Page 45 of Burn Bright
“Classical Mythology?” Xander asks.
“Yep.” I pop the green candy in my mouth, then point to myself. “Science nerd.”
Xander points to his chest. “History nerd. I could help you out.”
Plenty of people have more than one friend, but I’m not sure a friendship with Ben and one with Xander can co-exist. I swish the candy from one side of my cheek to the other as I contemplate accepting the offer.
Then the professor walks in. Our attention veers forward as the lecture hall falls hushed.
He looks like he might have lived among the likes of Athena and Achilles. He’sthatold. Professor Wellington’s hair is white and fluffy like a cluster of clouds, and he hobbles to the podium so slowly we’re all holding our breath like we’re each on red alert to call 9-1-1 in case of a fall.
He passes the podium and shakily hands a stack of papers to a student in the first row. “Welcome to Classical Mythology,” he says in a soft, buttery voice. I need to strain my ears to catch everything even though he’s speaking into a microphone. Okay, sitting in the front row was the move.
As students begin passing the papers and the stack reaches Ben, I see him take one, then he stands to hand over the stack to a guy in the neighboring aisle. Once Ben has delivered the goods, I expect him to return to his seat.
Instead, he climbs the stairs with his backpack over his shoulder. Beneath the brim of his hat, he’s smiling at me.
My pulse skips, and confusion melts into blissful relief when I realize he’s headed straight for me. He claims the vacant seat at my side.
“You forgot this, Fisher.” He places my pen pouch on my desk.
“My hero,” I tease. “You going back to the middle row with the cool kids?”Please say no.
He folds out the retractable desk and sets his water bottle on it. “Nah, I think I’ll stick with the cooler backrow kids.”
Xander slouches more, his cheekbones sharpening as if he’s clenching his jaw.
Ben can see. “That okay with you, man?”
“Yeah, do whatever you want.” He stares unblinkingly at the blank projector screen.
When the papers come to our row, Xander slips one off the top and passes me the stack. My pretzeled stomach plummets when I see the handwritten scrawl. The professor handwrote the syllabus and scanned it. Does he not own a computer? My confidence swirls down a drainpipe when I skim the course curriculum.
Four exams.
Two essays.
And a group fucking presentation.
My ears ring from the hysteria pulsing inside of me.
“The tests will be given orally,” Professor Wellington says. “I will read aloud the questions and you will write your answer on a sheet of paper.”
Murmurs echo in the room, and I let out a soft, “What the fuck.”
Ben skims my body in a slow onceover. “Are the hives starting?”
“I might be contracting something worse.” I pull at the collar of my shirt, feeling suffocated suddenly.
He hands me his water bottle, and I side-eye him like,are you sure?
A smile crawls over his face. “Cooties don’t exist.”
“Herpes does.”
“I don’t have herpes,” he assures while I take a grateful swig of water. Xander catches my eyes while I cap the bottle, and I tense, thinking back to him wishing he had water to offer me.
“Thank God for Cobalts, right?” Xander says quietly, with a hint of bitterness. “We’d neversurvive without them.” It sounds like a personal shot at Ben, but guilt instantly twists Xander’s face for even saying it. He mutters a soft, “Fuck.”
