The Endless Road to Sunshine - Nicky James Page 0,29

at your feet every day.”

He wasn’t as amused as I’d hoped. Dr. Palmer crossed his arms over his chest, his shirt sleeves pulling tight around his biceps as he scowled. “Is that so?”

“It is. They say pharaohs had absolute power over their subjects. They could enforce any laws they saw fit. Change any rules to suit them, including dumb rules like teachers not being allowed to fraternize with students.” I winked and kept going when he opened his mouth to speak. “Also, they had servants and slaves to cater to them. The slaves would do their bidding, making sure the pharaoh was happy and… thoroughly satisfied.”

Dr. Palmer cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. “I see. Let me guess. In this imaginary hierarchy you’ve created, you’d be my slave.” He didn’t smile, but there was a definite crack in his veneer, a hint of humor in his tone.

I gasped dramatically and clutched my chest. “Dr. Palmer. I had no idea. How naughty of you to suggest such things. But, hey, you said it. I didn’t. Your slave I shall be.”

“Mr. Dawson, why are you here?”

“Are you going to keep attending that psychology class?”

He turned and unlocked his office door as he answered. “No.”

“You said that last time, and then you showed up. So how am I supposed to believe you?” I followed him inside as he flicked on the desk lamp instead of opening the blinds and letting in the sun.

It was stuffy and gloomy like last time. There were still no signs of life. His office was like a graveyard. A tomb. Lifeless. Drab.

Dr. Palmer collapsed on his leather desk chair and rooted inside a drawer, tugging out a bottle of ibuprofen.

“Headache again? You seem to have those a lot. Do you want one of my pills? Did they work last time? My mother swears by them.”

I was lowering my backpack to find them when he waved for me to stop.

“These are fine. Thank you.”

“You looked tired in class this morning. Maverick called you a party animal and said you’d probably been up all night with… Well, we won’t go there because it was crude and hurtful. Hurtful to me because of reasons. I put him in his place. So, are you gay?”

That caught him off guard. He fumbled the bottle of pills, and it clattered to his desk. He scrambled to pick it up, and his brows knit as he glanced up once before diverting his attention elsewhere.

“Mr. Dawson, that isn’t—”

“Never mind.” I laughed, sharp and explosive. “What was I thinking? Ignore that. Wow. Who says shit like that, right? My mouth gets away from me sometimes. Anyhow, back to our discussion about psychology.”

“We weren’t—”

“I was just curious.” If I talked fast enough and for long enough, hopefully he would forget I’d just asked something wholly inappropriate. “If you are going to keep attending that class, even if it’s strictly for interest’s sake because I know you aren’t a student, I thought maybe you’d like to putter around together on this case study we have to do. Dr. Vescovi finally assigned subjects. I think she was uber focused on sticking with Canadian criminals, which kinda sucks, but what do you do, right? Anyhow—”

“Mr. Dawson, again, I’m not intere—”

“I got Morgan Atkinson. The Kingston Strangler. Have you heard of him? He wouldn’t have been my first choice if I’m being honest. How am I supposed to study a guy who was literally just sentenced? No one has even written a book about him yet. I have nothing but news articles and maybe whatever I can find in magazines to go on. Doesn’t that seem…”

I frowned.

Dr. Palmer had gone still. His color had drained to nearly white, and he looked like he was about ten seconds from losing his stomach.

“Jaxon? Dr. Palmer? Are you okay?”

“You need to leave.”

“But I was just—”

“Now!” He slapped a hand on his desk, emphasizing his point.

I jumped at the harshness of his tone. The fury behind his eyes cut off all my other arguments, and I backed up a step, holding up my hands.

“Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll just…”

I was halfway to the door when his words stopped me. I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. I remained rooted in place and listened.

“Look, kid.” His voice was softer but sounded no less tired. “I don’t know how else to say this so you’ll listen. I’m your teacher. I’m not your buddy. I’m not your friend. I’m almost twenty years older than you. Whatever you’re thinking this could