Page 44 of Switching Graves

Rolling her eyes, she zips up her backpack and wraps it around both shoulders. Beatrix and Hayes change the subject, as if it’s normal to hear their friend just spent a significant amount of time . . . stuck?

I’ll never get used to this place.

There’s only a few more minutes of mindless chatter before we have to split up again into different directions. Hayes offers a very awkward goodbye, which Beatrix makes sure to make a huge deal of before running off to her next class. I make a mental note to freeze her ass in time if I ever get a chance to learn how.

“This grade will knock my GPA down half a point,” I complain to Dr. Whitlock the following evening.

I knew the moment he posted his new hours, I had to at least try to defend myself. I’ve never received anything lower than a B on an assignment. A score below 70 percent is absolute bullshit, and it enraged me enough to push past my fear and tell him how ridiculous I thought it was.

He leans back into his chair, hands wrapping around the armrests in a white-knuckle grip—the only indication that he’s affected by my presence. Even if it is annoyance that drives him.

“You’ve already been in my office twice this semester, Miss Ellery. That’s two times more than the majority of my students, who realize that my office hours are posted as a requirement on my end, not because I enjoy spending extra time talking to you.I’m not sure what it is you think is so special about yourself that you’re more deserving of my time than any of your peers,” he says with a sneer.

“No, I don’t think that. I just?—”

“You were given the grade you earned on the essay. If you care so deeply about your academic standing here at Ravenshurst University, you should have put more effort into the assignment.”

Bastard.

Huffing out an incredulous laugh, I shake my head. “I spent hours on it, and?—”

“I knew your mother,” he cuts in matter-of-factly.

“You . . . you knew her personally?” I ask breathlessly, my mind racing with questions. Desperate for any crumb of information that no one has ever been willing to give me. If he knew my mother when she was here, he may know the true reason she had to leave.

“Not in my time as a student here. But I was a resident of Nocturne Valley when she graduated.”

My heart drops into my stomach.Right.My mother,Divina—because I’m supposed to be Poppy. “Oh.”

The disappointment is a silly little blip in my armor that earns far too much attention from him.

“You cannot tell me that you were raised by a woman like her and have nothing of value to add to the discussion of Narcissistic personality disorder. Nothing of personal substance to add to your paper.”

“Are you suggesting mymotherhas Narcissistic personality disorder?” I ask in mock offense, placing my hand over my heart.

Divina is most certainly a narcissist. In fact, she may be even worse. But for him to make that statement so boldly feels inappropriate. I’m so thoroughly embarrassed by this interaction and how drastically different it is than what Iimagined when I first came here, I’ll do anything to turn the tables back on him.

“I would never do such a thing,” he retorts in his insufferable, cocky tone. But just by saying that, he’s proven that he knows her as well as I do.

My spine straightens, shoulders rolling backward as I allow the delusional confidence to flow through me. What’s the worst he could do? He’s already given me a horrible grade.

“Then I’m not sure what you’re insinuating. I used the textbook and several sources from the library—all of which have been properly cited. Why should my score be docked for not inserting my opinion on the matter?”

“Your score was docked,Miss Ellery.” He practically hisses my name. “Because your essay was a dry regurgitation of all the clinical text that you used as sources. I expected more from you.”

When I open my mouth to respond, he holds his finger up, silencing me.

“And before your ego inflates any larger, you should know that 67 percent of the class received lower grades than even you on the assignment.”

Damn.

There’s a long, weighted silence as I consider what my options are. I could try to argue with him more, but I doubt it will get me anywhere. He’s already under the impression that I believe I’m better than the rest of my classmates. Insisting he change the grade would only prove him right. So, all I’m left with is tucking my tail between my legs and scurrying out the door before I embarrass myself any further.

“You can rewrite the essay and give it to me in my office hours in one week,” he offers, breaking me free from my derailed train of thought.

“Why would you do that?” I stupidly ask.

“As I said before, I expected more from you. I think you’ve got a promising future ahead in the world of psychology, and I’d like to see what happens when you take your head out of everyone else’s asses and follow your own instinct for once. You have a unique perspective on this particular topic.Use it.”

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