Page 23 of Forbidden Lessons

“Oh, Haven, dear! Just a minute, sweetie.”

Fuck.

Well, no matter how this ends, at least I went down swinging.

My hand is still on the balustrade as I turn to give her a forced smile. “Uh-huh?”

“The annual Rain Dance is coming up. The flyers just got dropped off this morning. Would you like one?”

Stress kills. My cortisol levels must be sky high by now.

I trot back to her to fetch a flier, the slap of my flip-flops seeming to echo through the quiet reception. I wish I could say they were some designer brand too, but they’re about three flops away from disintegrating, so…

There’s still plenty of time before I have to meet Professor Rooke. His classes start at ten-thirty every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I pass the janitor halfway up the stairs, a cloth in one of his hands and a can of furniture spray in the other.

Hmm…lemon.

My favorite.

Now that I’m not arriving at the start of a class time slot, the halls are a lot busier. Some students glance my way, and even a handful smile, but most of them are too busy staring at their phones or pretending the world doesn’t exist.

Maybe I finally broke that curse, because I don’t spot anyone I know. I’m just another college student, and no one gives a shit about me.

By the time I get to room 102, I’m wearing a melancholy smile.

I push the door open and slip inside, immediately turning to grab the handle so I can make sure the door doesn’t slam.

Maybe Icanfit in here. Eventually. I guess everyone struggles the first few days. All these unfamiliar faces. I’m sure there are other students like me that don’t have friends. Not everyone’s going to be an asshole like?—

Kai’s sprawled in his swivel chair, feet up on the desk, hands tucked behind his head. He’s chewing on something, but plucks it out of his mouth and tosses it on the table when my eyes land on him.

“Hey…” he drawls. “What’s up, Heavenly?”

Why the fuck does the sound of his voice make my stomach do cartwheels? Is it because it’s exactly the same as I remember—the inflection, the tone—but a hundred decibels deeper?

A quick scan of the room confirms Professor Rooke isn’t here yet.

It’s just me and Kai.

This is the part in the horror movie where an amateur violist picks up his instrument and gets to work.

I lift my chin, adjust the floppy bag under my arm and walk over to Kai as gracefully as one can in flip-flops. Which is not gracefully at all. I swear, I’m echoing.

He gives me a long, almost lewd, once-over as I approach.

I slam my bag down on the desk and curl my hands into fists at my side. “What the hell is your problem?”

One of his wild, bushy eyebrows quirks up. “Ex-cusie?” he says in a terrible Italian accent.

“Not a,hi Haven, or a,good to see you it’s been a while, all I get is you being a fucking dick?” I cross my arms over my chest, but my hands are still in fists.

He’s still got his feet up, so when he grabs the back of his neck and stretches, his swivel chair groans like he’s testing the limits of its manufacturer’s warranty.

“Hiya, slut,” he deadpans. “Good to see your sorry ass. It’s been a while.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I thought you wanted to be an astronaut when you grew up, not a fucking asshole.”

Fuck this guy and his sour mood. I’ll wait outside for Professor Rooke.

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