Chapter 10 #2
Dr. Sellers is still droning on, loving the sound of his voice, and I try to tune him in. I don’t want to miss anything. Biology is understandably a big part of Storm Guard training, as it’s vital to understand how substances in the body react to the Spark generated by cloud bursts.
“Physiological changes from electrical stimulation include increased blood flow and effects on the peripheral circulation. Varying doses and durations of Spark result in alternating responses . . .” Dr. Sellers is saying now.
“In front of you are several specimens of cell clusters that have been exposed to varying amounts and intensities of galvanic energy. Today, you’ll take a look and note their differences and similarities. ”
He continues to discuss the research he expects and the report we must write with our . . . partner. At that announcement, I go still. Group projects have never been my forte, but an essay coauthored with a Solitude?
My gaze slides to Rook, only to find him tapping away on his tablet. I study the curvature of his profile. His straight nose and strong chin. The piercing in his brow. The bit of scruff on his jaw.
He’s clearly not like anyone here, but he’s not at all what I expected. There’s no denying that he’s actually kind of . . .
He looks up and catches me staring.
My cheeks burn with fire. I was about to indulge in a thought I should not be entertaining. It isn’t treasonous to admire a Solitude’s appearance, I think, but it would definitely get me on some kind of list or something.
I quickly look away, inspecting him from the corner of my eye as he scrolls up his screen.
Can he read? I admonish myself immediately for the thought. I shouldn’t make assumptions. But everything I know about Solitudes suggests school and learning aren’t high on their list of priorities.
Rook is attending this class, though, so that must mean something.
Skies, what is wrong with me? Why am I wondering any of this?
Dr. Sellers finishes his instructions, then pings our devices with a summary of our assignment. He heads over to a table at the side of the room and starts passing out microscope slides. Placing the small box on our bench, he looks down at me, and his gaze jumps between me and Rook.
“Will this be a problem?” he asks. He’s clearly addressing me. Despite my tardiness, forcing me to work with a Solitude still gives him pause.
Rook sits with his bent knees spread and his big hands on his thighs.
I notice they’re covered in little scars that match the ones laddering up his arms. They’re nice arms. Thick with corded muscle and the lightest dusting of hair.
I get a closer look at his tattoos and the varying sinuous lines denoting water and mountains, along with little stars joined by thin lines.
Why am I thinking about his arms now?
When I look up, our eyes meet, and I can’t decide what I read in his expression.
Is this a problem? Every part of me says yes. He’s a Solitude. Even sitting next to him is probably dangerous. But then something flickers across his expression. There for the barest moment and then gone. Something that speaks to a deeper nature under the wildness of his exterior.
I’m sure it’s nothing. Just because he’s kind of pretty doesn’t mean anything.
“If it is, you can take a zero,” says Dr. Sellers, and my head whips around.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your choices are to do the assignment with your partner or take a zero.”
Wow, that escalated quickly.
He’s giving me an out, but he’s still mad about earlier.
Obviously, I can’t take a zero. Storm Guards don’t get zeros on assignments. Poet Graves doesn’t get zeros on assignments.
Again, I glance at Rook. He gets no say in this, I suppose.
“It won’t be a problem,” I answer, and Dr. Sellers dips his chin, the corner of his mouth tipping into a smug smile. I’ve been punished for disrespecting his classroom schedule, and the world is right again.
“Excellent,” he says before he walks away, leaving me alone with Rook and his unsettling presence.
Everyone dives into their work, and slowly, I swivel in my seat to assess Rook.
He’s sitting perfectly still as he returns the favor, perusing me up and down.
“I can read,” he says, his gaze holding mine. I can’t help but notice that his eyes are the green of forest leaves in the center, melting into golden brown around the edges. “And write.”
I blink at the unexpectedness of the comment. “What?”
“I know that’s what you were thinking,” he says, his voice low, his tone devoid of emotion. “I can help with the assignment.”
“I didn’t think you couldn’t,” I say primly, lying through my teeth. I drag the microscope toward me and pick up the first slide. “I expect you to pull your weight.”
I’m rewarded with another derisive snort while I adjust the knobs, bringing the slide into focus.
“And you can stop with that,” I snap. “I will not be snorted at every three seconds. Use your words if you have something to say.”
He raises one eyebrow as he regards me with cool composure. Then he leans in, just a little bit, causing the air to compress in my windpipe. I swallow it down like a brick. “And who’s gonna stop me, Princess?”
My eyes narrow. “Don’t call me that.”
“No? Isn’t that what you are? Royalty in this little world?”
I press my mouth together, annoyed by his words for some reason I can’t figure out.
“Shut up,” I say, my cheeks heating with embarrassment, knowing that was the weakest comeback ever.
Though Rook doesn’t snort, I can feel the laugh he’s holding in at my expense.
“We have work to do,” I say, trying to move past it, as I begin taking notes about the damaged cells in my viewfinder.
Over the next thirty minutes, we don’t say much to each other, only exchange terse requests to pass the next slide and pose questions about what we’re looking at.
I’m careful not to touch him as we exchange items back and forth. I wonder if he notices.
Only once does his hand brush mine. It’s the softest touch, but every hair on the back of my neck rises to attention. I quickly snatch the slide away, while he continues like he hasn’t noticed anything.
Rook understands the assignment with ease.
I don’t think Solitudes have schools, but someone taught him these things.
Throughout it all, I feel his assessment, weighted with unspoken words.
The side of my neck goes hot. It’s like he’s waiting for me to freak out or start screaming or react in some irrational way.
Our classmates remain focused on their work, though I can feel them sneaking looks at Rook and me. We’re a spectacle for so many reasons.
My foot bounces on the rung of my stool as I watch the clock’s minute hand counting down the hour. My knee is still sore, my ribs hurt, and the hard stool is starting to make my wound ache. My bandages are holding, but I should really get someone to look at my cut.
“You’ll be free of me soon,” Rook says in a low voice, catching the direction of my stare. “At least until our next class. I suppose you might have to be seen with me to finish our essay.”
I toss him a look that I hope conveys the plunging depths of my irritation when someone new enters the room. She walks over to converse with Dr. Sellers before their gazes fall on me. Oh great, what now?
“Miss Graves,” Dr. Sellers says. “Apparently, you have a . . . visitor.”
“Who?” I ask, already collecting my things, thrilled for a chance to escape.
“It seems . . . it’s your father.”
I stop moving, my stomach dropping to my feet. Every eye in the room lands on me as my neck flushes with heat.
My father.
There’s only one possible reason he’s here, and this is going to hurt.