Chapter 23
23
Sonny
“ G rades on your research papers exploring Narcissistic personality disorder have been entered into the gradebook and can be viewed in your portals. The results were . . . underwhelming,” Dr. Whitlock announces at the end of our Wednesday class.
He goes on to explain next week’s assignment as the clicking of laptop keys fills the large hall with everyone rushing to check their grade, myself included. A few grunts of disappointment echo around us, and he pauses his explanation to glare at those who aren’t offering him their full attention.
When his threatening gaze zeros in on me, I slowly close my laptop and swallow past a thick lump in my throat, anticipating the worst. He’s been doing this more and more in each class. He narrows in on me and forces me to answer his questions, then picks them apart with a fine-tooth comb until I’ve been effectively proven wrong and humiliated in front of my peers.
I have no idea why he’s chosen me as his pin cushion.
“Do you have an issue with your grade, miss Ellery?”
Glancing around, I straighten myself in my chair. “I’m just slightly taken back by it. I’d prefer to talk about it in private, if that’s okay.”
“My office hours are limited this week, but if you have an issue with your score, I’ll be sending an email this evening with the altered schedule. Save your dramatics until then. And perhaps if you bothered paying attention to the assignments as they were given, you wouldn’t have such low scores,” he chastises, slamming his laptop closed and tucking it under his arm.
The large screen before us goes black, cutting off all the information he was just reviewing. All of us watch with slack jaws as he marches up the center aisle and toward the door in a silent tantrum, effectively ending class.
Hayes clears his throat and shuffles over to the podium. “We’ll have the details of your next paper posted in the portal tonight,” he announces, raising his voice above the clatter of students packing up their notebooks and laptops.
I’ve just zipped my backpack when Hayes appears beside me, that signature smirk plastered on his face. I’m beginning to think he’s perfected it for the simple purpose of showcasing that dimple.
“Where are you headed next?” he asks, his voice chipper.
“I’m meeting a couple of friends in the quad. I’ve got an hour before my next class.”
“I have some time to kill before mine, too. Care if I walk with you?”
I agree, mostly because it would be awkward to say no, and then end up going in the same direction anyway. Hayes seems nice enough. He keeps the conversation surface level, asking about my day and how I’m settling into the school. I don't get a chance to ask him the same before we walk up to a waiting Beatrix. She smiles and fawns over him, shouting about how much she’s missed him this summer. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that they know each other, given how small the classes are. There’s a man I haven’t met before standing beside her.
“I’m Jonah, by the way,” the guy finally says, with a pointed sneer directed toward Beatrix when it’s clear she won’t be introducing him.
“Oh yeah, that’s my little brother. He doesn’t want to go away, so we’re stuck with him,” she says dismissively.
Jonah’s thick brows pull together in a scowl, his nose scrunching in a way reminiscent of Beatrix.
Come to think of it, their faces are nearly identical. Her features just seem to have a feminine delicacy that he lacks. He’s a good eight inches taller than her, with a muscular stature that suggests he was involved in sports or something active. Alternatively, Beatrix looks like a strong wind could pick her up and take her away. That, and her hair is blue.
“I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” she says to me and Hayes, her eyes darting between us suspiciously, as if she’s trying to gauge our supposed relationship.
“He’s the TA in my psych class. The one with Dr. Whitlock,” I explain in a tone that tells her not to get any ideas and make it weird.
“No way,” Beatrix’s mouth pops open, a large, teasing smile spreading across her lips as she asks Hayes, “Who did you piss off to get that position?”
“It’s not that bad,” Hayes goes to say, but I quickly cut him off.
“He ended class early today in a tantrum,” I remind him, tilting my head.
It’s absolutely that bad.
“I told you, he’s childishly temperamental,” Beatrix shouts, stabbing her finger in the air at me. “He would do that all the time when I had him in my intro psych class.”
Hayes shushes her, glancing at the people seated around us. “He’s still my boss, Bea.”
She rolls her lips inward, casting a sheepish smile in my direction.
“He does have a bit of a temper,” I agree carefully, turning toward Hayes. “I have no idea how you work for him.”
Just the thought of his lack of consideration makes my cheeks burn. I’ve never encountered someone so blatantly rude.
It seems to have been a blessing to not get into his open assistant position.
“Yeah, he definitely does. But being his assistant looks amazing on my resume. He’s got connections all over the country, and people respect him. A year or two of dealing with him is worth what it’ll get me in the future.”
Jonah raises his brows and nods, as if to say that’s fair.
“Which makes absolutely no sense to me,” Beatrix mumbles, quieter this time.
“He’s not too bad when he’s in a good mood.” Hayes shrugs. His gaze catches back on mine and he smirks.
“I’ll be glad to be out of that class,” I scoff.
Hayes pushes his bottom lip out in a dramatic pout. “Boo. Then you’ll be rid of me.”
Ava saves me from the incredibly awkward and flirty comment by running up to us, her backpack halfway open and hanging off one shoulder.
“Sorry, sorry. I got caught up in Anchoring and Shielding. Kaylee Chronvale had me locked up for thirty-three minutes after I failed to block her. She’s too powerful for her own good.”
“Locked up?” I ask, forgetting all about Hayes.
