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“Okay, we will be working on photorealism this week. So, make sure you get a good sketch, maybe even a picture, if that’s okay with Miss Archer, because she, like you, has other classes to attend this week.”
Well, I hope they get a good sketch in today.
I listen to the scratch of pencils on canvases as I make a mental list of things I need to do this week. One, find a new job. Two, go to the store for toiletries. Three, grocery shopping—that’s a must. Four, call Sharon back, and make her explain why she fired me. Five, find a way into The Misfits’ house. I need to find clues. Six, find the location of the church. They made it impossible last time, but maybe with someconvincing,I can figure it out.
I continue with my list until I hear the professor tell me I’m excused. My body is stiff as I rise from my seat, placing my robe back on. I need to stretch, dance once a day. My body is not used to this lax routine.
I nod to the professor, walking to the back room. I slip the robe off just as the door opens and closes quickly. I glare past the shock, past my thrashing heartbeat, at Beckett. He watches me, eyes darkening, clouding with lust as he sweeps his gaze over my body. “Like what you see?”
I feel the need to cover up, not be this exposed in front of him, but fight the urge off. Standing naked with the confidence I would have on stage.
His eyes flash to mine. “I’ve seen better, but I need a picture for my sketch.” A knife to the chest soaked in poison. That’s how it feels as he casually tosses the words at me. I pull my underwear up, clip my bra in place, and turn around to ignore him. “I don’t care much for being ignored, Rabbit.”
“I don’t care much for you, Beckett.” I slip my shirt over my head.
His chuckle is rough, flowing through me. “I think we’ve been over this. Should I slip my finger inside you, find out if you’re a liar?”
Yes.
“Don’t touch me.”
“So that’s a no for the picture?”
I spin around to face him, buttoning my shorts. “That’s a hell no.”
He nods, placing his hands in his pockets, leaning against the door as if he’s getting comfortable. The audacity. “Don’t get mad if I make your nose too big.”
I roll my eyes, grabbing my bag. “Your grade, not mine.”
I walk to the door, freezing when his hand reaches out to twirl my hair. “Never seen a red rabbit.”
I bat his hand away, my brow furrowing with confusion. “Does it get tiring running through moods so quickly?”
“Does it get tiring taking off your clothes for a few bucks?” he tosses back.
I shove at his shoulder, moving him out of my way. Or he allows me, because there is no way I’d get him to budge.
I run through campus, eager to get back to the dorms, to feel the safety of my room. Thankful for Monday being my off day, I make it back to my dorm in record time, sighing in relief when I make it to my bedroom.
My heart pounds in my chest as I stare at my bed. At the envelope laying on my pillow. With shaky fingers, I open the envelope and drop it as soon as my eyes read the message.
You’re next.
8
Brixley
I throwmy curly fry in the air, trying to catch it in my mouth. And fail miserably when it smacks me in the eye. Prim giggles and I curse. “I think I got fry dust in my eye,” I groan.
“Fry dust is not a thing,” Prim wheezes out, hand on her chest.
“It’s a thing.” I point a fry at Prim.
“It’s called crumbs.”
I shrug. “Semantics.” She shakes her head, swirling her spoon through her soup.
“Is this seat open?”
