search for that knowing gaze in the crowd, the one who knew the sin that had been festering in my mind for the last five months.
Murder.
Specifically, how to get away with it. I wished Harvard had taken a page from Shonda Rhimes and offered that course instead of the humdrum philosophies of frail men long dead. Reading one of the questions on my final Ethics exam for the third time, I inhaled deeply when the fluttering in my stomach continued as it had for the past hour.
Not now. Please stop. Please, please, please stop.
Glancing at the clock above the professor’s desk, my heart quickened as a bead of sweat rolled down my temple. Filling in A, whether it was the right answer or not, I moved on.
“Hey, are you okay?” The bespectacled guy seated next to me leaned over and whispered again. “Are you…should I call someone?”
“I’m fine.” I kept my eyes on my test even though I knew it was rude. He was just trying to be nice, but the last thing—the very last thing—I needed was to be caught by the proctors and accused of cheating. Not when I was already failing.
Okay, technically, a C minus wasn’t failing, but it might as well be when you’re used to getting perfect grades.
Shrugging, the guy went back to his test while I gripped my pencil. Feeling it crack under pressure, I wondered if I’d really been broken this easily, too.
Harvard had promised to be challenging enough. Toss in a broken heart, however, and it was more than hard. It was fucking brutal. And my GPA…if I didn’t score at least a ninety on all of my exams, I was toast. My scholarship would be pulled, and I’d have no way to pay for school.
Among other things.
Tossing my broken pencil aside, I picked up my spare. I then spent the next hour tapping my foot and probably irritating my classmates, thanks to my bladder threatening to burst. I’d been sure to go before the test started, but it hadn’t been enough. I almost whimpered. I still had twenty questions I couldn’t remember the answers to and an hour left.
I wasn’t sure if my sudden need to cry was just hormones or the fact that medical school was slipping further and further from my grasp. Gritting my teeth, I told myself to get a grip. I wasn’t letting that asshole destroy me a second time.
As soon as I filled in the last question, I shot to my feet, ignoring the startled gazes as I rushed up the short aisle toward the front of the room and handed over my Scantron sheet. Thankfully, the nearest bathroom was only a few feet away. Bursting inside, I barely made it inside one of the stalls and thanked my lucky stars for wearing sweats today. Not that any of my jeans were an option anymore. Once my bladder was relieved, I made my way out of Emerson Hall and descended the steps.
Pausing on the sidewalk, a cold wind blew, making me shiver as I casually let my gaze pass over the area. I was half expecting to see a silver BMW parked somewhere on the street. The make and color seemed to be a popular style in the Boston/Cambridge area. I always seemed to spot one wherever I went. One time, I’d gotten paranoid enough to call campus security because I started seeing one with the same license plate over and over. I felt a little stupid when they calmly pointed out how the car might have belonged to another student. Oddly enough, I hadn’t seen it again, and all of the silver beamers I’d spotted since all had different plates.
Sighing, I begin the trek to Ivy Yard while wishing I had my own car. I’d left my Honda back home since the public transportation was ten times more convenient. Five measly minutes, and I was out of breath by the time I pushed through the doors of Apley Court. Becoming taxed easily was my new reality. At least for a little while longer. The judgmental stares and pitying glances I received weren’t new, either, but I doubt those would ever change.
Fuck them.
The dorm I’d been assigned to used to be home to some famous poet who, rumor had it, hid his work in the walls. Jamie and Bee had paid me a surprise visit for Halloween, and Bee spent the entire time staring at the walls when I told her. Jamie spent it gazing at