He slides his gaze over to Sabrina periodically, glancing at her every couple of minutes, as if he thinks she might disappear should he look away.
I know the feeling.
Resting my hands in my lap, I shake my head. “I was just lost in thought.”
“Oh. Well, I wanted to see if you had any idea what play we were putting on for 330’s final yet? I know the auditions are our midterms, basically, so maybe you haven’t really considered it, but…”
“Are you hoping I’ll tell you so you can get a leg up on the competition?”
She purses her lips. “Is there anything wrong with wanting an advantage? The way your brother used to tell it, you had no problem fighting your way to the front for a lead when you were a student.”
“I’m not sure you should be getting lore on me from Beckett,” I tell her. “I may have been tenacious, but I wasn’t unfair. I never cheated.”
“Technically, this isn’t cheating. You neversaidwe couldn’t ask about the play.”
“Exigo a me non ut optimus par sim sed ut malis melior.”
Sabrina frowns, blushing. “I’m afraid I haven’t brushed up enough on my Latin to know what that means.”
“We must not equate ourselves with the best but do better than the bad.” I push to my feet, grabbing my briefcase. “Loosely translated, of course. It may be a foreign concept, Ms. Taylor, but I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“Just be better than the bad? That’s, like, the bare minimum expectation.”
“Then it should be easy for you.”
The sentiment is true, though certainly not one I live by as often as I’d like. In the classroom, I aim for whatever means necessary to help my students learn—which sometimes involves recognizing limitations and adapting accordingly.
Or pointing out when someone is trying to take advantage of a loophole.
One cannot make it in theater if they’re incapable of change. The outside world even requires constant evolution to survive.
It’s not always nice and pleasant, but neither of those descriptors is in my job position.
Flattery and cheating do us no favors.
A thought I remind myself of later that evening when I go to leave the apartment, strolling through campus as music from a quarry party drifts up over the forest, invading the quiet nighttime.
At the bottom of the stairs, Jean-Louis leans against one of the Roman columns holding up the balcony on the second floor, a long coat buttoned up all the way to his chin. Brown leather gloves cover skeletal hands, and the slight curve in his neck makes him appear inches shorter than his actual height.
He’s the older, sicklier version of Beckett. I often wonder if the similarities are why my brother craves his approval so desperately.
My stomach twists, begging me not to approach. I know why he’s here.
A Death’s Teeth alumnus never misses the spring instauratio—a prestigious, highly secretive festival inspired by the Haloa of ancient Greece, where the start of a new semester brings rebirth and opportunities for depravity.
Basically, murder and sex. Their bread and butter. Sacrifices for death and the motions of life. Given the inactivity of the organization thus far, I’m not surprised Jean-Louis is making his attendance specifically known to me.
He probably believes he can sway me with his foul presence.
“Headed somewhere?” Jean-Louis asks as I turn, starting in the opposite direction, any hope of him not seeing me dashed.
“Anywhere away from you is a start.”
“Still punishing me for things I had no control over, I see.”
Pausing, I catalog the way his hollow cheeks practically hang off the bone, and the yellow glow of the streetlights makes his skin seem sallow and sunken.
That he finds himself innocent of Bellamy’s death nauseates me. If I were a violent man, I’d take my guilt out on him. End my and Beckett’s suffering once and for all.
