Page 18 of Make Me Scream

“Please. Mundell doesn’t care.”

“Probably not,” I admit. Rush knew about the others. He always let it slide as long as they weren’t in my class or weren’t going to be, and we didn’t cause some kind of messy scandal. “Things change, though. It’s always a risk.”

Rory drinks, savoring the bitter, craft brew.

“How long has it been since the last one?” he asks. “You could stand to get laid.”

“You’re not wrong. But there’s a twist: she’s a Rat fan.”

“Oh, is she?” Rory laughs, a loud hoot. “That’s too bad.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I chuckle.

“All right, all right. Listen, Lane.” He sets down his bottle and sits up straight. “You’ve known her how long, you’re already painting her? You need some fresh inspiration, and it looks like you’ve found it.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

He means well, and it’s true — my art has stagnated lately. I need to fill my creative well, but that’s a flimsy excuse.

I’m not interested in Gwen because I need a muse.

I’m going to claim her because I want her.

Chapter 4

On Friday morning, Joel and I jitter on our way to hand in our final portfolios, wired after a night of pounding Red Bulls and coffee. With our exams out of the way, we drew and painted until our hands cramped into rigid claws. My heart pounded and I had to pee what felt like every ten minutes, but pages ofThe Ohio Zoocame together as the sun rose.

“Ready?” he asks, holding his meticulously wrapped portfolio.

“Ready,” I say.

We step inside Mundell’s administrative office. It’s empty, save for the expansive sea of projects just like ours stacked on a series of desks. We add ours to the piles marked for our teachers.

“That was a little anticlimactic, huh?” Joel says.

“Yeah. I was hoping there’d be a choir of angels to sing or something.”

“Exactly.”

He gets out his phone and snaps a picture of his portfolio among the rest, then sends it to Martin. I take a shot of mine too, just in case I need proof I handed it in on time.

“Come on,” I say. “We gotta go.”

The adrenaline rush of finishing our finals slips away as we head for Cafe Vitolo. My body aches to crash into bed and sleep for a week, but we have the morning shift to work.

“I’m going to pass the fuck out,” I tell Joel, leaning my head against his shoulder.

“I’ll make us espressos when we get there.”

The thought of drinking more coffee right now turns my stomach.

“Thanks, but no.”

I can’t take any more caffeine. I need food. Neither of us have eaten. We were so focused on finishing that we forgot. However, we are right outside Jumbo Bagel Express. So long as I live, I will never eat another Ohio bagel again. There’s just no comparison. There’s food at the cafe, but it’s expensive and we don’t get any kind of employee discount.

Pausing, I tap Joel’s shoulder.

“Do we have time for bagels?” I ask.

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