The Journal
Stein Rule’s legacy preceded him.
His father owned a grand hotel, was well-connected to the governor of Alexandria, enjoyed an ample amount of leisurely time while living in a home on Ritual Drive, the second-wealthiest street in the city. But no one was quite sure what, exactly, he did.
I expected to see the same sort of oozing arrogance in Stein that his father, Sanford, was rumored to have.
A widower with no shortage of female companionship, his trysts were sometimes fodder for the society pages but oftentimes, Alexandria journalists never dug as deep on Sanford Rule as they did on other minor celebrities and millionaires within the city.
It enraged my mother, herself a successful lawyer with no time for her only child and even less for feeling slighted in any way.
Sanford had once taken her on a date; she came home with her eyeliner smudged and hair a mess, but when she saw me waiting up for her in the hallway of the foyer, she screamed at me to get to bed.
It’s how she usually spoke to me, in screeches and belittlement. She had named me something else once, but I was happy to shed it in place of being closer to the boy I idolized.
By the time I met Stein, the date was years prior, and I didn’t begrudge him nor his father the incident.
I loved my mother fiercely—more than she seemed able to see—but even I, as her son, knew she deserved a little heartbreak.
A conniving, cheating, disgusting woman—I would later come to find when she cut me off for becoming Stein’s disciple—it was a good thing Sanford Rule only saw her fit to bed one night, or else he would’ve found many reasons to crush her beneath his privilege.
When Stein Rule walked into Tomb Island Prep, his blue eyes flicking around the pristine lecture hall as if in annoyance, I was prepared to never speak to him.
People like him, like Sanford, they were above me, with my miniscule connection to the prestige of Alexandria in the form of a parasitic lawyer for a mother, and lawyers were always on the outside, anyway.
No one liked them, they were only necessary.
People like Sanford Rule had real power, even if no one understood how.
But surprising me, Stein Rule’s dismissive eyes settled on me, at the furthest row back in the stadium-style seating, and he adjusted his messenger bag across his chest, briefly brushing against the crest of a shark’s darkened silhouette among a stormy background of the ocean—Tomb Island Prep’s logo—before he started to head toward me.
He looked like an athlete. A future politician.
A model for Burberry or Ralph Lauren. He looked like a man who would mock me, make my life a living hell, maybe use me to sleep with my mother—it had happened before—but what could I do?
The lecture hall wasn’t yet crowded. I always arrived early, if only to avoid my mother, but getting up and moving seats as Stein continued to stare at me while he ascended the stairs would only make me look weak, and I already knew I was that.
My mother reminded me often enough, belittling my aspirations to become a doctor by suggesting I should plan for a future catering to her, as she was the only one who would ever be able to tolerate me.
So I didn’t move, and instead my hand grew clammy around my pen, a notebook in front of me turned to a fresh, crisp sheet.
I dropped my gaze there, afraid to hold this staring contest with Stein Rule any longer, knowing as soon as he arrived in my aisle, he would do something vicious and cruel.
When he finally sat down beside me, the crisp, clean scent of his cologne filled my nose and I turned my head slightly, annoyance warming inside of me, taking the place of fear.
I knew the mockery would come and I had a sudden, strangled desire to slice his teeth from his mouth.
He set down his books rather heavily and the sound drew my eye, even when I wanted to avoid looking at anything of his.
I turned my head and read darkened, matte-black words along a deep gray, clothbound book.
The Scientist by Burbank Gates.
Then Stein Rule spoke his first words to me. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”