Page 12 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“He’s not my type,” I say. “And before you ask, my type is anyone who isn’t twice my age.”
“Anyone?” She lifts a brow.
“Anyone.”
It’s a complete lie, of course. I have a history of being picky in love, leading me to a handful of relationships that never amounted to anything. But I’m not telling anyone in this school a single fact about me.
Amelia may know I’m lying. She can hear my heartbeat, can’t she?
“And my type is anyone with a pulse,” she says, laughing at the double meaning.
I force myself to laugh. “Vampire humor. Very funny.”
“I think it is. I might as well find some humor in the situation.”
Before I can get a chance to ask what thesituationis, she’s continuing.
It would have been a great opportunity to ask about her eternal damnation. Is she a dhampir, like Margaux, or a vampire?
“Are you a journalism major as well?” she asks.
“Mhm…” I leave it at that, not wanting to make further conversation.
My parents lovingly forced me to get a biology degree, hoping I would go on to med school, but I didn’t. It never felt right. While my presence at Strode is built on a lie, I’m studying what I’m most passionate about. It’s the only thing that feels authentic.
“We’ll probably be in a lot of classes together!” A fact she sounds all too happy about. “Well—I’m a sophomore, but I’m sure we’ll havesomeclasses together. Like this one! Show me your schedule; we can sync up.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” I say. “We can walk to class together. At orientation, they were talking about the buddy system.”
That’s one of the only things I remember from the morning, thanks to Caldwell’s distractions.
“Yes. Exactly.” Amelia’s lips turn down in a frown, brows furrowing. Her usually sunny expression becomes grave.
It seems like she wants to say more, but at that moment, class begins. I’m grateful for the excuse to turn away from her, sighing in relief as I peer at the instructor.
Class would be a good time to jot down my observations—if Amelia wasn’t so close. Instead, I open my notebook to take notes on the lecture.
If I’m going to last here, I need to keep up with my coursework. It turns out that Strode University is more than a place for freaks to gather and hold hands around the fire.
Professor Cruz’s syllabus is insane. He has zero tolerance for tardiness, fails you if you miss three lectures, and the required reading takes up multiple pages.
I can’t coast my way through this one.
Regardless, he is a good professor… or a good speaker, or… something about him isgood. It’s hard to put myfinger on what it is.
Class ends, and I’m excited about my studies, feeling like Professor Cruz may have something to teach me about media. The rest of the students back out of the room, but Amelia is still at my side.
“Tobey…?” she asks, with a confused smile.
“I’m going to have a word with the professor,” I say. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”
“Oh! Okay!” She smiles brightly. “Can I give you my number, at least? You can text me if you need a walking buddy!”
I should offer to beherwalking buddy after class like we agreed, but I’m sure someone as social as Amelia will have no trouble finding another friend. I’m not as talkative, and I’ve already found two chaperones—if I count Caldwell. I’m hesitant to consider him at all.
“Sure,” I say, holding out my phone. “Good idea. I’ll totally let you know.” I shift impatiently from foot to foot.
She hands my phone back, and finally, she leaves me alone.
