Page 29 of Learning Curve

“I’ve had several firsthand accounts that there was an argument happening between Dane and Scottie Bardeaux when Finn arrived,” Ty updates. “Finn stepped in to dispel it, and Dane threw the first punch.”

“Sir!” Dane objects hastily. “I was just defending myself proactively from a much larger opponent.”

“Right. And you calling Scottie a cunt for everyone to hear was just a bid for an Oscar.”

Dean Kandinsky laments and rubs a hand over his bald head with rough movements. “All right, all right. Enough. You’re both on probation. One more physical altercation on campus and you’re out.”

“Of course, sir.” Dane kisses ass. “It’ll never happen again, sir.”

“I hope you mean that, Dane. Your father would be extremely disappointed to hear otherwise.”

Uh-huh, I hum internally. So, the dean does know his family. Just as I suspected.

Dane and I stand, and Ty steps forward to address us again. “I’m going back to carry on with whatever class is left, but the two of you are going back to your dorms to cool off. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

My jaw flexes under the overwhelming PSI of my clenched teeth, but somehow, I manage not to say anything at all.

He nods to the dean and leaves, and Dane and I trail behind him on our way out of the office. Our footsteps sound on the expensive tile floors and echo off the massively arched ceiling like we’re a stampeding herd. Still, I keep my head down and my mouth shut the whole time. I’m smart enough to learn when to quit. It’s not until we push through the door of the Stewart Building that Dane proves he, on the other hand, didn’t learn shit.

“This isn’t over, bro. I promise you that.”

I don’t bother with a response as I keep walking without a glance or any recognition at all.

Funnily enough, it’s more than over for me. I’ve never been more done inserting myself into a situation in my life.

Friday, September 27th

Scottie

It’s been over two weeks since Finn Hayes beat the shit out of Dane in the courtyard in front of Newton and just as long since he’s spoken to me.

I tried to offer my notes after he missed our English class to speak with Dean Kandinsky, even showed up at his dorm, but he wasn’t there and Ace told me he’d already gotten the notes covered.

I’ve also texted him, several times, just to apologize and check in, but all of it has gone unanswered. Not to mention, he always manages to sit on the opposite side of the room as me in Professor Winslow’s class now, the seats around him filled by Ace and his lackeys, so I don’t even have a chance to get close to him.

Oddly enough, I understand. Rumor has it Dean Kandinsky threatened expulsion, and to be honest, if Dane’s family weren’t friendly with him, he probably would have done it already.

But now that things have been quiet from my ex-boyfriend, I’ve had the time to consider all the things I know about Finn Hayes.

There’s a gentle outer layer that covers a burning rage inside. From the first moment I bumped into him, he’s shown a level of care and consideration for me that, with other people, I haven’t even been able to earn. He has a willingness to stand up for what’s right, even when it shouldn’t be his concern at all. And at the end of the day, I want people like that in my life.

I know I don’t deserve his attention or company after all my drama has put him through, but I can’t say I don’t miss the idea of having it—even as just a friend.

The front door to Brower Center squeals as I open it and step inside. Our dining hall is multilevel, with a cafeteria-style buffet on the first floor and a food court setup on the second. Only the buffet is open for breakfast, though, so I skip the stairs and head directly for the wide-open double doors in front of me. It’s pretty empty this early in the morning on Fridays—I guess most everyone is sleeping in or in class—and while Kayla normally joins me, she’s at home for a family wedding this weekend, so the trays are stacked almost too high for me to reach. A little tippy-toe action does the trick, though, and I take it to the metal track at the end of the buffet to start scanning my options.

I should eat an omelet to fuel myself for the day—it’s going to be a long one since we have a game to cheer at tonight—but for some reason, today, the thought of eggs makes me want to throw up in my mouth. It’s comical since just last week, omelets were my fixation food.

As I’m passing the waffle station and eyeing the syrupy, not-nutrient-dense-at-all goodness longingly, my phone buzzes in my purse. I pull it out to find a new text message from a number I don’t recognize.

An unknown number.

It’s not the number that Finn texted me from the night of the party and I saved, but that doesn’t stop the small thrill of excitement that runs through me from the memory.

Unknown: Is this Scottie Bardeaux?

My eyebrows draw together. Quickly, I type out a careful response.

Me: Who is this?

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