1
CARTER
I’m definitely fucked.
That’s my first thought when I see the email from Professor Bam with the subject line‘URGENT: Meeting Required.’
My second thought is whether I can fake my own death and transfer to a university in Norway where no one knows my name.
My third thought—the one I’ve been having a lot lately—is that Dominic would’ve had a better plan.
The last time I sat in Professor Bam’s office, he was on my case about school. I remember because he’d texted me that morning.
Good luck with your meeting. And stop skipping Bam’s class. She’s a legend.
I’d ignored him because I was hungover and it was 8 AM, and who the hell schedules a meeting at 8 AM?
Now I’m here because I’ve skippedso manyclasses that “legendary” Professor Bam has summoned me for what I’m pretty sure is an academic intervention.
Her office is exactly what you’d expect: rocks everywhere. Like an absurd amount of rocks. Core samples, geodes, crystals. There are photos too—her at various field sites, covered in dust and grinning. One shows her with a younger guy, same wild curls, same bright smile.
“Carter Wolfe.” She doesn’t look up from her computer. “Have a seat.”
I drop into the chair across from her and flash my most charming smile—the one that usually works on professors. “Thanks for making time, Professor. I know you’re swamped with end-of-semester?—”
“You’re failing my class.”
“Mm-hmm.” Shit. She’s not buying it. She folds her hands on top of a folder that I’m pretty sure contains my academic death certificate. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”
“I love chases. Big fan of efficiency.” I lean back, trying to look relaxed even though my heart is hammering. “So, I’m guessing this is about my attendance? Because I can explain?—”
“You’re failing my class.”
The smile falters. Just for a second. Then I rebuild it. “Okay, well, ‘failing’ is such a strong word. What if we called it ‘temporarily underperforming’?”
“Fifty-three percent on your last exam, Carter.”
“See, but that’s still technically passing in some countries?—”
“Six weeks of missed lectures.”
“I was doing independent study?—”
“And exactly three assignments turned in all semester.”
I hold up my hands in mock surrender, grin still in place. “Okay, okay. You got me. I’ve been slacking. But here’s the thing, Professor Bam—” I lean forward, letting my voice drop into something more genuine, more vulnerable. “It’s been a really hard year. I don’t know if you heard, but my brother passed awaylast fall, and I’ve just been... struggling, you know? To focus. To care about anything. Some days it’s hard to even get out of bed.”
I watch her face, waiting for the softening. The sympathy. The inevitable “Oh, you poor thing. Let’s talk about extensions and make-up work.”
It doesn’t come.
Instead, Professor Bam leans back in her chair and gives me a look that I can only describe as deeply unimpressed.
“Carter Wolfe.” She says my name like she’s tasting something sour. “Did you just try to use your dead brother to manipulate me into bumping your grade?”
The air leaves the room. I feel naked.
“I— no, I wasn’t?—”
