Page 115 of Monstrous Serpent

I pocket my phone and weave through students without slowing down, making it to Whitmore’s class with three minutes to spare. Not that it matters. She doesn’t care if people are late as long as they don’t interrupt her class.

Reyes is already here. He nods as I make my way over. “Came by Saturday. No one answered.”

I set my bag on the floor, then drop into the seat next to him. “We were out.”

“With your boyfriend?”

I nod.

He leans closer. “Shin's guy checks out.”

I flex my fingers, tracking Professor Whitmore as she walks into class. “So, we’re hunting? When?”

“Next weekend. Gives us enough time to prepare.”

“Got plans.”

“Change them.”

I swivel toward him. “I’m fine.”

“Mira este, se cree la última Coca-Cola en el desierto,” Reyes mutters, flipping to a new page in his notebook. “You're a lot of things, Kincaid. Fine isn't one of them.”

Professor Whitmore makes her way up to our row, passing back the tests from last week. When she gets to me, she holds mine out, smiling. “Good job, Hunter.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Reyes whistles. “Ninety-three. Not bad.”

I shove the test under my notebook. All I care about is that I passed because it keeps me eligible to play. Anything more is just noise.

Reyes taps his pen on my desk to get my attention. “You need to hunt. Same with Calix. Keep pushing it off, and you’re gonna lose control.”

My jaw clenches. He’s not wrong. This past weekend, I nearly snapped that scare actor’s neck because he was too close to Cody. Touched my boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

The word still hits wrong. Not bad. Just new.

Mine was easier. Mine made sense.

Cody claiming me back doesn’t.

But I like it. More than I should.

Reyes stares at me, a hard expression on his face. “Not going to do Trembley much good if you end up behind bars.”

My upper lip twitches, fingernails scratching the puckered skin on my forearm. “We’ll talk later.”

At the front of the room, Professor Whitmore loads the first slide. “Goffman's dramaturgy. It’s just a fancy term for something you already do every day.” She turns and scans the room. “How many of you act exactly the same around your parents as you do around your friends?”

Nobody raises a hand.

“Right. Because you're performing. Goffman argues we're all on stage, all the time. You've got your front stage—the version of you that shows up in public, in class, on a first date. And your backstage, the version that exists when nobody's watching. The one who eats cereal at midnight in underwear and doesn't judge themselves for it.”

The corner of my mouth ticks up. “Atlas does that shit.”

Reyes snorts. “Rua literally fished out a piece of food that fell into his belly button and ate it.”