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“Aspen, come in.”

“Do you want me to close the door, or leave it open?” Donnelyn has a doorstop propping her door open, a bronze sculpture of a bonsai in a traditional pot. At least it doesn’t require the precise maintenance and watering schedule, but a bronze replica seems a little gouache. It looks heavy as hell, so when she waves a hand, content to leave her door bound by bronze bonsai, I take two further steps inside. She hasn’t offered me a chair… yet.

“This is about the assignment, I take it,” she says, looking up from a pile of folders that match her cobalt suit. Yes, among other things. After telling Lukaz and Fox about the potential of the Malchoydian Pepperberry, I want to pick the professor’s brain about what might have gone on during the research and clinical trials. Dean Grundy is another I want to approach, but he’s so busy already. At least I have a class with Donnelyn, and she suggested I come to see her, so here I am. “Yes, Professor.”

She chuckles, tilting her head to study me. “Amber, please. I’m not as old or as self-absorbed as your other professors.”

Ah, she knows I have a class with Wyldan. Nice pick up, Amber.

“Given your surname, or pedigree if you’d like, I don’t foresee you having any trouble with the assigned work. Was there something in particular you were concerned about?”

Concerned? Not really. I can unpack poisons and toxins in my sleep, but given my recent grade was so low, perhaps I’ve overestimated my knowledge and have been found lacking? Accepting the scholarship came with a hefty set of stipulations, such as residing on campus, keeping on the correct side of the law, and maintaining an elite average. Most colleges require you to maintain a cumulative GPA between 2.5 and 3.0 each semester. Wyldan demanded a 3.5 minimum.

“Can I ask about a marking rubric, please? I need to maintain a competitive minimum, and based on how I’ve performed so far, I’m a little worried about doing that.”

Her forehead pinches, a frown marring her pretty features. “From what I understood of your scholarship offer, you were touted as one of the brightest stars in botanical science, Aspen. A prodigy of genius parents who held science in the palms of their hands.”

I detect a sour note of derision in her tone. Was she acquainted with my parents? Compete with them for research grants and miss out? “You knew my parents?”

She huffs out a laugh. “No. I knew of your parents and attended a talk given by your father in Boston once, but I was never introduced to the great and all-powerful man. This was before his work and reputation were trashed, though, obviously.”

Obviously. Her words still cling to a bitterness I can’t quite understand. Was their work somehow detrimental to something she was trying to prove or disprove? I make a mental note to dig into Amber Donnelyn’s college history and thesis subject. It can’t hurt, and it may unlock why she’s so snide and flippant. This Amber is the flip side of the sunny, sociable coin from her classroom. Her one-on-one skills need work. “Professor Amber. I’m not asking for any special treatment or consideration. If I could look at the rubric, then I’d have a clearer understanding of how in depth you wanted short answers to be, and what keywords needed to be included in responses to maximize marks.”

“So,” she begins, interlacing her hands on the desk, “what you are asking, what you’ve come here and interrupted my own research for, is an insight into the marking process not always offered to other students. Is that a correct summation of your request, Ms. Aldereyne?”

“No. That’s not accurate…”

“It’s not? Because I’m hearing you want more than other students, because you are an Aldereyne, and you received a scholarship…”

“That is incorrect. I was after marking insight. If that’s not something you offer your students, those you mentor, or otherwise, then that’s fine. Just say that from the outset and I wouldn’t have wasted my time.”

“Watch your mouth, Aspen!”

The sound of a throat clearing makes us both look up. Jackson Bonner stands in the doorway, his hand on the propped door as if he were about to announce his arrival before the professor lost her ever-loving shit. I’ve never been more thankful for an interruption until Amber seizes on his presence.

“Jackson, well hello!” The words pour from her upturned mouth like syrup.

“Is everything alright in here?” His gaze takes in the Pinterest-worthy space as if he’s never been inside the room. Before he can admire the decor, he settles on one pissed off professor whose face now oscillates between a rosy red and the cobalt of her dress, and me, ready to flee. Thank fuck she requested the door remain open, or I’d be tempted to hurl her bronze bonsai at her overfilled lips, provided I could lift it, of course. Then, to complete the humiliation circle further, Elijah Wyldan appears on the other side of the doorjamb, hands in his pockets. I couldn’t have summoned the devil any faster if I had my own Ouija board.

“Yep, I was just leaving,” I snarl, standing with my back to the cunt in cobalt. Bonner and Wyldan take up the entire space, so if I’m to leave, one or both of them must step back, and that’s unlikely. As I exit, she delivers a scathing brief.

“Aspen expected special treatment because she’s an Aldereyne, here on a scholarship. Given this scenario was put in motion by you and the Dean, Elijah, perhaps you could explain to this narcissistic little bitch that Mommy and Daddy aren’t here to save her anymore, and that she’s in a big, bad real world now, and it owes her fucking nothing.”

Whoa, talk about voicing your feelings. Jesus. I want to flip her off, drop Poisons and Tox, and tell her to go fuck herself. I want to see that bonsai bounce off her botoxed forehead. But what I want, and what I’ll get, are as different as sound and light, fungi and mold. All molds are fungi, but not all fungi are molds. Now I’m only getting distracted.

Wyldan seethes, a vein in his neck not vibrating, but set to split open; the pressure is that severe. Bonner surveys the threat. Is it me, or the seated professor? I take another step forward, watchinghim war with what to do next. Does he step aside and let me out of the caustic office, allowing them to stay behind and absorb Donnelyn’s version of events that will be more crooked than a snow gum trunk. Or does he remain where he is, and trap me like a specimen under a scope. Decisions, decisions, Bonner. Hop to it.

“Excuse me, please. I need to see the Dean as well.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she mocks. “Go crying to Daddy’s best friend about how mean and awful the little poisons professor was. Make sure you tell him how rude you were.”

“Amber,” Bonner snaps, his voice deep and low.

Both men tense before Bonner turns to the side, allowing me to pass by right up against his body. His shirt hugs his frame like a second skin, and his tousled hair and facial hair give him that just-fucked ruggedness you want to drag back to bed to continue the journey.

This kind of teacher bullshit with Amber went on in Colorado with people who despised my dad. Donnelyn said she’d never met him, yet seems to despise him, and by association, me, too. Then there’s the gem she throws out as I’m exiting. Go tell Daddy’s best friend. The Dean and Dad were friends? Dean Grundy didn’t mention that! He alluded to a professional association, yet offered nothing further whether he respected Arthur’s work, or hated the idea of him existing, like Amber. Best friend? Before coming to Alaska, I’d never even heard of Fredrick Grundy.

At the Dean’s door, I tap out a knock. I can hear Bonner and Donnelyn carrying on a terse conversation about what just took place in her office. Before the Dean has time to greet me, I chance a peek back toward the room I just exited, to the image of an irate-looking Elijah Wyldan. His fists are still jammed tight into his trouser pockets. Perhaps if he doesn’t keep them caged, he’d hit something, or someone. His eyes bore like lasers into my soul, the intensity of his stare making me feel small and insignificant. Does he think I’m entitled? I can’t go question my seventy-eight mark for pre-molecular now, can I? I’d come over as the entitled princess Donnelyn tried to say I was, and nothing could be further from the truth. Fuck you, Amber. Not only have you destroyed any integrity I thought you had, but you’ve also shredded my reputation in front of two of my other lecturers. Wyldan takes a step in my direction. He moves as if in slow motion, precise and predatory. Before his other foot can contact the tile, the door whooshes open, and Dean Grundy stands before me. “Aspen. Hello!”