Page 149 of Burning Daylight

Verona University students are taking a stand against the powerful Calloway family, alleging undue influence over local governance and university affairs. The VU Quad transformed into a sea of signs and chants with messages like “Art is truth!” and “Not your puppets!”

The Calloway family has denied all claims, while rumors swirl that there’s internal pressure for Craig Calloway to step down, which would leave his son Paxton in charge.

All eyes are on Rosebrook Falls, and whatever mystery artist (or artists) who is painting on the streets.

#GraffitiGate #CallowayWatch #StreetArtSpeaks #VUUprising

38

ROMAN

“Iheard an interesting rumor about you today,” my dad says as he sits across from me at a restaurant called Dante’s, located in the middle of the town square.

He doesn’t look up when he speaks. Instead, he stares down as his knife slowly cuts into his steak, the blood oozing from the meat and onto the plate. His voice is calm, and he looks collected.

But his words send a spike of awareness trickling along my spine.

“Oh?”

My mind races, wondering what the rumor is, and why he asked me to come here tonight. He seems unhappy about something, and I think it might be the pace I’m painting at. I haven’t had a chance to do too much more, but I’ve been procrastinating, because the urge to tag isn’t there when it’s being utilized as a weapon I have no control over.

The protest on VU campus, and the pictures that followed of Juliette having to shield herself from reporters made me sick.

“Benny says you’ve been…friendly with the Calloway girl,” he says.

My stomach tightens, flashes of Juliette playing in my mind.

Her smile. Her laugh. The way she scrunches her nose when she’s annoyed and bites on her lip when she’s trying to keep from grinning.

A waiter stops by and picks up the wine bottle, pouring more into my dad’s glass before leaving without a word. I wonder if he should be drinking that, but I guess I’m just happy that he’s still able to drink and eatanything, even though for years I wished him dead.

Jesus, I’m a disaster.

“Benny’s an idiot,” I say, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal. “She was at the Round Table and some guy was hassling her.”

My father nods and then takes another sip of wine. “So, I don’t need to worry about it?”

I reach forward, grabbing my own wine, and gulp it down.

Fucking Benny. Snitch-ass bitch.

My mask is carefully crafted, and I make sure it’s impenetrable now as I reply. “What would there be to worry about? She’s nobody.”

She’s everything.

He shrugs. “Benny says that the two of you seemed to know each other. That you were… I believe the word he used was ‘intimate.’”

My mind races, figuring out what angle to play.

I set down my wine glass and lean back in my chair, sighing. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Good,” he says. “I don’t mind who you fuck—that’s none of my business. But I do care if the Calloways are tying you up in some sick mind game.”

I scoff, and he cuts me a serious look.

“Do not underestimate them. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost me everything.”

Emotion clogs my throat, because if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was talking about me.