Monster in His Eyes(2)

Shrugging, I take a sip of my drink, savoring the rich creamy chocolate  flavor. I blend in usually, with my normal getup of skinny jeans and  sweaters and tall boots. It's not my fault we get one warm day and  everyone else acts like it's summertime in the Caribbean.

Melody's personal plan seems to be to see how little she can wear  without getting nailed for public indecency. She's currently toeing the  line with some tiny shorts and a crop top. I feel obscene just looking  at her.

"What's wrong with my scarf?" I ask, reaching up and running my hand along the soft material. It's my favorite.

"It's all pink and stripe-y and scarf-y." She waves my way dismissively  as she grimaces. "Pretty sure it's what Aristotle was talking about when  he said 'how awful the truth is when there's no helping it' because  there's definitely no helping that scarf."                       
       
           



       

I burst out laughing, so loud it disrupts the people trying to work near  us. I cast them apologetic looks as I correct Melody. "Sophocles said  that."

Or something close to it, anyway. How dreadful knowledge of the truth can be when there's no help in truth...

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

Melody groans, slamming her book closed for the second time and throwing her hands up. "I'm going to fail this damn test."





Sixteen multiple-choice questions, five short answer problems, and a two-page essay, all within an hour.

I'm in Hell.

Figuratively, of course, although it feels quite literal every time I  look up from my exam to the front of the room, my eyes drifting to the  sign hanging above the old school chalkboard.

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.

It's a quote from Dante Alighieri, the inscription found at the gates of  Hell in The Divine Comedy. Professor Santino clearly thinks it's funny,  but it confirms my suspicions...

The man is Satan.

I bullshit my way through the essay and finish a few minutes before time  is up. I turn my exam over, leaving it on the desk, and slouch down in  my chair. Santino has a 'keep your asses in your seat until everyone's  finished' policy, like we're kindergartners learning to follow rules for  the first time.

Moving slowly so I won't be noticed, I reach into the front pocket of my  backpack and pull out my cell phone. Concealing it in my lap, I find  some mindless game to pass the rest of the time. No sooner I get it  open, the gruff, stern voice echoes through the room, startlingly loud  after hearing nothing but woeful sighs for the last forty-five minutes.

"Reed."

At first I think Santino is commanding us to read something when I  glance up and meet his beady brown eyes, peering at me through a pair of  thick glasses. Despite me sitting in the back row of a class with  nearly a hundred students, I realize he's talking directly to me-Karissa  Reed.

Oh shit. "Sir?"

"Put it away now," he warns, "before I take it."

He doesn't have to tell me twice. I instantly let go, the phone slipping  from my hands and dropping toward my backpack without me breaking eye  contact. He nods stiffly, satisfied with my compliance, and looks away  to call an end to the exam.

As soon as the papers are collected I jump up, grabbing my bag and jetting for the closest exit.

Melody's waiting by the hall, her expression vacant, like there's  nothing left inside of her to offer. It amazes me, how the pursuit of  wisdom tends to turn people into shells of their former selves.

"How'd you do?" I ask.

"I made out about as well as Dante did with Bernadette."

"Beatrice."

She waves my way. "Well, there's your answer."

We shuffle out of the building and into the bright Manhattan afternoon.  Melody's expression shifts once we're outside, the shell-shocked look  fading as she puts it behind her.

I admire her ability to brush everything off.

Tilting her head back, she closes her eyes and smiles, bathing in the  warm sunlight. "I need a drink. We going to Timbers tonight?"

I scrunch up my nose. Melody reopens her eyes, catching my expression.

"Oh, come on!" she says. "It's gonna be bitchin'."

"Like, totally," I mock. "Gag me with a spoon."

Melody laughs, elbowing me. "I'm serious, we have to go."

"Why?"

"Because it's eighties night!"

"So? You weren't even born then."

"All the more reason to go."

Ignoring her, I pull my bag off my back. I look through it, shifting  books out of the way as I seek out my cell phone to give my mother a  call to check on her. She wanted me to visit this weekend, but I'm in no  mood to take the long trip …  not to mention the lack of money for bus  fare. I unzip the little pockets, searching, my stomach sinking when I  don't find my phone anywhere. "Shit …  shit …  shit … "

"What's wrong?" Melody asks, pausing when I stop, dropping the backpack to the sidewalk to root around for it. "Lose something?"

"My phone." I groan. "Santino yelled at me for using it so I dropped it in my bag, but it's not here."

"It didn't fall out, did it?" Melody asks, looking behind us, down the  block toward the building. "Maybe you left it in the classroom."

"Maybe," I say, zipping my bag back up and slinging it over my shoulder.  "I'm going to go look for it. I'll meet you back at the room."

I'm off before she can even respond, taking the same path we took. I  keep my eyes peeled to the ground in case it fell out during the walk. I  slip back into the building, navigating the hallways on my way to the  classroom. I approach, about to walk right into the room, when Santino's  voice rings out inside. "I know what you're here for."                       
       
           



       

Brow furrowing, I step into the doorway, words on the tip of my tongue.  He has my phone? He's sitting at his desk, the stack of midterms piled  up around him, pen in his hand as he stares down at some unlucky  bastard's paper, assaulting it with red ink. Please don't be my test.

I start to speak, the words 'my phone' slipping from my lips when  another voice cuts through the classroom. "Good, because I'm in no mood  to have my time wasted."

The voice is all male, deep and raspy, the kind that commands attention,  each and every syllable oozing coolness. I immediately silence, my gaze  sweeping through the classroom, seeking out the source. A man lurks  near the corner at the back, not far from the only other entrance.  Everything about him matches the huskiness of his voice-tall, broad  shoulders, not bulky but undoubtedly solid, like the thick, sturdy trunk  of a gorgeous redwood tree, a black suit perfectly hugging his frame.  Although formidable, there's a sort of ease to his stance. He doesn't  just sound confident.

He knows he's in control.

I take a step away, slinking back into the hallway when the man's  calculated footsteps start through the classroom, toward where Santino  sits. I consider leaving, maybe coming back later, not wanting to  interrupt whatever this is, but man …  I really need my phone.

And damn if curiosity doesn't have the best of me. What does this man want?

"I don't have it," Santino says, his voice casual, like the intimidating  man doesn't at all affect him. "I haven't gotten my hands on it yet."

"That's not the answer I wanted to hear."

Before Santino can respond, a soft buzzing resonates through the quiet  room, vibrating the floor. My gaze darts that way, spotting my phone  under the desk I sat in to take my exam. Relief washes through me at the  sight of it, replaced quickly by a swell of anxiety. The man turns his  head toward the sound, giving me a brief glimpse of his profile. He  seems to pause that way for a moment, listening to my phone buzzing,  before turning around completely to face the doorway.

To face me.

I dart out of sight, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping.

Strained silence passes until my phone stops buzzing, whoever it is hanging up.

"I'll be back for it," the man says after a moment.

"I know." Santino's voice is so quiet I can hardly hear it. "I know you will."

Footsteps start through the room again, heading my way. Panicked, I  turn, trying to tread lightly as I bolt down the long hallway, turning  the corner and pausing. Contemplating, I hunch against the wall, bending  down to absently shift through my backpack, pretending to be occupied  with something. I hear him as he makes his way down the hall toward me,  toward the front doors, my heart thumping hard in my chest at the sound  of his calculated footsteps.

He leisurely rounds the corner near me. My eyes shift that way, staring  at his shiny black dress shoes, my stomach sinking when they slow before  coming to a dead stop right in front of me.