Page 18 of Loving the Liar

A zap of electricity runs down my spine, and I stand up, packing my stuff in a split second. “I’m so sorry. I was?—”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Not writing down homework, that’s for sure. Did you hear what I want you to do with the case study I gave you?”

The case study. That must have been what was on the printouts. The heat creeping up my chest burns all the way to the tops of my ears. Not only am I getting told off, but in front of his assistants. Both of whom I’ve known since I was a kid. Worse. In front of Chris.

“I seem to remember you knowing perfectly well how much a spot in my class costs.” My eyes widen before I can keep my facial expression under control. I feel like my cheeks are on fire.

Did he really just bring this up…here? In front of people?

“I do,” I rasp. My god, my throat is so dry. “I?—”

“You can stop by my office during my hours. I’ll run you past what you missed.”

I hold my bag to my chest, still stuck behind my table, feeling cornered. “I-I can ask another student.”

He chuckles condescendingly. “Are you that naïve, Miss Baker? Don’t you know popularity is worth nothing in this class? Who will help you?”

I gulp. Loudly too. I just made myself look even more stupid by not acknowledging students in his class are competing against each other.

He reaches inside his jacket and throws a business card on my desk. “Office hours are on there. Off you go.”

As if I didn’t know them.

I snatch it from the table, avoiding looking at Rose and Chris as I hurry out of the room. I’ve barely exited and closed the door when it opens again.

“Ella.”

I don’t need to turn around to know Chris is the one calling me. I would recognize his voice if it was a whisper in a crowd of people shouting. I know the sweet, deep vowels. I’ve shivered at the calm but stern consonants before. This man imposes respect through single words. My name in his spiced whiskey voice used to melt me to my core, turn me into a puddle at his feet.

Today, I don’t even turn around.

“Ella,” he calls a little louder. As if the only reason I’m not stopping is because I must not have heard him.

Fuck him. Fuck Reeves. Fuck all of them.

I hurry through the hallway of the humanities building, mixing with other students before he can catch up with me. I throw a look behind me before turning right into another hallway instead of exiting. If he really wants to talk, he’ll go outside, thinking that’s where I’m heading. As the crowd thins out, and I pass a heavy oak door into another part of the building. The hallway here is empty, my steps resonating against the stone polished by countless years of students walking here.

There’s always an indescribable eeriness that comes over me when I walk the hallways of SFU, especially since the stained glass windows don’t let much light through. The stone walls are covered in paintings portraying scenes from Greek mythology.

The beheading of Medusa by Perseus. The punishment of Prometheus by Zeus.

Some of the paintings can barely be seen, casted in shadows from the lack of light. It always feels like someone is hiding somewhere, forgotten souls waiting to be noticed by passersby.

With a shiver running down my spine, I pull out my phone, calling Peach right away.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already been kicked out of Reeves’s class?” she laughs as she picks up. She’s the only one of us who doesn’t have any morning classes on Tuesdays.

“Peach.” I have to force my voice out of my throat. My ears are still ringing from what just happened, and I can barely catch my breath. “You will never guess who transferred to SFU.”

I haven’t even had time to catch them up about Chris being back. This is going to come as a shock. I slept at home yesterday and went straight to class this morning. All I did was text them about my dad. They tried to convince me to not go to classes, but the mere idea of staying alone with my thoughts terrifies me.

I turn right into another hallway again, trying to circle the building from the inside so I can go back to the exit. My burgundy uniform skirt bounces against my ass with every quick step.

“What? Who?” she asks, sounding half-worried, half-excited.

“Ch—” I bump so hard into someone, I drop my phone, barely registering as it clatters on the floor.

Stumbling back from the hit, I catch myself on the wall. The giant in front of me bends down, picks it up, and the second Peach’s voice says hello? on the other side, he hangs up on her.

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