Page 10 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“What do you want?” I ask in a clipped tone.
“What are you?” he asks, as though it’s a normal question.
I forget where I am, and his words sound offensive to my ear. My entire body freezes.
“Excuse you? My name is Tobey, if that’s what you’re asking.” I refuse to give him more.
“I know that.” He gestures vaguely to the name tag on my chest. “I meant… are you a witch, or…” He scrutinizes me for another moment. “Not a merperson? You don’t seem like a merperson.”
Right.I flush and look away. It’s a normal question to ask here, even if it’s one I’m still getting used to.
“Are those the only options?” I ask.
“There are many, but I was trying to guess.”
“You guessed badly. I’m a werecat.” I don’t sound as confident as I would like.
“Oh? I’ve never met one of those.”
Shit.I picked a rare species so no one can call me on my bluff, but what if it’stoorare? Now, everyone is going to talk about me!
“Well,” I say, “now you have. Congratulations. Can I go to class, or would you prefer to keep interviewing me?”
I have questions for him, but now isn’t the time.
I’m afraid of pressingtoohard with my questioning, but he doesn’t seem to have the same concern.
“You don’t have to worry so much about punctuality. It’s the first day, any professor will be easy on you—and thenext block of classes doesn’t start for… oh, twenty minutes.”
I lift my map. “This campus is huge, and I have no idea where I’m going. It will take twenty minutes to find my way there.”
“Well…” He straightens up, his lips twitching at the corners. “Who is your next class with?”
My lips twist. “Professor Cruz.”
Margaux’s father. Not only did she lie about being a vampire, but she lied to me about her parents. I’m beginning to think her entire life was a lie. Growing up, her father’s job was always changing; one week she would claim he was a DJ, and the next he would be a pet groomer. Now, I realize he was a professor at this creepy school all along.
Margaux has always had interesting embellishments. Saying he was a teacher elsewhere would have sufficed.
“Let me walk you to class,” he says.
It feels more like a command than a question, but he lingers, waiting for my answer.
“Do you know the way?” I lift a brow.
“No.” He snatches my map, walking forward. “But we can find it together.”
I stare at him, jaw dropped, for several moments before scrambling to catch up.
“Don’t you have a map of your own?” I ask, tagging along behind him.
“I forgot to take one.”
“Of course you did. You were very distracted at orientation.” Distracted byme, though I can’t understand why.
“You could say that.” He concentrates on the map in his hand. Turning left, he leads me to the opposite end of the courtyard. “We’ll have to share this one. I think you were going thewrong way.”
“I can do it myself.”
