Page 106 of Conner's Luna

Sighing, I close his laptop. The tops of my thighs are bright red from the heat of the machine. It's a fairly new model but I practically burnt it out anyway.

I brush my hair and change so it looks like I wasn't being weird all day.

As I walk downstairs, I check my phone. The message there makes me hesitate midstep, almost sending me crashing down the staircase.

Braxton - Can you turn in our project tomorrow? I'm stuck at home for the next couple days.

Poop.

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Bailey

The doors to the Student Center are propped open as I join the steady stream of students in and out, a cardboard box with the project clutched safely in my hands.

I was absolutely determined to not step foot on campus again, but some guy named Murphy worked his magic and here I am. I sent a text to Braxton asking if everything was OK and his response was that his mom just isn't feeling well. Just the thought of Conner and Braxton's mom feeling ill makes my skin crawl. That was the first thing I heard about my own mom before cancer took over;she just isn't feeling well.Mrs. Grim seemed fine Saturday night, but would I have even noticed if she was ill? Probably not.

The hallway is as crowded as if it's the first day of classes all over again. It's strange to see after the emptiness of finals week. At least I don't have to worry that anyone will try to push or trip me. Those days are over, thanks to Conner.

No, I'm not worried, but I am lonely. I was growing closer and closer to my boys, but now? I feel like I just don't belong in this town filled with wolves.

Wolves. I am surrounded by wolf-people. Big, over-muscled, aggressive, wolf-people. It explains a lot. Why the academic clubs here are so anemic but the athletic teams are so good. I can tell, thinking back, that most of my difficult classes were filled with humans. Conner and my wolf-boys take more difficult majors, true, but most of the others seem to take really fluff courses. The sort of classes that make me wonder why those people pay to attend college.

Projects get turned in at the Student Center so they can be displayed. I walk past dozens of end-of-semester projects of fashion designs, literary critiques, poetry examples, artwork, and really boring business models showing graphs of nothing, before reaching the STEM section.

Behind the temporary display tables and booths, the walls are covered in trophy case after trophy case filled with ribbons and shiny brass dating back years. I'm guessing that not one of those trophies is from the national collegiate math tournament or science fair.

It explains the bullying, too. Trey doesn't want a human mate so his entire pack decided to drive me away. Mission accomplished. Check that box off. They got away with the bullying because Dean Sancieo is a wolf, too, and she controls the clubs I wanted to get into. I was screwed from day one.

I find my name tag beside Braxton's. Looking up, I search for one of the panel professors. I'm not about to bank on our project not getting destroyed. I need a third-party witness to assure everyone that our project was intact when I dropped it off.

I see the sign-in sheets for turning in senior projects at the other end of the Great Hall. I make my way through the crowd with a death grip on the box that houses our project.

Professor Stansen is sitting under a sign that says M-Z. I make a beeline for him and greet him with a smile. He looks up in surprise, but before he can tell me that I'm in the wrong spot, I yank out the project and set it down in front of him.

The tubes of green and purple viscous liquid have absolutely nothing to do with DNA sequencing, but it's flashy and catches your eye. Presentation means everything. Smiling at Professor Stansen, I ask sweetly, "where should I set up, Professor?"

"Bailey! What a fantastic project," he says by way of greeting. "The STEM section is over by the Green Courtyard doors."

"Oh!" I pretend to be surprised. "Thank you for telling-" I start to put the project back into the box when a hand reaches out and grabs it from the table.

"Nice," a low, sarcastic voice says. I freeze as Trey's warm breath washes over the back of my neck. I stand still, not daring to move at first. He lets go of my project and I stuff it back into the box.

I muster up my bravery and take a deep breath before turning around and forcing my eyes up. It's not as uncomfortable as it has been before, despite my newfound knowledge of just who and what Trey is. Maybe it's because Conner is slightly taller and I've grown used to craning my neck up to him, but I think it's because I just don't feel much for Trey anymore if I ever really did.

When I meet his eyes now, I just feel a little sad. Sad, because we could have fallen in love and had such a sweet romance, but more importantly, seeing Trey makes me miss Conner.

Are Conner and I becoming co-dependent? It's been, what, a little more than a day? Shoot. Now I have to worry aboutthismental health issue. Cripes.

"Bailey," Trey says quietly. "Have you transferred yet? I hate seeing your face."

Yeah, so that completely lacked the usual punch of disgust and hatred. My eyes narrow on his beautiful face. He looks resigned, sorrowful. Another new revelation hits me. Despite Trey's insults and cruel little jabs, he wouldn't physically hurt me.

It makes the bullying seem childish. Not the breaking of my laptops and the damage to my car. That's not cool at all, but words? I guess 'sticks and stones' is true.

"Maybe next semester," I tell him with a shrug as if we're friends just casually chatting. "If I can keep my scholarship at Caluna."

He blows out a hard breath. "Caluna, huh?" he says in a voice that sounds like he swallowed gravel.

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