Page 28 of Forbidden Lessons

There’s a sad, “Aw!” from a guy at the back of the class, and Rooke flashes a rare smile as he shakes his head.

He has to speak over the wave of muted chuckles and giggles that break out, but he manages just fine by barely raising his voice. Everyone wants to hear what he has to say.

“Assignment,” he repeats. “You’ve all been on high alert, I’m hoping, to spot any and all acts of cruelty you encounter.” He mimics writing in a notebook without taking his eyes off the class. “Fastidiously recording them in your Activity Log. This week, I want something visual. A piece of art. More precisely, digital art depicting cruelty.”

There’s silence as he slowly ambles from one side of the lectern to the other.

“No context. No explanation. No ‘caption,’” he adds a flick of an air quote. “Any questions?”

There’s a short silence, but most of the students are shaking their heads.

“PG13 movies have titties in them,” Kai calls out.

“Hey, we’re all adults here.” Rooke pushes out his bottom lip, lifting his hands in surrender. He points at Kai. “And that was a statement, Mr. Jordan, not a question.”

That gets a round of laughter, and I’m one of the loudest. Which I instantly regret when Kai sends a death stare my way.

“Don’t forget, next week we’re digging into The Lucifer Effect. I expect everyone to have read the first ten chapters, and don’t bother coming to class without your bookoryour notes.”

Laughter turns into groans, but even those sound light-hearted.

Rooke’s class is fascinating, yet utterly disturbing at the same time.

I still don’t know if I like it, or if I’m just too morbidly curious for my own good.

Like the two guys in the painting, watching the damned souls fight. And the fighters? The one’s clamping down on the other’s throat like a vampire.

Their hatred for each other is palpable.

I cut my gaze to Kai, and catch him staring at the painting too.

Could be me and him up there, and it’s almost as if he’s thinking the same thing.

Melissa and I both turn toward each other to put our things away, and she gives me a micro-smile as she slips her laptop back into its bag. “I think I’ll wear a bra,” she whispers. “It’s classier.”

I cough. “Sorry...what?”

She looks up at me through her lashes, and then glances over her shoulder, her red hair swinging in a shiny curtain around her head.

Is it a wig? Because, damn, normal hair can’t be that perfect.

Her brown eyes widen when she looks back at me. Rooke is busy talking to a student at the end of our row, so I guess shefeels safe enough to lean in and murmur, “I heard you get a higher grade if you send him boob pics.”

“Pfft. As if.”

She straightens, slipping her strap over her shoulder, then gives me a small frown. “Let go of those imaginary pearls you’re clutching. I know what you’re into.” She glances at my pink STFU notepad. “And he was kidding about the dick pics. He swings both ways.”

I turn to watch her leave, feeling like I accidentally slipped into a wormhole and ended up in a parallel universe.

He doeswhatif youwhat?

He swings?—?

Whoa. The maelstrom of inappropriate thoughts swirling through my head right now has reached T11 levels.

Wait. She knows what I’minto?

Is Melissa high or something?

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