Page 31

Dean Shea looks at me, frigid and stoic. A muscle ticks at the corner of his lips.

I turn, loafers kicking up a spray of water. If I wanted any confirmation that Preston did this—whether it was Dean Shea or not—I don’t need to look any further than this conversation. Than his thin amusement at my anger.

“I’m going to get coffee.”

“When you come back, have a hold on yourself, Lacie. The press will already be circling once they find out. Let’s not give them more of a reason.” Dean Shea pats Arjun’s shoulder. “You’ll keep an eye on her, won’t you?”

Arjun nods. “Of course, sir.”

I stomp off, ignoring them. I know it’ll draw Dean Shea’s eye to me even closer. I know it’ll mark me. But I can’t help it. I can’t act like anything is okay right now.

Nothing is.

“Lacie.” My murmured name makes me jump.

Marcella studies me, her eyes winged with sharp black liner, her ebony hair pulled into a curling side ponytail. She’s dressed in a different pantsuit this time, dove gray with a lace shirt beneath. I’m used to seeing her sly smile, but her brow is knit now as her icy eyes wash my form. I feel like curling into a ball, letting the earth take me.

Despite the cold, sweat rolls down my back.

“Good morning,” I stammer.

She reaches with black-tipped fingernails, taking my arm as she walks me toward the Perk. They’re open early ahead of exams as usual, but now that undergrads are starting to rouse and the police car and ambulance are lingering at the Classics department, there’s a soft roar of voices, too.

The scent of espresso wafts as Marcella draws me through the crowd. I’m grateful for the guidance, for her company, because I don’t know what I would have done in the face of dozens of prying students otherwise.

“Black coffee, is it?” Marcella deposits me in a corner seat, shooing away an undergrad with a flick of her wrist. The student scurries off with their books, throwing wide-eyed glances at Marcella.

I nod.

“Back in a moment. Fix your eyeliner. You’re crying.” Her words are cool, and panic ladders up my spine.

With a shudder, I take a compact from my bag and dab at my face with a wet wipe. I look a mess, she’s right. When had I started crying? It must’ve been in front of Dean Shea. Fighting a groan, I glance at my watch. I only have forty-five minutes before my seminar begins, and by then I need to have gotten ahold of myself.

“Do you think he’ll cancel weekend classes?” Marcella appears, holding a steaming cup of coffee out to me.

I take it from her gratefully. “No. He seemed, when I spoke to him—”

“You spoke to him?” she interrupts. “What did he say?”

I study her fine features, the careful neutrality of her expression. But there’s something there: not quite a blanch, but a tentative worry. That in and of itself concerns me.

“He said it was a suicide,” I say, careful to keep my voice low enough not to be heard by any wandering students. “Arjun was there, too, and he was such an asshole. They were like … on the same team. Like they’d talked about it.”

The Perk jostles with rumors on a good day; today I’m sure it’s rife with them. Even now, gaggles of kids gather around, whispering and laughing and worrying. I remember being like them: grasping for information. Now, I wish I knew less.

Marcella scoffs. “Of course. Cannot be his problem, it must be someone else’s. Based on their surveillance alone, I’d say they had advance warning.”

My coffee burns my tongue, and I savor the feeling. “I couldn’t tell. He seemed exhausted. So did Arjun. They looked half dead.”

“Interesting,” Marcella murmurs, peeling a Snickers open like a banana. She takes a surgical bite. When she sees me watching, she raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“I— Interesting breakfast.” I hide a sudden giggle in another sip. Somehow, this is the most amusing thing I’ve ever seen.

“You know,” Marcella says, her voice like velvet, “in other cultures, breakfast foods vary from soup to teensy-tiny baby shrimp carcasses. Thousands of eyes in a bowl.” She decapitates the top third of her Snickers with her front teeth, meeting my eyes pointedly. “One might say my choices are quite understandable, actually.”

“I didn’t say your breakfast was bad, only that I found it interesting.”

She rolls her eyes, then turns serious, crooking her finger to draw me close. “Today, you must hold it together. We must make sure to draw no attention.”