Page 11 of Lessons in Cruelty

Except me.

I guess because he waited until last to come and give me mine…in person.

Oh God, is he going to spit in my face again? I doubt he’d get away with it in front of Professor Rooke.

But there’s still a nervous flutter behind my belly button as he heads in my direction, a couple of notebooks dangling from his fingers, his other hand shoved in his pocket.

Kai locks eyes with me as he swaggers over, and it’s like time slows down so I can properly appreciate how much he’s changed.

God, he’s gotten handsome. His round face has melted around a sharp jaw and a proud nose. Round eyes more hooded, eyebrows casting deeper shadows.

His freckles are still there, though. His golden brown tan.

And here I am. Mousier, paler, a ghost of the girl in the woods.

And I’ve gained weight—physically and emotionally. Enough that I’m considering starving myself so I don’t have to hunt through bargain bins for larger clothing.

The corner of Kai’s mouth twitches, and I’m flung back in time and more than halfway across Agony Hollow, to the woods behind the trailer park where we stayed. He’d get the same look on his face when he was about to suggest a fun game for the afternoon, one we hadn’t played before.

Does he still have such an active imagination? He’d come up with the most unhinged role-play scenarios back then.

His favorite was Columbus and Jane, a brave explorer and his wife traversing jungles teeming with savage animals. We’d be swatting mosquitoes and complaining about how thirsty we were the whole afternoon as he hacked at whatever foliage got in our way with a blunt kitchen knife he’d found in a dumpster outside the trailer park.

Sometimes I’d object to being the wife. But anything was better than staying at home with Dad.

Kai walks up to my chair…and just keeps going.

Past me, onto the podium.

He flops down onto his seat and tosses the last few notebooks back onto the desk, running his hands through his hair like he just used up the last of his energy. He hooks his hands behind his head and stares at Professor Rooke, completely ignoring my flabbergasted face.

“Everyone got one?” Rooke asks.

I turn to him, shaking my head, but he’s looking at the top row of students.

“Good. Now pay attention, because this little book constitutes half your final grade this semester. For the next three months, you’ll be keeping a diary. A ‘dickhead dossier’ if you will.”

Students chuckle, but I’m too busy glaring at Kai to figure out why. He pretends not to see me, staring at Professor Rooke like I’ve ceased to exist. Thoughts start spilling into my mind, blocking out bits and pieces of my teacher’s voice.

What the actual fuck, Kai?

“…three criteria for each entry, making sure…”

Three years is a long time to hold a grudge.

“…help you determine…”

Sure, I’m not all that great at letting go, either, but seriously?

Professor Rooke’s voice swells back into focus. “…are there any questions?”

Shit. What just happened?

My attention snaps back to my teacher. He’s smiling at the class again, and it might be petty as hell, but I feel totally left out.

I lean over to the redhead beside me. “What does he want us to do?” I whisper.

She frowns at me. “Which part?”