Ava nods. “It’s a course about manipulating time. If you can’t shield, you can be paused.” She shakes her head, waving it off dismissively. “It’s a whole thing I’d have to explain. Basically, I was frozen. Now, I’ll be thrown off all day after losing those minutes.”
Rolling her eyes, she zips up her backpack and wraps it around both shoulders. Beatrix and Hayes change the subject, as if it’s normal to hear their friend just spent a significant amount of time . . . stuck?
I’ll never get used to this place.
There’s only a few more minutes of mindless chatter before we have to split up again into different directions. Hayes offers a very awkward goodbye, which Beatrix makes sure to make a huge deal of before running off to her next class. I make a mental note to freeze her ass in time if I ever get a chance to learn how.
“ T his grade will knock my GPA down half a point,” I complain to Dr. Whitlock the following evening.
I knew the moment he posted his new hours, I had to at least try to defend myself. I’ve never received anything lower than a B on an assignment. A score below 70 percent is absolute bullshit, and it enraged me enough to push past my fear and tell him how ridiculous I thought it was.
He leans back into his chair, hands wrapping around the armrests in a white-knuckle grip—the only indication that he’s affected by my presence. Even if it is annoyance that drives him.
“You’ve already been in my office twice this semester, Miss Ellery. That’s two times more than the majority of my students, who realize that my office hours are posted as a requirement on my end, not because I enjoy spending extra time talking to you. I’m not sure what it is you think is so special about yourself that you’re more deserving of my time than any of your peers,” he says with a sneer.
“No, I don’t think that. I just?—”
“You were given the grade you earned on the essay. If you care so deeply about your academic standing here at Ravenshurst University, you should have put more effort into the assignment.”
Bastard.
Huffing out an incredulous laugh, I shake my head. “I spent hours on it, and?—”
“I knew your mother,” he cuts in matter-of-factly.
“You . . . you knew her personally?” I ask breathlessly, my mind racing with questions. Desperate for any crumb of information that no one has ever been willing to give me. If he knew my mother when she was here, he may know the true reason she had to leave.
“Not in my time as a student here. But I was a resident of Nocturne Valley when she graduated.”
My heart drops into my stomach. Right. My mother, Divina —because I’m supposed to be Poppy. “Oh.”
The disappointment is a silly little blip in my armor that earns far too much attention from him.
“You cannot tell me that you were raised by a woman like her and have nothing of value to add to the discussion of Narcissistic personality disorder. Nothing of personal substance to add to your paper.”
“Are you suggesting my mother has Narcissistic personality disorder?” I ask in mock offense, placing my hand over my heart.
Divina is most certainly a narcissist. In fact, she may be even worse. But for him to make that statement so boldly feels inappropriate. I’m so thoroughly embarrassed by this interaction and how drastically different it is than what I imagined when I first came here, I’ll do anything to turn the tables back on him.
“I would never do such a thing,” he retorts in his insufferable, cocky tone. But just by saying that, he’s proven that he knows her as well as I do.
My spine straightens, shoulders rolling backward as I allow the delusional confidence to flow through me. What’s the worst he could do? He’s already given me a horrible grade.
“Then I’m not sure what you’re insinuating. I used the textbook and several sources from the library—all of which have been properly cited. Why should my score be docked for not inserting my opinion on the matter?”
“Your score was docked, Miss Ellery. ” He practically hisses my name. “Because your essay was a dry regurgitation of all the clinical text that you used as sources. I expected more from you.”
When I open my mouth to respond, he holds his finger up, silencing me.
“And before your ego inflates any larger, you should know that 67 percent of the class received lower grades than even you on the assignment.”
Damn.
There’s a long, weighted silence as I consider what my options are. I could try to argue with him more, but I doubt it will get me anywhere. He’s already under the impression that I believe I’m better than the rest of my classmates. Insisting he change the grade would only prove him right. So, all I’m left with is tucking my tail between my legs and scurrying out the door before I embarrass myself any further.
“You can rewrite the essay and give it to me in my office hours in one week,” he offers, breaking me free from my derailed train of thought.
“Why would you do that?” I stupidly ask.
“As I said before, I expected more from you. I think you’ve got a promising future ahead in the world of psychology, and I’d like to see what happens when you take your head out of everyone else’s asses and follow your own instinct for once. You have a unique perspective on this particular topic. Use it. ”
I rear back at that, earning a smirk from him that somehow makes his eyes twinkle playfully in the dimming light.
I’ve got whiplash from guessing which version of him I’m going to be met with from one day to the next.
“Fine,” I agree, hugging my bag to my chest as I slip out of my seat, hellbent on leaving before he changes his mind.
“The highest score will be recorded,” he warns in a low, purring tone—a beast playing with his food. “Be sure to take this second chance seriously.”
“Will do,” I breathe out, slipping through the doorway to head back into the brightly lit common area.
I don’t know what it is that tells me to stop—some basal instinct or gut feeling—but at the last second, I briefly pause before breaking free of his office. And in one fleeting glance back toward his desk, I see the playful, flirty expression clear across his face; the grumpy mask fully removed. He raises a brow at me in challenge, fingers now digging into his collar, loosening his tie away from his neck.
It’s a taunt. And I know what he’s thinking without saying a word.
Wasn’t that fun?
Will I acknowledge it this time, or run off like I always do?
Unsure what to do, I choose the latter, dropping my eyes back to the floor as I step out of his sight.