Page 69 of Endless Anger
22
LUCY
Dean Bauer sitswith his hands folded behind a massive oak desk, staring like he wants to squish me with the heel of his Italian calfskin shoes.
I slide my hand over my knee, trying to absorb its bouncing. It doesn’t work. “Can we get this over with already? I’ve got class in forty minutes.”
“You’ve got quite the mouth on you for a delinquent, you know that?”
“Well, if you’dactuallyinvited my parents like you said you did, you’d be able to see where I get it from.”
“Don’t worry, Ms. Wolfe,” he says, leaning back in his chair and unbuttoning his jacket. “Avernia is well aware of who your parents are and how they operate. Frankly, wanting to avoid the wrath of a former governor is the main reason you’re still enrolled here. It wouldn’t look good to the board, you know.”
“Perceptionismore important than merit and safety.”
“See?” He clasps his hands in his lap, giving me a humorless grin. “Perhaps you aren’t so stupid after all.”
That word is a slap to the face, but I ignore it, stuffing down my feelings before they get me into more trouble. If I were a differentperson—Asher, maybe, or even Aurora—I’d launch myself across the desk and gouge his beady little eyes out.
Maybe I’d even feel good getting his blood on my hands.
But I’mme, which means the thought of harming another person makes my stomach revolt. God forbid I fucking defend myself beyond a few scathing remarks.
“Now, if we could get to more pressing matters,” he says, cocking an eyebrow at me, like I’m the reason we’ve been sitting here for ten minutes already. “Where were you Friday night around one or two in the morning?”
My knee freezes, my foot halting in midair. “Well, I left the Obeliskos around midnight?—”
“I didn’t ask where you weren’t. I asked where youwere.”
“Why?”
His thin lips fold together for a moment, and he sits forward, bringing his interlocked fingers to rest on top of his desk. His dark hair is combed back neatly from his face, revealing a forehead glistening with perspiration.
For some reason, the fact that he’s sweating makes me more nervous.
“Have you been getting along with your roommate this semester, Ms. Wolfe?” he asks. “I know she was the third or fourth reassignment you’ve had since enrolling here. Normally, we don’t change rooms unless there are serious issues, but you’re a bit of a special case.”
My throat swells.
All my room reassignments were people decidingtheyno longer wanted to share a living space. Like they were afraid being a pariah is contagious.
Celeste was the first one who didn’t seem to care about any of that.
“Is it safe to say things between you and Ms. Hawthorne were going well?”
I shift in my seat. “Yes, things have been fine.”
Dean Bauer stares at me long and hard. “When was the last time you saw your roommate?”
Silence ensues.
My heart kicks against my chest, and my foot flattens on the floor.
Behind the dean, through a large frosted-glass window, the outline of campus is visible. The courtyard with its massive marble fountain and the circle of matching statues, mostly just Greek gods carved into stone, as if holding court over the mere mortals attending here.
I keep my gaze on the glass, wishing I were out there instead. Even if it meant being stared at like some sort of lab rat by my peers.
It would be preferable to the vitriolic shame raging in my gut now.
