But that’s Haven. Her bitter life gave her a sweet tooth.
The beach was good. Really good.
But I realized something while we were there. I’ve changed. I don’t like the quiet anymore. I’ve grown to like the insanity of campus life. The parties, the noise, the constant buzz of people.
I hated it at first. Felt like an imposter. A poor kid playing dress-up in my designer threads.
But now? I love it.
I hope Haven learns to love the chaos and the feeling of belonging somewhere too.
Even if that somewhere is pretentious as fuck.
The secretary’s desk outside Winslow’s office is empty, but there’s a cup of coffee still steaming near the keyboard. Through the frosted glass window in Winslow’s door, I can make out the tall, blurred shape of the dean moving around.
Haven hesitates again, but I knock once on Winslow’s door and push it open before we can change our minds.
The dean of AHC glances at us from beside the filing cabinet, annoyance flickering in her dark eyes before she schools her face into its usual stoic mask.
“Miss Lee. And Mr.—”
“Jordan,” I cut in.
“Yes, Mr. Jordan,” she repeats, like she was just about to remember. Her gaze drops to our joined hands, and her immaculately red lips tighten almost imperceptibly. “We don’t have a meeting.”
“No,” I admit, because Haven’s apparently lost her voice. “But we need to talk to you about Professor Rooke.”
The shift is immediate. Winslow closes the drawer, hips swaying in her tight burgundy pencil skirt as she goes back to her expansive desk. The red soles on her stilettos keep drawing my eye until Haven squeezes my hand hard enough to make me wince.
“I wasn’t—“ I cut off my muttered protest when Winslow gestures sharply behind us.
“Close it.”
Haven breaks off contact with me to go close the door. Winslow openly studies me, twisting the large diamond ring on her right hand.
She doesn’t invite us to sit, so we stand there like kids called to the principal’s office. That she has to look up at us doesn’t diminish her authority in the slightest.
“Speak,” she says.
“I’m resigning as Rooke’s T.A.” The words come out steadier than I feel staring down the dean of Agony Hollow College. “Effective immediately.”
Winslow leans back in her chair, fingers still worrying that ring. Her gaze shifts to Haven. “And you?”
Haven swallows. “I want to drop out of Professor Rooke’s class.”
Winslow is quiet for a long moment, her dark, sharply lined eyes moving between us as she puts the pieces together.
Two students holding hands, both trying to distance themselves from the same professor.
She smooths her already perfect, shimmering black hair.
Her voice is carefully neutral. “And the reason for these drastic changes?”
“Spread myself way too thin,” I say. “Rooke—” I clear my throat “—Professor Rooke demands too much of my time.”
“I’m not comfortable with the course material,” Haven bleats when Yolanda looks her way.
“Yeah, he’s got some fu—messed up stuff in his curriculum,” I throw in.
