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“Next student.” Pierce stands up, and of course, he answers his question correctly, beaming like he wrote the book on it.
Then the blonde stands up. “Charlotte Howland. And the answer is…”
She might as well have been blowing a raspberry because I don’t understand a word coming out of her mouth. She manages to answer her question with a little minor help from Professor Harmon. The boys bump fists like they invented that move, and I want to barf. Seriously, I’ll never use a fist bump again. Professor Harmon glares until they calm the fuck down.
“Next student.”
Slowly, I stand, brushing my skirt down in the back. In my peripheral vision, I see Pierce smirking at Justin, taking pleasure in what’s about to happen. They have front-row seats and are ready to see me crash and burn. They’re both pricks.
I clear my throat. “Astrid Bowen.”
Professor Harmon nods. “Who was the father of rhetoric?”
My head swims, or maybe it’s the room. A line of sweat lets loose from my armpit and leaves a wet trail in its wake as it crawls down my side. I search my chaotic brain for an answer that I’ve never known. Someone behind me taps their pencil against their desk while someone else sighs.
Professor Harmon glares at the students surrounding me. “He was Greek,” she prompts.
“Aristotle,” I reply, but it sounds like a question.
“Correct, Astrid,” her mouth softens, but she doesn’t smile. “Next student.”
I toss myself down into my seat and stare at my desk in relief. How the fuck am I going to survive Stonehaven? I don’t know this shit, and I don’t have any intelligent friends. My friends chuck textbooks around the classroom like nunchucks. They’d laugh at the thought of opening one up to read.
“Justin Leister.”
Professor Harmon glances at her watch. “What is the etymology of anthropocentrism?”
His mouth drops open, but he doesn’t answer. The boy looks like a stick just fell out of his ass. The seconds turn slowly into a minute as Professor Harmon waits for Justin to answer the question. She doesn’t offer him a prompt like she did for me. In fact, she barely looks at him as the entire class turns in their seat, waiting for an answer.
“I don’t know how to answer the question,” he finally croaks out.
Professor Harmon’s lips twerk into a grin that immediately disappears. “Write an essay on it for next class.” She stands up from her desk. “Class dismissed. Astrid Bowen, stay behind.”
My back slumps against my seat as I sink down, waiting for the rest of the class to leave. Justin kicks my desk as he walks by. I expected that shitty behavior from Pierce, but Justin shoots me a nasty look that straightens my back. I was foolish to think these boys don’t think with the same brain. The class is empty, and I look at Professor Harmon, who glances at a piece of paper. I jump when she suddenly starts speaking.
“Please come to the front of the room and stand in front of my desk, Astrid.”
I leap to my feet as if someone yanked a string attached to the top of my head. I hurry as fast as I can. My chunky shoes squeak across the polished tile floor. I stand in front of her desk with my hands folded and my posture perfect. At least I know how to do that.
“You’re a new student.” Our gazes meet—mine stressed, hers calm. “Have you had rhetoric before, Astrid?”
“Ma’am, I can barely speak English.” I wish I hadn’t tried to make a joke when she scowls. “Sorry, no. I went to Monarch Street Academy. We don’t have rhetoric there.”
She cringes, and I wonder what I said.
“These are my office hours.” She hands me a business card with her name and hours.
My eyes widen a little. “You’re a doctor?”
She nods. “Professor Harmon will suffice.”
“Thanks…Thank you, Professor Harmon.”
Her smile stiffens as she gazes down at my shoes, and I quickly exit the room, headed for my next class. Since the students live on campus, there are no lockers, so we get twenty minutes between classes just in case. I learn that forgetting a book or homework is a lame excuse. I shove the card in my bag and head down the stairwell, slowing down as I hear voices echoing in the stairwell.
“There you are,” Pierce smiles at me as I come down the stairs, “the little scholar. How does it feel to get one thing right in your life?”
“Shut your hole, your turd,” I hiss at him, “You better not ever fucking touch me.”
