CHAPTER 7
Hazel
The hushed voices of hundreds of students running in and out of the library mixed with the squeaking carts and shoes was enough to make me dread being there. If you had asked me a year ago if I was interested in going to college, I would have told you No, not at all. And that hadn’t changed. Las Vegas University was one of the last places I wanted to be. But if it made my sister happy, and got Grant to stop badgering me, then I could suffer through a class.
The librarian handed me a card. “As an undergraduate, you’re limited to ten check-outs,” she said. Swell. Like I would use all ten. “You have a one-month duration, with ten cent per day late fees. There are drop boxes across campus.”
“Thanks.” I pocketed the card. “I’ll be sure to use the library frequently,” I said under my breath. Grant elbowed me and I glared at him.
He turned to the librarian. “Thank you,” he said.
We exited the building, coming out into the fresh air. The sun beamed down, instantly baking my skin. I rubbed my hands along my arms, enjoying the warmth. I could live without the people around us. The assholes on the slackline, the guy who thought he was cool because he could play an acoustic guitar, the clique of sorority babes so perfectly pretty that I wanted to gag—I ignored all of them. For a moment, the only things I allowed myself to acknowledge were the fluffy clouds and the slight breeze that tickled my skin. I usually hated being outside, but I felt good then. Because at least I wasn’t inside of a sardine-packed library.
Grant was staring at me. His jaw stern. His brown eyes shined in the light.
He put on his sunglasses. “Let’s go,” he said.
At the registrar, the line stretched to the door. We joined the queue, and a bunch of students lined up behind us, pushing us in closer together. Grant pulled me ahead, guiding my arm. We stood, waiting, with our arms touching. A gentle, almost tender sort of contact. It was such a contrast to what he called ‘our training.’ His arms tucked tight around me, crushing me, making it so that I couldn’t move and had a hard time breathing, had made me feel helpless. Because I couldn’t do anything. He made it clear that I was powerless against him, and as much as I hated it, it was arousing. When I felt the subtle twitch in his pants, I knew he felt it too.
And that’s when he went to the car, claiming that we were done for the night. I was glad for the abrupt ending. I didn’t want to face that feeling either. But now, with our skin grazing each other as we waited, I couldn’t help but think about it.
Grant’s eyes were forward, the sunglasses still on even though we were indoors. Like an ass. But then I thought of his mom, knowing that she might wear sunglasses inside of public places, to prevent others from staring at her eye. Maybe he did it to make it more commonplace for her. Or maybe he wanted to hide his expressions.
But he couldn’t hide his emotions when he trained me. There was a hint of anguish in his instructions, urging me with desperation to listen. He wasn’t going to hurt me, not unless I wanted him to, but he wanted me to understand that he had the power to do so if he wanted. Anyone could. I had to be ready for the unexpected.
The more I spent time with Grant, the less I saw him as the soulless hitman. A job was a job, there was no doubt about that. But there was something inside of him. Whatever I was—roommate, trainee, friend—I was personal to him.
Which made my instincts scream to be cautious. It was too easy for me to get wrapped into what could be, and I knew with Grant, we would never be anything real.
But maybe we could be friends.
At the stall, the clerk, who looked like she was probably a senior at the university, punched in my information.
“Two classes,” Grant said, his voice deep. “The History of Rock and Roll,” okay, I could get behind that, “and Composition I.”
“Composition I?” I asked. “You want me to take a writing class?”
He kept his face forward, sunglasses aimed at the clerk. “It’s a mandatory class to take other classes.”
“But it’s an introductory class,” I said. I turned towards the clerk. “Isn’t there a way to get around that? I know how to write an essay. Really, I do. It’s not that hard.”
“Sure,” she said. She pulled a flier out of the desk’s drawer. “There’s an exam you can take to skip it. It’s offered every—”
“See?” I tilted my head at Grant. “I’ll ace it.”
“Ace it?” Grant asked. He didn’t believe me.
“What? You don’t think I can?” I snarled. “All I have to do is pass it. Who cares if I get one hundred or seventy-five percent?”
“So just the History of Rock and Roll, then?” the clerk asked.
“Yes,” I said. I snatched the flier from her hand. I said my next words loud and clear, “Thank you.”
Outside of the registrar, Grant made a phone call while I stared at the fountain. There wasn’t anything special about it. It was a pearlish white with three cascading levels. But the water was tinted blue, not clear, and there were no pennies to speak of. Not even a dime.
I dug one out of my purse. I clutched it in my palm, wishing to find something, someone, or anything, that fit the real me. I knew I wouldn’t find it at LVU. But I had to find it somewhere. I needed all of the help I could get.
Grant came towards me, stuffing his phone in his pocket. I tossed the coin in the fountain.
