Page 21 of Lessons in Cruelty
“Mirrors are seven years bad luck, ladders probably only a week or two, right? I’ve had this generalized kind of bad luck for the past, oh, I don’t know, my entire life?” I nod definitively. “A witch is definitely involved.”
I hear him take a breath through his nose as he widens his eyes, like he can’t believe he’s standing here listening to my garbage thoughts. He carefully lays the form down on the pile in my arms and turns to his Tesla. It unlocks with an eerily dystopian chime.
“I expect you to be better prepared for my next class, Miss Lee.” He opens the door, turning back to me as he puts his leg inside.
It has a red leather interior. Dark, like wine.
I never thought an electric car could look so sexy, but I’m pretty sure it’s less about the interior and more about the man about to climb in.
He’s so trim. So calm and put together. Total opposite of hot-head Kai and his scorching glares.
What would it take to make this man unravel?
Oh God, he said something to me and I wasn’t listening.
Again.
“What?”
He looks away, shaking his head as he lowers himself into the driver’s seat. I swear I hear him speak again as he closes the door, but it had to have been my imagination.
No teacher in his right mind would say something like that, right?
…fuck, I love a hot mess…
Unless Professor Rooke’s not in his right mind.
Chapter 7
Kai
The temperature’s already dropping in the evenings, the warm afternoon sun dipping too quickly behind the hills this suburb is known for. Nights in Hillside might not get as cold as they do in Riverside, but there’s a reason this area is deserted come Christmas.
A large majority of us end up in the Hamptons or Palm Beach.
A smaller handful take it to the next level and go to Aspen to improve their snowboarding and binge-drinking skills.
Mom mentioned something about Napa, but I can’t remember if she planned that over the Christmas break, or only in the new year. I don’t even know if I’ll go with them.
My footfalls ring loudly off the curb as I stride down Maple Row, the sound becoming hollow as I trot up the wooden porch steps leading to the NEX frat house’s front door. I take out my key and let myself in, expecting the usual ambient noises—at least two flat screens in different rooms set to different channels, one finance, one sports, someone using the blender in the kitchen, guys with too many beers or whiskies in them shouting to be heard over the other—but I’m met with silence.
Fuck, am I late? Ezra gets so fucking pissy when I don’t arrive on time.
The day’s been a blur of classes I couldn’t concentrate in, weight lifting reps I forgot to count, and a THC vape in the gym sauna I couldn’t taste that hit me like a fucking freight train.
Didn’t see Haven once today, but not for lack of trying. Every time I was in the hall between classes, I scoured the faces I passed, hunting for her mousy brown hair.
Looks like I scared her off yesterday.
I’d be disappointed, if I wasn’t still a little stoned.
The Haven I knew wouldn’t back down because I spat in her face or had a hand around her throat.
Guess that confirms it.
She’s definitely not the same girl who left three years ago.
I race up the stairs, barely registering the Neoclassical paintings and polished brass fixtures I zoom past. A thick Persian rug swallows the sound of my approach, but none of the guys look surprised when I fling open the door to the War Room.
