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“We’ll just sit here,” Jaxon said, taking my hand. Our fingers automatically laced together as if we’d been doing this for years.

A shock darted up my arm, searing me, and I stared at him, not fighting as Jaxon led me to a pair of seats far away from Aaron and his admirers. My heart thumped hard in my chest at the sturdy feel of his grasp. It was safe. Everything about Jaxon made me feel so damn safe. Like nothing truly bad could happen if he was right beside me.

What was with my reaction? I’d grabbed Jaxon’s hand before, although I’d never held it like this. We were touching all the time. This little hand hold shouldn’t bother me, right? And it wasn’t. We were friends. I loved being Jaxon’s best friend, and I never wanted to lose him. I couldn’t lose him.

The angry bees returned to my ears as did the pressing weight. I couldn’t handle… Fuck, I couldn’t handle the mystery that was my entire future without Jaxon. It was too much. I couldn’t…

My breath began to shorten and sweat started to gather between my shoulder blades. The voices around me were beginning to turn to white noise as the room spun.

“Chris?”

I panted. What the hell was I going to do? I was twenty-one fucking years old. I should know, right? I should have something I want to do. I should have dreams. Everyone had dreams… Why didn’t I?

“Christopher?”

My breath harsh, I looked up into golden eyes that started to make me relax. A gentle hand cupped my cheek, and I took a deep inhale of an earthen scent that made my stomach slowly begin to uncoil. Everything would be alright. I just needed to not think about it. Put it in a box and ship it off.

“Are you okay?” Jaxon asked.

I nodded, unable to get a single word out.

His forehead crinkled. “Are you sure?”

I nodded again.

When we sat down, I took a deep breath and tried to get control of my spiraling panic. I wasn’t going to lose Jaxon. I didn’t need to think about the future. Everything was fine.

I forced myself to look at Aaron and not Jaxon, whose thick thigh was pressing against me. It wasn’t his fault. He barely fit into these chairs. They really should be bigger; not all monsters were human-shaped or shifted. Didn’t matter that this was a lecture hall where they tried to pack in as many students as physically possible.

“You have a lot of competition,” I commented, pulling out a notebook. I hated taking electronic notes. If I did, I would inevitably get distracted by something on my computer. So I hand-wrote everything. It helped to keep me focused.

Jaxon grunted.

I peeked at him, then wanted to smack myself. Why was I being shy with him? It was weird. I silently ordered myself to knock it off, then truly studied my best friend. He looked as out of sorts as I felt. He couldn’t have possibly experienced that same jolt of attraction when we held hands, right? And there was no way in hell he was freaked out by my future as I was. That wasn’t possible. I doubted he even thought of my future enough to be worried about it.

“We’ll have to think of something more drastic to keep his attention,” I said. “Make sure to keep texting him.”

All Jaxon did was nod, and I couldn’t say much more anyway, because the teacher walked, or more accurately flew in. Mrs Crimpton—or the Crypt Keeper as many students called her—was a pixie. She was about six inches and bright glowing pink.

Before the Halloween Wave, she had been ancient, over ninety, then during the Wave she’d been transformed into a pixie, a monster that lived much longer than humans. Now, she was an old woman in a young pixie’s body.

Mrs. Crimpton landed on the podium that had a microphone set up for her and began to speak in her clipped, squeaky voice, “You should all have access to the syllabus on that new-fangled internet hellscape management is trying to make me use.” She laughed, and it was like listening to a squeaker toy. “Never going to happen.

“If you have complaints, take them to someone who cares, not me. Alright, twenty-five percent of your grade is made up by two tests—the midterm and final—which will be on the lectures. Ten percent is made up by attendance, and fifteen percent by pop quizzes.” A round of groans sounded, which she ignored. “Fifty percent of your grade, and the thing you should care the most about, is the term paper. You should put all of what you’ve learned about writing and English into your paper on one of Shakespeare’s plays, which you will choose. Now, I doubt that you’ll have learned much, but we can hope, or pray in most of your cases.

“You will have to write this paper with a partner,” she said, and people immediately began to whisper, trying to find one.

“Text Aaron,” I told Jaxon. “Perfect opportunity.”

“And no, you’re not going to pick your partner,” Mrs. Crimpton yelled.

“Why?” Someone near the front asked what we were all thinking.

“First, raise your hand if you wish to speak in my class. Second, because I’m a mean, spiteful old bat and I said so. Also, it’s good to work with different people.”

I glanced at Jaxon, and he was shockingly pale. He wouldn’t do well on this project working with someone he didn’t know. My stomach quaking in an unfamiliar sensation, I snagged his hand, and he gripped mine in return. I would help him no matter who he got paired up with, even if I had to go to every meeting and do all his talking for him.

“Because I’m not a complete monster—” she laughed at her own joke “—I’ll allow you to work with the person next to you.”