Page 72 of Kingmakers, Year One

“It’s fine, Leo. I understand you.”

She always does. But she looks troubled. Not entirely happy all of a sudden.

“How’s your banking class going?” I ask her. It’s one of the only classes we don’t share.

“Fine.”

“Pretty dull with all those Accountants?”

“No. It’s not dull. I’ve always liked numbers.”

There’s silence for a moment while I try to stop myself from asking what I really want to ask. Anna is stiff, anticipating it.

At last I say, trying to sound casual, “I hope Dean’s not giving you any shit.”

I don’t like that they have that class together, without me there.

It shouldn’t matter, but it irritates me, like something caught in my teeth.

When Anna’s in that class and I’m in Torture Techniques, I can’t stop thinking about her and that asshole trapped in the same room together.

I’ve seen how he looks at her. Like she’s a piece of meat and he’s starving.

Knowing he’s leering at her all hour long is almost worse than the actual torture techniques that our professor occasionally demonstrates on an unwilling volunteer.

“He isn’t bothering me,” Anna says.

I see her cheeks flushing pink, and I know there’s something else to be said, but she doesn’t want to tell me.

“What is it?” I say.

“I . . . we’re working on a project together.” Anna hurries to add, “The professor assigned the groups.”

“Just the two of you?” It comes out harsh. I don’t know why my heart is beating so fast. It’s just a school project.

“Yeah,” Anna says, feigning casualness.

I try to sound even more casual. Like I don’t care at all.

“How’s that been?”

“Surprisingly good.”

My stomach gives a hard twist. It’s stupid—I don’t want Dean to be an ass to her. I don’t want her assignment fucked up—Anna’s grades are important to her. But somehow the fact that it’s going well makes me feel even more shitty and anxious.

“Well, he’s . . . smart,” I say grudgingly.

“Yeah, he is,” Anna agrees.

She agrees too easily. Too enthusiastically. My stomach clenches up even harder. My face is hot, the sun feels too bright. I pull my own sweater off with unnecessary aggression.

“The weather’s all over the fucking place here,” I grumble. “One minute you’re freezing and the next you’re sweating your balls off.”

“Not me,” Anna says, a strange edge to her voice. “ ‘Cause I don’t have balls. ‘Cause I am, in fact, a girl.”

“I know that.”

“Come on,” she says, standing abruptly. “Let’s walk down the long way so we can go into town. I want to get more stamps.”

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