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What I did care about was bullying. No one was going to call perfectly nice people a nasty hair wad in front of me and not get called on it. Who knows? Maybe speaking up and doing the right thing will catch on in Regalia, and other bullies won’t spring up in place of Owen and Levi.
I dug my palm into my chest. Crinkle, crinkle.
Levi was next to go while Owen strutted around free and clear. Did I wait for the supposed proof from the Rogues or get on with it? The longer this went on, the longer those monsters breathed air they didn’t deserve.
“—so cute. Isn’t he, Luna?”
“What?”
“Oh, sorry. We haven’t introduced ourselves.” The girl directly next to me tapped her chest. “I’m Eva. This is Rose and Alice.”
Eva had at least a foot on me, long hair, and braces. Rose was adorable in a floral dress, cardigan, and hair bows. Alice was their opposite—short, shaved head, and skulls on her dress.
“We were just saying how hot Professor Anthony is,” Eva whispered. “Our other professors are pushing eighty and reeking of denture cream. Where did they find this guy?”
This guy bent over to pick up a dropped eraser, sending off a wave of bitten lips and raised pulses over his perfectly shaped ass. His outfit was standard—long-sleeve shirt, vest, black slacks, and polished shoes. Nothing about it said trying to put the female student body into a coma. But was the jerk doing it anyway? Absolutely.
The sleeves clung tight to his biceps—the fabric flowing over his dips and humps like a Slip ’N Slide. His pants molded around his butt leaving nothing to the imagination, and the chalk dust on his vest drew your eyes to his chest, forcing you to ask where the chalk came from when he’s writing with a dry erase marker.
“He’s cute,” I said noncommittally.
“He’s gorgeous,” Alice corrected. “He can give me detention anytime.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “This isn’t high school, Alice. There is no detention. He’ll bend you over his desk during office hours.”
“I’ll take it.” They high-fived.
“All right, take your seats,” Professor Anthony said. He dusted off his hands, rounding the desk to prop on the edge. “I’ll assume everyone’s done the reading, so let’s jump into it. Mr. Branlon.”
The guy sitting next to Victor jerked in his seat.
“Give examples of logos, ethos, and pathos in literature.”
“Uh, but— The reading wasn’t about that.”
“No, the lessons on the three forms of persuasion were in the supplemental reading as outlined in the syllabus.”
“But it said that was just suggested reading.”
“Precisely. Suggested so you wouldn’t end up in this position—unprepared.” Professor Anthony moved on. “Miss Sinclair—”
“But, sir,” Branlon cried. “It’s not fair to list a reading as optional if it’s not. I read what you told me to read, like I bet everyone else in the class did. Right?” More than half the class nodded. “It’s not our fault we’re not prepared.” It’s your fault, went unsaid.
I turned big eyes on Professor Anthony, curious what he was going to say, and if Branlon distracted him enough he’d forget he called on me.
Professor Anthony crossed his legs at the ankles, stroking his chin. “Interesting. What you just did was use an emotional argument, citing unfairness and ambiguity. Then you threw in a logical argument with the addition of an informal class poll. Pathos and logos. If you threw quotes from the leading experts in syllabi structuring and the studies conducted showing how many students never read the supplemental reading, you’d have gone three for three and given us ethos too.”
He grinned, holding out his hands. “Everyone get it or do you need another example?”
Laughing, the class clapped. I didn’t stop myself joining in. That was the quickest, most effective lesson I’d gotten in my entire academic history. Quicker than the swimming instructor who threw me in the deep end to teach me to float.
I sank like a rock and my mother slapped him across the face with a pool noodle.
“Just in case, we’ll go deeper into these terms and how they apply to literature.”
My notebook cracked open and my pen hit the page. We were silent and attentive taking notes.
For all his faults, Professor Anthony was a good teacher. Examples, demonstrations, visual aids. He made sure we understood the topic and didn’t get huffy at a raised hand, taking time to answer questions patiently.
“Miss Sinclair.”
My head snapped up, finding Professor Anthony staring at me. So much for him forgetting he called on me.
“Yes, Professor?”
“Some say fiction and storytelling are firmly in the realm of pathos. It’s about no more or less than making the reader feel something. Can you think of a situation where ethos would apply in a fictional narrative?”
All eyes turned on me. One of the girls I told off followed it up by flipping me off behind her textbook.
