I watch her features soften a fraction, a look of guilt flashing across her face. “It’s not that,” she mutters so low I almost don’t hear her.
Damn, now I kind of feel like a jackass for making her feel bad. I only meant it as a joke.
Before I can ask her what it is like, my phone rings in my pocket, and I quickly grab for it, silencing the ringer. I glance at the screen, mentally groaning. This is the third time I’ve gotten this call in the past week, so I know something must be up. I just don’t have the time or the mental capacity to deal with it right now.
Stuffing my phone back into my pocket, I look up at Olivia. “Like I said, Finch, you drive a hard bargain, but I’ll have you know I thrive under pressure. And with the stakes this high”—I let out a low whistle—“I may even get a hundred.”
That puts a tiny smile on her face.
“I’m going to have to work my ass off in order to get that grade,” I admit. “So I guess I’ll have to spend even more time with my tutor,” I say, giving her a hopeful, lopsided grin.
She bites back a smile, sitting up straight in her chair and flipping a page of her textbook. “I think she can squeeze you into her schedule.”
Seventeen
Explode
My phone at the edge of the table lights up with an incoming call. I quickly glance down at the screen to see a number I’ve been dodging for some time now. Instinctively, I hit the Decline button and flip my phone over, face down on the table.
I look up and just so happen to catch Rat Boy’s beady little gaze on my phone from across the table. Nosey motherfucker.
Snatching my phone, I stuff it into my pocket, flashing Rat Boy awhat the fuckglare. His gaze quickly snaps back to the dead relative in front of him.
I turn my attention back to Olivia, getting a large whiff of formaldehyde from the actual lab rat sitting between us as I do so. The little rodent is cut wide open, its internal organs on full display. With gloved hands Olivia pokes and prods around inside the little guy, glancing back at our lab manual for reference every now and then as she rambles off the different parts we’re going to be quizzed on next week.
“I think this is the adrenal gland,” she mutters uncertainly under her breath. Squinting and angling her head to get a better look, she points with her pinkie at some bland-colored tissue inside the rat.
I scoot closer, tilting my head to hover over the rat, my cheek inches away from hers.
“Hmm, I don’t know,” I say, my gaze swinging back and forth from the live—not so live—rodent in front of us and the one in our lab manual for reference. “I think this might be it.” I point just above where she’s pointing.
Her lips twist to the side in contemplation. “No, I really think this is it,” she says, still pointing to the same spot with her pinkie.
Hell if I know. Everything is so tiny and pretty much the same bland color, it’s hard to tell what’s what. But I’m fairly certain I’m right, though.
“I don’t know, I think I’m right. Maybe your genius has finally rubbed off on me and now you need me as your tutor,” I tease.
Olivia grins. “You wish,” she says, and we fall into a playful banter of who’s right.
“Olivia’s right,” Rat Boy cuts in from across the table matter-of-factly.
How the hell does he know that? There’s no way he can see what she’s pointing to from that far away. Hell, I’m sitting right next to her and even I have to squint to see. So either this rodent-faced asshole has superhuman, laser-sharp vision or he’s just trying to spite me. And I know it’s the latter.
I flash him a glare, clenching my jaw to prevent myself from chewing him out. “Focus on your own rat,” I instruct him curtly.
His dark beady eyes narrow, glaring back at me.
“What are you guys looking for?” Delilah asks, peering at us over the rim of her glasses from the other side of the table, where she hovers over her own dead rat.
“The adrenal glands.” Olivia sighs, sulking back in her chair, mildly defeated and slightly irritated.
“Let me take a look.” Delilah stands up and walks over to our side of the table, wedging herself between the two of us. She leans in over our shoulders, observing. “Hmm, it’s hard to tell,” she says, pulling away and using her wrist to push up her glasses.
Looking over her shoulder, Dee flags down Tracy, who skips over to our table.
“What’s up, friends?” the bubbly TA asks, more than ready to help.
“We’re trying to find the adrenal glands,” Olivia informs her.
