be Jessica—was attacked from behind and doesn’t know who hit her, but I find the whole thing fishy.
My mind keeps circling back to all the self-defense we’re being taught.
The fighting.
The sparring.
It’s like the academy admins expect us to be under attack—or on the attack—non-stop for the rest of our lives.
Like they know something we don’t.
And I can’t help but wonder—what else is going on at this school?
Chapter 13
People tend to have short attention spans, especially when they’re juggling massive amounts of schoolwork and learning how to use dangerous, barely-controlled magic. So by a week and a half after the attack on Jessica, things are mostly back to normal. She’s on the mend and back in classes, and I make it a point to wave when I see her in the hall.
See? I’m trying.
Life is a lot more peaceful now that I’m not living with the Bitch Squad, and despite my late start, I’ve caught up in most of my classes and am doing pretty well in all of them.
Except one.
The one with the professor I still can’t look at without feeling a tingle between my legs.
Magical fucking Control.
You’d think Roman would do a better job of ignoring my presence, seeing as he’s older than I am and therefore, theoretically, more mature. But it doesn’t seem to be possible for him. Instead of ignoring me, he’s riding my ass into the ground, demanding way more from me than from any of the other students and generally going out of his way to make my life miserable.
Magical Control class is where we learn how to actually manage our magic so it doesn’t spike willy-nilly based on our emotions or anxiety. We meditate at the beginning and end of every class, for example, and do mental exercises to work on our focus and control. Maddy told me they have a similar thing at her school. Her goal is to be able to write cursive using water by the end of the semester—that’s how much control she should have.
As you can imagine, this isn’t the easiest class for me.
And Roman isn’t making it any easier.
The shittiest part is, I’m not the worst student in the class. If I were, I’d understand Roman being so damn hard on me. But I work damn hard, practicing my ass off to overcome my limitations. And I’m not the person who’s losing control and causing explosions during meditation, so what the hell gives?
Maybe I’m just imagining things. Maybe it’s the stress of Jessica’s attack and my growing suspicion that there’s another layer to this school. I don’t know quite what it is, but I just can’t shake this feeling that there’s a puzzle piece I’m missing; it’s making me paranoid, to say the least. So maybe that’s what sets me on edge in class.
Or it could just be that I’m sick and tired of Roman complimenting everyone except for me. Sick of him finding fault with everything I do.
Sometimes he’ll walk through the classroom and put his hands on us to help guide us through the exercises. Every single time he does that, I feel a jolt of electricity shoot through me. My body remembers every single place he’s touched me like it’s seared into my skin, and it can’t seem to distinguish between the touches in the alley and the ones in class. Every time he puts his hands on me, I burn for him. And the few times we’ve locked eyes, I could barely even breathe.
Is he being such an asshole because he still wants me? Is he punishing me for that? Is he mad that I didn’t give him my name? Or does he think I’d already been accepted to this school and knew who he was when we met? That I fucked my future professor on purpose?
You know what, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter why, what matters is that he cuts it the fuck out.
Two weeks after Jessica’s attack, I decide I can’t take it anymore. I linger after class, taking my time putting my books and things into my bag.
Roman’s standing in front of his desk, flipping through a couple of late papers students dropped off on their way out, but he looks up once the classroom empties out and I start to walk over.
“Miss Sinclair.”
“Professor.” I fold my arms. “Any particular reason you’ve got a bug up your ass about me?”
Roman leans back against his desk, bracing his hands on it. “I have no problem with you.”