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I turn around and find Tucker standing there with his arms crossed, watching me. I try not to let him see that his presence disturbs me as his vivid lightning eyes analyze my every reaction. His beard is a little more pronounced today. But why am I noticing all these damn details?
“So, do you have an idea?” he asks me seriously a second later.
He clenches his arms a bit more and I watch his biceps contract.
“An idea of what?”
“Who we’re going to eat?” he continues with confidence.
The light turns on in my mind. I lean toward him.
“Wait…are you part of this crap?”
Tucker doesn’t answer me. He continues to stare at me intently, and I understand that yes, he is indeed part of it. I remember his surprise when he saw me standing up to him when we met. He’s not used to people standing up to him. Well, let me tell you, things are about to change.
Losing my patience, I walk down a row and sit in one of the middle seats, leaving him behind me. I don’t have time to waste on a buffoon who thinks he’s one of the kings of the campus. The seat I just took is not one of the “reserved” ones for him, so I’m sure he won’t follow me. I pull out my computer, ignoring all the students who are slowly calming down.
As the screen turns on, I feel heat on my back, near my ear. Don’t tell me he sat behind me!
I don’t move, recognizing the masculine smell that imposes itself on me. Little hairs stand up on the back of my neck without asking me.
“It’s you I’ll eat first,” Tucker whispers.
I turn my head angrily.
“Well, I hope you get indigestion, you big jerk.”
His eyes almost glow as he settles in comfortably, once again surprised by my tone and the fact that someone is standing up to him. The students seem shocked to see him sitting here rather than in his usual place. Right behind me.
Tucker ignores them, unperturbed by their stares. He puts both hands on the table, like a true master of the place. Suddenly, the sound of Professor Richards’ pumps echo through the walls. Finally! We will be able to move on.
“Good morning, everyone. I—did we just shoot a wild animal?” she exclaims, seeing the state of the lecture hall.
No one answers. I try to follow her class, painfully aware of the look on my face.
I have the impression that I have taken part in a little game in spite of myself, the rules of which I do not yet know.
5. Game
Iris
“So, back to business,” sighs Professor Richards, rolling her eyes. “The other day we were only able to skim the introduction to the great course you are privileged to attend this semester. Now we’re going to get to the heart of the matter.”
Her piercing gaze rests on the students in the front rows. Her pumps click on the floor as she approaches them.
“You, young man,” she announces, pointing to a student in the third row. “What does criminal science look like to your developing little brain? What is a criminologist?”
Just behind me, someone is clicking his pen incessantly. I take a deep breath, restraining myself from choking this “someone” otherwise known as “Mr. I-Want-To-Eat-People.”
All eyes turn to the student the teacher has targeted. He seems to be thinking hard, running his hand over his chin in puzzlement.
“I’m not really sure, but…it’s kind of like the ones on the show Criminal Minds?”
A few laughs are heard. The student gets a pellet of paper in his ear. He insults the person next to him, holding back his laughter, happy to amuse the crowd. Professor Richards does not seem to share their excitement. She crosses her arms and continues to stare at him, pursing her lips.
Oh, oh, I think that’s not a good sign!
“What, what’s so funny?” asks Professor Richard. She then addresses the student in the third row. “You’re not really wrong, even if this show doesn’t match reality.”
