Page 20 of Forbidden Lessons

“See?” Ezra mutters just loud enough for me to hear. “This is what happens when you’re late. There’s time for small talk, and then someone realizes someone was fucking their girl, and…” Ezra sighs heavily and runs a hand down the front of his pastel pink polo shirt.

It shouldn’t look good on any guy, but Ezra could pull off a flamingo pool floatie without trying. Even the popped collar only makes it look more effortless.

My older brother got the best of our folks’ genes, and I was left with the scraps. Sucks to be last in line, like anywhere.

Myles is still chuckling to himself, twirling the edge of his ironic hipster mustache like a super villain when Ezra taps his gavel.

“This brings the second caucus of the semester to order,” he says.

The War Room is large, but it feels crowded with ten frat guys inside. Even with the air conditioning on full blast, the place always reeks of beer, cigarettes, and BO. You’d swear the guys in this meeting could afford some super strength antiperspirant, but I know of at least one guy who doesn’t bother.

Austin tucks a stray curl behind his ear like it will somehow improve his look, but if genes were a buffet and I was last in line, he got held up at the salad bar. Red, tightly curled hair. Watery blue eyes. So many freckles on his face it’s hard to figure out where they start and his pale skin ends.

It’s common knowledge he’s given up attracting a mate—male or female—so now he spends all his time playing video games and binge-watching anime shows.

I guess he doesn’t have the time, or the need, for deodorant.

Done with the initial crap we have to sit through at the start of every meeting, Ezra moves onto the agenda.

“First order of business?—”

“Getting Myles kicked the fuck out,” Nolan mutters, crossing his arms over his doughy chest and further rumpling an already wrinkled khaki dress shirt.

Maybe if Nolan put more effort into his outfits, Myles wouldn’t waylay his crushes. Not that Myles has a ton of style—he wears designer threads purposefully made to look like vintage scores. He looks hipster as fuck, but he still thinks upcycling is only something Tour de France competitors need to know about.

“Fuck’s sake,” Ezra murmurs under his breath. “I meant important shit.” He points his gavel at me. “Like Haven Lee.”

Everyone turns to look at me, even the frat guy who’s always so busy on his phone I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to him. Most of us don’t even know his name, we just call him iPhone. We think he’s a day trader or something.

“Yeah?” I say. “What about her?”

“I saw her today. Walked right past her in the hallway,” Ezra says. “Had so many books in her arms she could barely see where she was going. What’s up with that, bro?”

“It’s all good.” I cross my arms over my chest and shrug. “I’ve got it under control.”

“Then why is she stillhere?” Ezra leans in, looking down his nose at me. We’ve got the same one, but it looks different on his face somehow. Maybe it’s because his eyes are a darker green than mine, or his hair is in a carefully styled faux hawk, not my always-too-long mess.

“You’re right,” I muse. “I should just strangle her and dump her body in the river. Then it would all be over real quick.”

“Better if it looks like a suicide.” Everyone turns to Dahmer.

That’s not his real name, but he looks like a serial killer, and we’re pretty sure he’s into guys. Also, the glasses. If anyone should be forced to wear contact lenses, it’s him.

He doesn’t seem to care…about anything. Which only made the nickname stick that much harder. “Make it look like she jumped out a window or something.”

Jace’s crucifix rasps as he drags it along the golden chain on his neck. “God punishes murderers, even if they get away with it.” If Jace’s parents didn’t own half the town, he wouldn’t even be here. He creeps everyone out, even Dahmer.

Ezra rolls his eyes. “We don’t want her dead, just gone. Have you even, you know—“ he makes a tumbling motion with his hands, “—interactedwith her?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m playing the long game.”

“The longer youplay, the more she drains the school’s finances,” Austin says. “Every year these losers get a scholarship, or some grant or something, and every year we get rid of them.” He’s become jaded lately, I won’t lie. Dude needs to get laid.

“I told you, get me three good shots of her face, and I’ll Photoshop enough revenge porn for you to open an OnlyFans page,” Myles says.

“Ooh, get pics of her feet!” Nolan blurts out, jabbing a finger at Austin. “Guys love that fetish crap.”

“Do we?” Myles asks dryly.

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