Page 22 of Lessons in Cruelty

They’re too busy arguing.

“—told you I was fucking sorry, but if you’re gonna be a fucking bitch about it, I’ll⁠—“

“…guys…”

“—tell him he’s being an ass? Someone’s gotta do it.”

“…guys…”

“I fucking loved her, man!” Nolan blurts out, and I swear there are tears in his eyes.

Ezra shoots to his feet, slamming his fists on the table. “Guys!” Then he looks up and sees me, and his face clears.

Nolan and Myles must have been going at it for ages if he’s this pissed already.

“What the fuck did I miss?” I ask, grabbing the closest chair and swiveling it around so I drop into the seat. Dark leather harshly contoured to the smooth, ergonomic shape with brass studs, paired with the dark oak wood panels, turn this room into a portal to hell.

“He fucked Mandy,” Nolan yells, stabbing savagely in Myles’s direction. “He knew I was into her, and he fucking fucked her anyway.”

Myles leans forward over the table, a wicked grin on his mouth. “In the ass.” He lifts his hand, holding up two fingers. “Twice.”

Nolan thumps the table with his fist, grabbing the armrests of his chair and swiveling half-way around like he can’t even stand to look at Myles.

“See?” Ezra mutters just loud enough for me to hear. “This is what happens when you’re late. There’s time for small talk, and then someone realizes someone was fucking their girl, and…” Ezra sighs heavily and runs a hand down the front of his pastel pink polo shirt.

It shouldn’t look good on any guy, but Ezra could pull off a flamingo pool floatie without trying. Even the popped collar only makes him look more slick.

My older brother got the best of our folks’s genes, and I was left with the scraps. Always sucks to be last in line.

Myles is still chuckling to himself, twirling the edge of his ironic hipster mustache like a super villain when Ezra taps his gavel.

“This brings the second caucus of the semester to order,” he says.

The War Room is large, but it feels crowded with ten frat guys inside. Even with the air conditioning on full blast, the place always reeks of beer, cigarettes, and BO. You’d swear the guys in this meeting could afford some super-strength antiperspirant, but I know of at least one guy who doesn’t bother.

Austin tucks a stray curl behind his ear like it will somehow improve his looks, but if genes were a buffet and I was last in line, he got held up at the salad bar. Red, tightly curled hair. Watery blue eyes. So many freckles on his face it’s hard to figure out where they start and his pale skin ends.

It’s common knowledge he’s given up attracting a mate—male or female—so now he spends all his time playing video games and binge-watching anime shows.

I guess he doesn’t have the time, or the need, for deodorant.

Done with the initial crap we have to sit through at the start of every meeting, Ezra moves onto the agenda.

“First order of business⁠—”

“Getting Myles kicked the fuck out,” Nolan mutters, crossing his arms over his doughy chest and further rumpling an already wrinkled khaki dress shirt.

Maybe if Nolan put more effort into his outfits, Myles wouldn’t waylay his crushes. Not that Myles has a ton of style—he wears designer threads purposefully made to look like vintage scores. He looks hipster as fuck, but he still thinks upcycling is only something Tour de France competitors need to know about.

“Fuck’s sake,” Ezra murmurs under his breath. “I meant important shit.” He points his gavel at me. “Like Haven Lee.”

Everyone turns to look at me, even the frat guy who’s always so busy on his phone, no one ever speaks to him. Most of us don’t even know his name, we just call him iPhone. We think he’s a day trader or something.

“Yeah?” I say. “What about her?”

“She passed me in the hall yesterday,” Ezra says. “Had so many books in her arms she could barely see where she was going. Want to tell me what’s up with that, bro?”

“It’s all good.” I cross my arms over my chest and shrug. “I’ve got it under control.”