Worse: only a handful of questions were multiple choice, and Professor Richter decided to make us all answer long-form questions to prove that we actually know what we’re talking about instead of randomly guessing.
Professor Richter is sitting at the front of the examination room, nodding to all the students who walk by.
“If I don’t fail, you’ll see me again next semester,” I say cheekily.
I catch the slight eye-roll, before Professor Richter realizes what she’s doing. She purses her lips. “I’m sure you’ll do well, Ms. Pavone. I’ll see you in January.”
For Biochem 102 or whatever class it is. It’ll be equally dull, talking about more enzymes and hormones and fiddly things that don’t matter.
Ugh, when do we get tostart dissections?
As I exit the exam room, my phone buzzes with a text, and I’m excited to hear from Blaze, Asch, or River.
Unfortunately, it’s from none of them.
Unknown Number
This is your first and only warning.
Back off or you’ll regret it.
Wow, that’s not ominous. I wonder which of the frat douches got ahold of my number, and was stupid enough to text me.
I copy the number and forward it to Anastasia Voronkov, who can do almost anything I could dream of with tech.
Pandora
Can you figure out who this number belongs to?
Anastasia
As long as it’s not a burner, sure. Give me 5.
I check the time on my phone. It’s early afternoon on a Friday. Shouldn’t she be in school? Unless the high schools have started winter break already, and it’s only colleges that make students hang around for ages to take exams.
Anastasia
The name is Peyton Anderson. You’d think he’d have at least tried to cloak the number. Amateurs. Need more info, or do you know who it is?
Peytonsoundsfamiliar. The hallway is loud with students who are discussing their exam though. One of my classmates mentions the answer to one question, and it’s not what I answered.
Whoops.
I need to get out of here before knives start crawling out of the walls.
The bathroom is crowded too, and the lounge area is full of other students buzzing with nerves.
What does it take to get some privacy around here?
I end up exiting the building entirely and huddling down on a bench outdoors. It’s way too cold for anyone to want to join me here, so I have peace and quiet as I pull my notebook out of my backpack.
Or, y’know, Rachel’s notebook.
I flip to the page where I’d written down all the frat douche’s names. I’ve since added their various sins and how I’ve punished them. Next to Keegan’s name, I drew a bunch of little rats. They’re honestly very cute.
I find Peyton Anderson, and my only note on him is that he wasprobablythere at the gym.
‘Probably,’ since aside from Zayden and Keegan—and Blaze, and Asch, and River, don’t think about it don’t think about it—I don’t actually know who was there.
