Page 79 of Endless Anger
“Call me Sutton. Professor makes me sound like I’m a million years old.”
I swallow, squeezing my hands in my lap. “Okay…”
But I don’t call him that. It feels weird.
I feel weird.
“There’s no reason to be nervous,” he says, offering a small smile around a giant coffee mug. His dark green eyes are even more intense up close, like the insides of raw gemstones, his jaw just as lethal. No wonder half the campus is in love with him.
“That’s what everyone says,” I point out, though my tongue is dry.
“And so very few mean it as much as I do.”
He sets the mug down, resting his forearms on the desk. His skin has a very slight tan, as if he spent his summer somewhere sunny, and his dark brown hair is slightly tousled from how often he runs his fingers through it while lecturing.
“If you think this is going to be a crucifixion for your repeated tardiness, allow me to put you at ease: in my time teaching this class, I’ve yet to have a more memorable audition for entry than I did with yours in the spring. That performance, your rendition ofAn Ideal Husband, haunts me still. So no, I don’t particularly care whether you show up on time or not.”
I don’t even remember doing it, my mind screeches. Even though I spent so much time practicing with Noelle and my aunt Ariana, bothperformers, I have no recollection of getting onstage for him. It’s like I blacked out for the monologue and woke up with a pass.
My shoulders relax slightly anyway. “Aren’t I technically failing though?”
“Omne initium difficile est. Every beginning is difficult.”
“Can this still be considered the beginning, when we’re weeks into the semester now?”
“The beginning starts whenever you decide so.”
I must have a blank expression on my face, because he leans forward and continues.
“Technically, by Avernia standards, yes. You’re failing.” He shrugs. “I don’t tend to judge by their parameters though. I think doing so can be a bit messy, and there are other ways of testing whether a person is absorbing material. Don’t get too hung up on letter grades.”
I nod, though I’m not entirely convinced. It’s not the first time I’ve been told something similar and still had the grading scale favor otherwise.
“Simply put, I only called you in here today to see how you were doing.”
“With what?”
“Well, it’s not every day a fellow student is murdered on campus. Even less common for their bodies to be deposited in a dorm room. That would shake even the strongest soldier, I’d think.”
Celeste’s face pops up in my vision, taunting me. Eyeless holes stare back as blood pours from the sockets, turning everything in my direct line of sight crimson?—
Clearing my throat, I square my shoulders and blink, dispelling the mirage. “I’m okay.”
Professor Dupont watches me for several beats, and I can’t help wondering what he’s looking for. If he finds it.
After a moment, he brings his hands up beneath his chin, balancing it on two extended fingers. “There’ve been…murmurings, Lucy.”
Panic floods my nervous system. “I didn’t do it.”
He gives a long, slow blink. “I never said you did. I’ve heard your speeches on civility and ethics, and after you petitioned Fury Hill authorities to stop detaining students simply leaving Lethe’s intoxicated, I find it difficult to believe you’d harm your peers. You’re an ecological science major. You protested your introductory biology class because they were using fetal pigs, for Christ’s sake.”
Actions can be deceiving, I almost say. Just because I didn’t kill Celeste doesn’t mean I’m innocent of everything.
I didn’t help her either. That makes me just as bad—maybe even worse—than the ones who took her life.
My heart thumps loudly in my chest. “You know an awful lot about me.”
“I make it a point to know a lot about interesting students. Especially ones that cause positive disruptions on campus.” He exhales slowly, leaning back. “God, I sound like my father when I say that. Really, Lucy, my only intent in bringing you here was to make sure you were doing okay. I know it’s been a rough few weeks.”
