“As you can see,” he continues, “a major percentage of your final grade depends upon your midterm project. You’ll be charged with analyzing a work of early American literature, identifying and breaking down the major themes, explaining how the presence of these themes in those early works has trickled down through the centuries. Are these modes of thinking still prevalent today? Can you see how today’s attitudes might have been shaped by these early beliefs and thought patterns? I look forward to seeing what all of you manage to discover with your partners.”
Back up. Partner? And here I was, with my blood humming and my head spinning, looking forward to diving into a book and spending weeks analyzing it. I mean, that is pretty much heaven as far as I’m concerned. I wish he had mentioned the whole partner aspect first.
“That being said, you can take the last few minutes of class to find your partners.”
Oh, fuck me. It’s not bad enough I’ve had to sit here while Briggs stared daggers, but now I have to secure a partner for this project? I know before I dare lift my head and look around what I’m going to find: a bunch of jerks who would rather take a failing grade than partner up with me. The daughter of a home-wrecker, a slut who has worked her way through half the men in town—at least. I carry that with me everywhere I go in this awful town full of awful people. As far as they’re concerned, I’m no better than she is.
One of the girls sitting a few seats in front of me turns in her chair, like she’s looking for somebody sitting near me. Our eyes meet and for one brief, breathless second, I think she might at least be kind. I should know better by now. “Get real,” she mutters, laughing before catching the eye of her friend and giving her a bright smile.
Again, I look around, my heart sinking, though I do everything I can to hide it. I’m trembling, alone, searching the room and hoping someone, anyone, agrees to partner with me. But all I get are cold looks or even colder laughter. It’s like everybody got together one day and decided not a single part of my life should be easy.
Do not give them the satisfaction.Angrily blinking back the tears threatening to fill my eyes, I stand along with everybody else when we reach the end of the hour. “Good luck with your project,” one of the guys mutters on his way past me. There’s high-pitched laughter in response to him bumping against me hard enough to make me stumble against a desk.
Professor Morgan’s bald head snaps up when I murmur his name on reaching his desk. “I’m sorry to be a pain,” I mumble, feeling about an inch tall. How pitiful is this? I couldn’t even find a partner.
“Yes, Miss…”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m Wren Delaney.”
If he recognizes the name, he doesn’t show it. “Miss Delaney, what can I do for you?”
It’s funny how being stared at and ridiculed for so long means I can barely handle it even when somebody is staring at me the way he is now, with concern and genuine interest. I feel myself shrinking under that gaze and wishing I could melt into the floor.
There’s no way to admit this so it sounds better than it is. “… I couldn’t find a partner for the project,” I admit with a sinking heart.
His face scrunches up like he’s confused. “There’s an even number of students in this class. Everyone should’ve been able to partner up with somebody else.”
Yeah, but you don’t know me. In his mind, it’s that simple. He can’t figure out why I couldn’t do something as easy as finding a partner. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be me. Nobody does.
“I… I mean, I tried…” This sounds so pathetic. The tears I’ve been fighting are threatening to overflow because, dammit, it isn’t fair. I didn’t do anything to deserve this hatred.
“Well, Miss Delaney, as I explained to the class, this project will comprise a large percentage of your final grade.”
“I know. I’m not sure—I mean, maybe there’s something else I can do? Another way to present the project, maybe?”
A third voice joins in. “I can solve your problem for you.”
Oh, no. My blood runs cold at the sound of a deep voice coming from directly over my shoulder. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and I’m pretty sure the devil himself is behind me, taunting me while pretending to do anything but.
Professor Morgan’s gaze darts away from me and lands on the demon standing behind me. It’s interesting the way his expression shifts, brightening. “Briggs. You weren’t able to find a partner, either?” he asks with more than a little disbelief in his voice. After all, Briggs is practically a god in this town. A member of one of the five families that run Wicked Falls and probably have since the beginning of time.
“I’m afraid not.” I can feel the warmth coming off Briggs’s body as he steps up closer, his breath hitting the back of my neck and making me shiver in discomfort. “I guess you didn’t check with everyone, Wren, or else you would have a partner now.”
I’m going to die. I’m going to absolutely die. But what I am not going to do is cower in front of him. I’ll be damned if I let him know how I’m shaking inside. That’s why I’m able to turn and slowly lift my head, letting my gaze meet his. Forcing myself not to blink or to shrink away.
There is a sinister gleam in his green eyes, and something terribly wicked in the way his full lips tip upward in a cold, nasty smirk.
“Then that settles that,” Professor Morgan announces behind me. “You can go through the list of possible books on the class site and have your subject chosen by the next class.”
I barely hear him over the way my heart pounds sickeningly, making blood rush in my ears while Briggs and I engage in a staring contest whose stakes are too monumental to be believed.
Something tells me I am in much more trouble than I ever could have imagined.
Chapter 2
Briggs
The symbolof everything fucked up in my life can try all she wants to escape, but it’s no use. She’s going to figure that out before long.
