Page 16 of Crashing Tides

“You’re not dumb,” she huffs.

“I’m definitely a dumb jock,” I lament, face in my hands.

“You’re a gym rat. There’s a difference.”

I moan. I’ve already lifted weights and gone for a jog. It turns out that waking up at four a.m. on a regular basis and having a roommate don’t exactly go well together. I was quick to evacuate the room before Aleo woke. So far, we get along well, but I’ve had enough roommates to know that living in close quarters can create all kinds of tension and drama, and I don’t want to start the semester with an argument.

“There kind of isn’t,” I say, and she rolls her eyes.

“Look, it’s gonna be OK. We can study together.”

I imagine towering stacks of flashcards and groan internally. But I need all the help I can get, so I grit out, “Thanks.”

Before I can say anything else, I spot someone wearing a t-shirt. Yesterday, I wouldn’t have batted an eye, but this is the first day of class and Halea has a strict dress code. It turns out that almost nothing I own is class-appropriate, but Jane and Aleo have both assured me that slacks and a polo shirt should be fine, so that’s what I’m wearing.

But that isn’t what piques my interest. It’s the way everyone is staring, whispering, pointing at him. Chest puffed out like he’s looking for a confrontation, he scoops scrambled eggs onto his plate. When he turns toward me, I can finally make out the words stenciled across his torso: Free the Shifters.

With a wince, I return to poking sadly at my yogurt parfait. Caught in the lens of right-wing media propaganda, shifters are always in trouble nowadays. I think of the bear shifters in Montana, and wonder if the radio host finally got his wish.

When I glance back at Jane, she’s glaring at the guy in the shirt. “That’s so fucking wrong,” she grumbles.

“Isn’t that a dress code violation?” I ask, gesturing down at myself.

She stares at me, incredulous. “What?”

“I thought t-shirts weren’t allowed.”

“He’s protesting,” she says, looking at me like she’s reconsidering everything she just said about my intelligence.

I wince. “Oh. For what?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, brow furrowed.

“I… don’t know what he’s protesting, exactly?”

“They banned the shifters from attending Halea this year,” she says.

Shit. “Oh. I, um, didn’t know shifters were fae.”

“Some of them are.” Her eyebrows are still too high. I’m definitely missing something here.

“Wait, so did they go here before?”

She sighs. “Dominic, are you trying to tell me you don’t know anything about shifters?”

I cross my arms. “I do. Sort of. Besides, isn’t this a safe space?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Barely.”

Yikes. “So the shifters used to go here and now they’re banned?”

“In a nutshell,” she says. She’s still looking at me in disapproval. I wish I had a newspaper or something to hide behind. “Look, there’s been a smear campaign lately. I know you’re not familiar with the magical world, but have you ever heard of Wyndham Tavershim?”

I shake my head.

“OK, well, you should remember that name. He’s like, the fae president. And he hates shifters.”

“That seems… bad.”