Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Another point for Lauren.
“We lease the land from the Quatsino Nation,” Nick says. “But yes, you’re right, Lauren. We reside on their traditional territory.”
“I want to know why it’s dangerous without an official chaperone,” a dude at the table in front of me says, his voice growing deeper as he talks, as if he’s trying to be intimidating, while he leans back casually in his chair. “You just said we’ll be spending a lot of time out in the bush, foraging and camping.”
“Do you have experience with bears? Wolves? The Roosevelt elk that become so territorial they’ll spear your guts out?” Nick asks, the first time I’ve ever seen him look remotely stern.
Lauren’s been writing on a piece of paper and passes it to me: That’s Clayton. He’s a dick. That’s all you need to know.
“Sure do,” Clayton says, leaning back even further in his chair. “I’m from Montana. I probably killed a dozen bears before you were even born.”
I exchange a dry look with Lauren. Dick is right.
Nick frowns. He’s at least ten years older than Clayton. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“What about drinking?” Clayton goes on. “I didn’t see a bar in the mess hall.”
Nick sighs. “Once a week, we go by boat to Port Alice for extra provisions. You give us the money, we’ll pick up whatever you want. Cigarettes, alcohol, Archie Comics, you name it.”
I exhale internally. At least alcohol won’t be so easy to come by here.
And at that, class is dismissed. Nick tells us that dinner is at six every day, which is in an hour, and that there will be a few speeches at dinner, so we shouldn’t miss out. I wouldn’t anyway; my stomach is already growling. I’d only grabbed a bite to eat before my flight. Feels like a lifetime ago.
Everyone gets up and starts chatting with each other, albeit a little awkwardly, which I guess is normal when you have a bunch of science students in forced cohabitation.
But that Clayton dick comes straight for me.
“So you’re Sydney,” he says. He reminds me of my jock boyfriend I had in high school, who also had curly brown hair and a permanently smug smile (and was also an asshole), though he wouldn’t have been caught dead studying anything remotely scientific (or really anything at all…why did I go out with him again?).
“That I am,” I say, conscious of how the rest of the students are watching us, as if they expect a fight to break out.
“You think you’re special, huh?” he says.
“Clayton,” a short Asian guy warns as he puts his hand on his shoulder. “Don’t.”
I shake my head, so confused. “I never said I was special.”
Clayton squints at me. “Nah. You’re right. I can see you’re not.”
Then he turns and walks away, the Asian guy following him as they exit the building.
“He is not a fungi,” Munawar says, using air quotes around “fun-guy.”
I glance at Lauren. “What was that about?”
She rolls her eyes. “Who cares? Don’t pay him any attention.”
Guess we found the bad apple, I think. I wonder if Everly knew about Clayton ahead of time. I’d hoped they only accepted students who aren’t bad news.
Then again, I’m here.
Now that the altercation is over, the rest of us leave the building. The drama has made me feel like I’ve been sucked back into high school, which is annoying because we’re all probably in our twenties. I guess that’s bound to happen when you’re stuck with your cohorts in forced proximity. I just hope it gets better over time, not worse.
Just as I was the last to arrive, I’m the last to leave the learning center. I follow behind Lauren as she exits, lagging a little to peer at a painting of a red-and-white Amanita on the wall, wondering if it’s, in fact, their Amanita excandesco.
The door almost closes on me, but I push it open with my forearm before it does, stepping outside just as someone on the other side tries to pull the door open.
I run right into my future psychologist.
CHAPTER 5
“I’m sorry,” I cry out as I collide with Dr. Kincaid’s chest. The man is built like a stone wall, but even so, he takes several steps backward, his striking eyes widening for a second.
“My apologies,” he says, his voice sending a shiver up my spine. I’ve always been a voice gal. If a man has a low, gravelly voice, a little rough, a little rich, it makes me weak in the knees. If the man also happens to possess muscled forearms and strong hands, then that’s Sydney’s sex trifecta.
My gaze drops to his hands, which are clenching and unclenching into fists in a way that reminds me of the infamous Mr. Darcy shot from Pride and Prejudice. Those fit the bill, though I can’t tell what his forearms look like under his black coat. It’s thick and wool, more suited for winter than a mild evening. Two out of three ain’t bad, though judging by the breadth of his shoulders, I’d wager his forearms would earn him the trifecta anyway.