Page 6

6

YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME

QUINN

Kruz and I are running late when we meet outside the lecture hall. We push through the double doors, and a wave of warm air and chatter smacks us in the face. It’s packed, every seat taken and students are lined up against the walls shoulder to shoulder. We find a space and sit on the cold tile floor, leaning against the back wall, me with my notebook propped on my lap.

“Who takes notes at these things?” She scrapes at her chipped nail polish.

“People who don’t know shit about fuck,” I say seriously.

She glares at me. “Please. You know everything about everything.”

“That’s because I take notes,” I deadpan.

Taking notes constantly during every class or lecture has always been the key to my success in school. Without them, I struggle to remember anything at all.

I prepare myself for potential impending boredom. I don’t know who the speaker is since I’m just tagging along with Kruz, but the answer to that question will make all the difference in regard to how my focus goes, whether it's some old man they’ve scheduled to drone on for the next three excruciating hours or someone interesting and capable of holding my attention.

And then he steps behind the podium.

His hair is less disheveled today. He’s wearing a tweed blazer with elbow patches and thick-rimmed glasses that I haven’t seen him wear before are perched on his nose.

“For those of you I am unacquainted with, I’m Professor Hollis. Feel free to call me Jack. I teach Homicide and Serial Homicide here at Cypress.”

A loud buzzing fills my ears, and I don’t hear anything he says after that. I’m trying to make sense of the fact that not only is he a professor at this university, he’s my professor. The pieces suddenly click into place and I feel so dumb for mistaking him as a student.

I complained to him about him .

I called him a dick to his face.

I want to crawl into a hole and die. Why the fuck did he want to give me a job after that? Maybe he’s a masochist as well as a sadist.

How is this happening?

A huge part of me now wonders if he’s not actually a dick, but just a dad who is busy with his baby so he gives curt responses. Fuck my life, I am the asshole here.

“The majority of you are likely studying either Forensic Psychology or Criminology. Victimology of violent crimes is—” He stumbles over his words when our eyes somehow find one another in a room filled with eleventy hundred people.

I raise an eyebrow at him, twirling my pen between my fingers.

He clears his throat and continues, his gaze flickering to the audience as a whole before returning to me and back again. I can feel the weight of each pair of eyes when half the room turns to look at me.

The curious stares of my classmates prick at my skin, which I should be used to at this point. I am aggressively note-taking —even though Jack has barely gotten past his introduction—in hopes that no one will realize it was me he was distracted by.

I am actually doodling a haunted house, but no one around me can see the page.

Except for Kruz.

She grinds her elbow between my ribs. “What was that all about?”

I swirl the tip of my pen in a circle, filling in the too-big eyes of a small ghost sketch. The ink smudges a bit as I add an evil smirk to his face. He is definitely an old white man politician ghost due to his love of all things malevolent and terrifying.

“ Quinn .”

I realize I haven’t responded. I look at her and widen my eyes, making sure she can see the surprise there. I shift my gaze towards Jack without turning my head, indicating that he is the source of my discomposure and mouth, “ Jack .”

She stares back at me blankly for a moment before understanding lights her eyes and her mouth drops open a fraction.

Then she punches me in the arm and whispers too loudly, “You left out the part where he’s hot as fuck.”

“I… didn’t notice.”

“ Bullshit .”

I quietly appreciate that my best friend has never once questioned my bi-ness even though I have never had much of an attraction to men. She is an equal opportunity nuisance when it comes to my love life… or lack thereof.

Kruz, on the other hand, jumps from one fling to another like it’s a sport, living for the drama and excitement of it all. She thrives on the chaos of her love life, while I’ve always been more cautious.

I go back to scribbling a roof onto my house. “I didn’t want to be weird about it. I’m about to work for him, so there can’t be anything between us. Especially not now because he’s also apparently my fucking professor.”

“This is some taboo romance novel-level stuff.” Of course, she would say that.

“There is no romance, Kruz.” I am adamant.

She wraps her hand around my forearm and looks at me with an elated gleam in her eyes. “ Yet .”

I don’t argue, because as much as I don’t want to admit it, I hope she is right.