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“Not just you,” I remind her, but I see the eye roll when she turns her back. I love her, but she doesn’t get it. She thinks I have a free ride when it’s anything but.
“Crystal’s probably knee-deep in her latest art project,” Lila says, changing the subject to her scattered roomie. They have to share the largest room, but I don’t think either really resent it too much, except maybe in the notorious month of spot tests that the professors love to give us. “I guess it’ll be me and my books down here again tonight.”
“Well, maybe hole up in the bathroom instead. Cassidy’s likely concocting a new culinary experiment. If I were you, I’d run from another curried cupcake high tea.”
“Fuck, nooo,” Lila wails. “That was hideous.”
“Bitches,” Sasha says, coming into the room and making her way to the kitchen, her glasses pushed up her head as she carries a mountain of law books. “I’m here for snacks before I head back for Torts. I do not want to be around when Cass makes scrambled eggs with chocolate sauce.”
“Ah, the joys of cohabitation,” Lila chuckles, collapsing into an armchair that groans under even her slight frame. “Different as night and day, but somehow it works.”
“Fun times,” I agree. “I also have to bounceupstairs. Professor Knobhead won’t wait for this essay.”
The girls snicker at the student-wide nickname for Professor Noblett. But he brought it on himself because heisa knobhead.
I stride into the kitchen, where the scent of burnt toast hangs like a bad omen. Sasha, with her dark curls bouncing, is scraping blackened crumbs into the sink, a scowl on her face that could scare off any first-year.
“Fire hazard again, Sash?” I tease, pulling out a chair at our second-hand table.
“Ha-ha,” she retorts without looking up. “If this toaster had a spirit animal, it’d be a dragon.”
“Or maybe you just have a unique talent for charring bread,” Cass interjects from the fridge, her nose wrinkling as she sniffs a carton of milk. She’s the mother hen of our group, always making sure we don’t contract food poisoning or worse.
“Deadly talents aside, Ever, how do you handle those Fresher noble babies treating you like some kind of museum exhibit? ‘Look, it’s an actual Knight,’” she adds with a snort, mimicking a posh accent that earns a laugh from us.
“By reminding myself that I’m here to learn, not to entertain,” I say, grabbing a piece of somewhat edible toast from Sasha’s pile of carbon. “At least this is the last year of it. Everyone else is used to me by now.”
“Easy to forget when they’re practically curtsying in the corridors,” adds Lila from the doorway.
“True,” Cass agrees. “But seriously, don’t let themget to you. You’ve earned your place here, scholarship and all.”
“Let’s not forget the part-time jobs, side hustles, and—oh—the small detail of actually being smart,” Sasha adds, chuckling as she finally prepares a piece of toast that doesn’t resemble charcoal.
“Intelligence: apparently the most surprising Knight trait,” I muse, biting into the toast and then cringing. Still, it’s better than nothing, which is probably what I would’ve ended up with once I got stuck into my homework.
Before the conversation can delve deeper into whatever the fuck we randomly talk about, a knock at the door cuts through the comfortable hum of our home.
“I’ll get it,” I say, making my way to the door. Opening it, I reveal the familiar face of Alexander Kensington, Earl of somewhere in England—I think. I don’t remember because it doesn’t matter to me.
His blue eyes are alight with mischief. “Ever. Ready to cause chaos?”
“Huh?”
“Party at North House? Remember?”
Blinking, I try to recall. Shaking my head, I frown. “Sorry, no can do. I finally got that bloody text from the library, and I have to sort this essay out. It’s a disaster due in tomorrow.”
His smile widens. “Figured you’d bail, so... I brought biscuits!” He brandishes a tin triumphantly as he strides inside.
“Your timing’s impeccable,” I say, heading to thekitchen to put the kettle on. “Tea?”
“Always,” he grins, closing the door behind him as he follows me.
The familiar ritual of making tea, the sound of boiling water and the clink of spoons anchor me amidst the swirling aspirations that often threaten to pull me under.
“Your essay will be brilliant,” Alex says, his tone turning serious for a fleeting moment. “You always manage to see things differently, Ever. That’s your power.”
“Thanks, Alex.” His words lift me, a life raft thrown in the waves of doubt. “I’ll hold onto that thought when I’m wading through edits at 2 AM.”
