Page 75 of Lessons in Cruelty

I don’t know what this is, but she’s right. We’re not exactly BFFs or anything, but at least we’ve said a few words to each other. Standing up in front of a class full of strangers would have been terrifying.

And then there’s Kai, of course…

And Professor Rooke.

“Yeah, this is much better.”

Melissa sets up her phone on the dresser, aiming it toward the floor where we’re sitting before taking a seat opposite me again.

“Okay, let’s start. We’ll do rock, paper, scissors to see who starts.”

She wins and wriggles her shoulders victoriously as she pulls the elastic off the stack of laminated cards. There’s a big ONE on the first card, and she turns it over to read what’s on the other side.

She shakes her head as she hands over the card. “Ugh, salmonella? No thanks.”

I frown at her. Look at the card. My eyebrows shoot up.

Cruelty

Read your partner’s last five text messages out loud.

Consequence

Eat a raw egg, shell and all.

“Seriously?” I groan.

Melissa shrugs again and holds out her hand.

“This is an invasion of privacy.” I cringe, but hand over my phone, doing my level best not to look toward the dresser as I casually take a sip of soda.

Melissa glances up at me after a few seconds. “There’s nothing on here.”

I shrug at her. “You’ve made your choice.”

She smiles at that, and, surprisingly, it lasts longer than a millisecond this time. Then her smile fades, and she gives me a hard stare.

“Hmm.” She cocks her head at me, her red hair flat against her cheek. “Pretending to be a goody two shoes, and then I find this?”

Heat surges up my neck. “What did you find?”

“God, are you blushing? What is this, sixteenth-century Verona?”

She glances at my phone again, eyes narrowing, then smiles. It’s not a particularly friendly smile.

“I underestimated you, Haven Lee.”

I open my mouth to come to my own defense, but she raises a finger. “We’re too sober for this mindfuckery.”

Melissa gets to her feet and goes to her closet. My gaze follows her until I realize I’m staring point blank at the camera. I quickly avert my eyes, keeping them fixed on the snacks until she’s sitting in front of me again.

She sets two plastic shot glasses down on the envelope and pours us each a tequila.

When I groan, she tuts at me with a finger.

“When did this turn into a drinking game?” I say as I hold up the shot glass.

“When he told us to ‘have fun with it.’ Only way that’s happening is with tequila.” She gives me a pained smile. “No offense.”