Page 22 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

I gripped the pen so tightly the plastic snapped. Ink ran across my fingers in a dark stain while the wolves turned to stare.

Rick snorted under his breath. “Damn. She really doesn’t like you.”

Jackson ignored him completely. He reached into his bag, pulled out a clean tissue, and held it out first.

“Here. Wipe that off.”

I hesitated for half a second, then took the tissue and cleaned the worst of the ink from my fingers. When he held out a second pen, I shook my head.

“I have another one.”

I pulled a fresh pen from my own bag without looking at him.

Professor Hartley walked in at the same moment. Chairs scraped across the floor and conversations dropped off mid-sentence. Lia lingered a second longer than the others, then followed them down the row, already whispering.

Jackson did not push again during the lecture. He took notes, answered one question with the kind of depth most people missed, and left me alone for the rest of the hour. When class ended I packed fast and slipped into the aisle.

Thursday brought a brief break when Jackson stayed off campus, but Naomi made sure I didn’t enjoy it.

The whole week had become an exercise in restraint. During every drill, every lap, every water break, she found a way to shoulder-check me or cut me off—subtle enough to pass as clumsiness, deliberate enough that my cat tracked her with narrowing eyes.

I kept my pace and my breathing even, forcing myself to let it go.

By the end of Thursday afternoon practice I was one more shove away from showing her exactly who she was dealing with.

Cassidy caught me before I could escape. She wiped sweat from her forehead with the hem of her shirt. “So you’re coming this Saturday.”

“No.”

“I didn’t go last week because I had no one to go with, and I’m not doing that again. Showing up alone sucks. Everyone’s in their little groups. I just stand there pretending I’m having fun.”

“You’d survive.”

“I don’t want to survive. I want to enjoy it. That requires you.” She leaned closer, eyes wide. “You’re my best friend.”

“We’ve known each other for two weeks.”

“Time is irrelevant. This is a bond.” My cat had already lost interest. “One party. You don’t have to talk to anyone. Just exist near me so I have a reason to be there.”

I thought about the week I had had. Jackson in my lectures, Naomi’s constant need to provoke me, and the dreams that kept dragging me awake at four. In them I ran through the forest in my cat form, the black wolf always somewhere behind me. I woke up irritated every time and blamed my cat entirely. I had not shifted since the last time. Not with a wolf in the woods. And now my subconscious had decided to run laps with him.

I sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

Cassidy’s face lit up. “That means yes.”

“It means I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll take it. For now.”

By Friday, I had stopped being surprised when Jackson was already in the seat next to mine in Behavioral Analysis. I had accepted him as a permanent feature of my existence. Changing seats only drew more attention, and that was the last thing I needed.

His knee nearly brushed mine as I sat. His arm rested along the back of my chair, close enough that the space felt claimed. My cat purred like she had been waiting for this.

“Morning,” he said, like we did this every day.

I made a sound that could pass for a response and opened my notebook.

He leaned in, closer than polite, and inhaled slowly and deliberately. “You smell like rain.”