Page 16 of Power Play

“It was deserved.”

“Cee.”

I exhale and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Klein is ruthless. Her Victorian Literature seminar is one of the most difficult courses offered, and I’m already behind everyone else because literary interpretation isn’t my field.”

“Then don’t take her class.”

“I need the credits.”

“You need credits. Do you need hers?”

“The course fits my schedule.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

I lift my wineglass, but Bliss covers the rim with her palm before I can drink.

“You came here for advice. Stop giving me your father’s approved answers.”

My fingers tighten around the stem. “I’m not.”

“You are. You’re using complete sentences, and your forehead hasn’t moved in ten minutes.”

“That is generally considered good skin care.”

Bliss doesn’t smile. “What are you scared of?”

The question lands too cleanly. I look toward the kitchen window as another order appears beneath the heat lamps.

“I’m not scared.”

“You reorganized the condiments while you were waiting for me to pour your wine.”

The ketchup and mustard bottles beside me are aligned perfectly by height. I hadn’t realized I’d touched them.

“My parents feel the class will add beautifully to my résumé after graduation. The problem is that I don’t understand interpretation the way everyone else seems to,” I admit. “I can read the material. I know what happened, who said what, and how the writing is structured, but when someone asks what it means beyond the obvious, every answer I have feels wrong.”

“Then maybe everyone else is pretending.”

“They aren’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they speak.”

Bliss’s expression softens. “You speak too.”

“Only after I’ve figured out the correct answer.”

“There might not be one.”

“That is a terrible academic system.”

“It sounds like your problem isn’t literature. It sounds like you hate that an opinion can’t be perfected.”

I take another drink because arguing with her would require pretending she missed the point.

Aura returns with an empty tray and a darker expression. Easton has acquired another blonde. He lifts his beer toward her from across the room, wearing the lazy smile of a man deliberately leaning on a bruise.