at that—so does Ty Winslow, though I’m thinking he’s hoping no one notices—and everything gentle I’ve known about Finn since the first day I met him comes back into startling focus.

Finn Hayes is a lover, not a fighter. But boy oh boy, is it obvious he’s spent some time moonlighting as the second anyway.

Finn

Anger brews under the entire surface of my skin as Dane, Professor Winslow, and I make the long walk to Dean Kandinsky’s office in the Stewart Building, located in the middle of campus. It burns and sizzles and eats at me like a form of flesh-eating bacteria.

But it’s not because of my impending trouble with the dean, and it’s not because of that stupid fuckboy Dane.

It’s because of Professor Ty Winslow and his sanctimonious need to talk to me like he actually cares, despite knowing absolutely nothing about what it’s like to be me.

“I understand more than anyone that hormones practically have fists of their own at your age, but you can’t be fighting on campus. Start an underground fight ring or take it upstate, but don’t throw punches in the courtyard in front of my class, okay? I’m duty bound to take you assholes to the dean if you do it right in front of me.”

Neither Dane nor I say anything. There’s nothing to say. Dane is too busy pissing himself over the possibility of expulsion—I can see it written all over his pathetic face—and I’m fighting every instinct I have to break Ty Winslow’s heart right here and now. To tell him the fuckup he just caught fighting on campus is his own blood and DNA.

But doing it in front of Dane would be entirely counterproductive, and I’ve been waiting way too long to throw this shit out there without having an actual plan now.

I blink hard to adjust to the dimmer lighting as we leave the sunny outdoors and enter the Stewart Building. In addition to Dean Kandinsky’s office, it houses all the upper management of Dickson, including both the admissions office and counseling.

As most head cases would, I’ve pointedly avoided it up until this point.

Ty talks to the receptionist, while Dane and I take seats in the wooden chairs outside the dean’s office, separating ourselves as much as possible. The molding in this little section of the building alone has to cost more money than my mom has made in her entire life.

The receptionist nods, and Ty goes straight into Kandinsky’s office, I’m assuming, to explain the situation before we get in there. When the heavy wooden door emblazoned with the dean’s golden plaque shuts behind him, I let go of a breath I didn’t know I was even holding.

I look down at my bloody knuckles to pass the time, studying the split in the skin where I already had a scar from two years ago. I came home that night to my dad, drunk as usual, laying into my mom and Willow because they’d gone and gotten her belly button pierced. Dad said it made her look like a slut. I’d hauled off and hit him with no control, no plan, no thought whatsoever. I got in a good first shot, but I also got my ass beat.

Since then, I’ve practiced both control and technique, and I don’t lose fights anymore. Dane’s bloodied face proves it.

“Finnley Hayes,” a gruff, annoyed voice of authority calls, startling my gaze up. Dean Kandinsky is in the doorway of his office, looking none too pleased.

I stand without hesitation and walk toward him, ignoring Dane’s sneer as I walk by. The kid wouldn’t know appropriate behavior if it hit him right in the nuts.

“Dane,” the dean says then. “You get in here too.”

Ty stands in the back of the office, his arms crossed over his chest while the dean instructs Dane and me to take the seats in front of his desk.

Dean Kandinsky considers me for a long moment before looking at Dane. There’s familiarity in his eyes, as well as annoyance. I guess having some douchey kid ruin your chances at getting any more fat checks from their parents is a real downer.

“Dane, why don’t you explain to me what happened?”

Dane, the pretentious asshole, turns on his rich-kid persona in an instant. “It was all just a simple misunderstanding, sir. I was having a conversation with my girlfriend, and—”

“Ex-girlfriend,” I interject. “And it wasn’t a conversation. You were harassing her.”

Dane shakes his head. “See, this is a big misunderstanding if you think that’s what was happening, Finnley.”

Oh, this asshole.

Unexpectedly, a strong hand clamps down on my shoulder. I follow it upward to Ty Winslow, and my jaw tightens so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t break under the pressure.

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