if I was ever sexually attracted to my best friend before this, but I am one hundred percent sexually attracted to him now. So, in this case, yes. It’s the universe trying to get us all to make babies and preserve our race. It’s natural.”
“You know what would be helpful?” I gripe. “A class on how to be rejected.”
“Maybe some self-love tips,” Mia offers.
“Advice on how not to claw their throats out,” Nathan adds simply.
“A whole section on separating your own thoughts and feelings from that of nature,” Nadia muses.
Mia leans forward, patting her arm. “You’re my hero for that one.”
Nadia grins.
This talk allows me to forget about the stipulation placed on me yesterday. I haven’t told them about it yet, and I don’t know if I will. Strike that. I don’t know if I can. I don’t want to go into another downward spiral where the only thing that can keep me from losing it is Jonah’s mouth...and other important pieces of anatomy.
After breakfast, Mia hangs back as we head to our separate classes. She waits until we’re alone. “Just give it a try,” she says, lifting her brows. “It’s not bad. It’s normal. No one will love you like yourself.”
She winks before taking off, and I end up going to etiquette class with warm cheeks, which burn hotter when I discover I’m the only person there. As if this couldn’t be any more degrading. Luckily, the instructor is nice enough. She’s an elderly shifter with curly, silver hair. Her coloring probably makes for the most striking wolf.
“Miss Walker,” she calls out happily. She’s wearing a floral print dress that hits past her knees. Her gaudy blue stone and gold earrings remind me of the vague memories I have of my own grandmother.
I peer around the smallest room I’ve seen at the academy. A wall full of windows adorns one side. Antique side tables sit against the side walls, and a chandelier dripping shiny crystal flourishes centers the room over an oval, dark wood table. My instructor fits so well with the space that it makes me feel that much more out of place. I grimace. “Am I the only one in the class?”
“Yes, dear. It only means you’re special enough to warrant all of my attention. I’m so happy to meet you. I’m Mrs. Graves.”
Well, how could I not respond to that warm of a welcome? No matter if it was just nice words meant to make me feel less shitty about myself.
“In this class, I’ll show you how to act in certain special social occasions such as fancy dinners or parties, but I’ll also take you through more customary niceties such as greeting someone or small talk. There are so many things at play that can put others at ease, and I’m happy to share my knowledge with you. First,” she says, looking me over. She circles me and pouts. “Drop the hem of your skirt. I can tell from here that it’s rolled up. I took pains to determine the appropriate length of the female uniform, and I will have it worn correctly.”
I quickly do as she demands, thankful I didn’t have it rolled that extra time that Mia said I should. As she circles me again, she places her fist in the middle of my back. “Chest out, shoulders tight. Posture is key. How you carry yourself says a lot about you. It’s important not only in the human world but in the shifter world as well. Having terrible posture automatically makes you appear weaker. Just look at the human teenagers on television nowadays,” she ends in disgust.
I press my lips together to keep from smiling. When she rounds to stand in front of me again, she says, “You’re very pretty, dear. Your makeup is perfect. Kudos on that one. I’m not a fan of dramatic looks that seem to be all the rage today. Yours is classic, tastefully done. The only thing I would suggest is a red lip. It asserts power and dominance. Plus, it’s also chic and trendy. Your figure is perfect, just watch the hunching of the shoulders.” She tsks about cell phones causing all of us to have rounded backs, and I do my best to take her advice even though I’m not sure if there’s any scientific evidence to support her claims. We break our bones every time we shift, so I can’t imagine that cell phones would do us any lasting damage. Humans? Yeah, they’re probably fucked.
“Talk to