At least, I thought college was going to be bigger and better. If I learn nothing new in the next two years, I should ask for a refund.
That made her smirk, and her fingers flew across her silent keyboard while the rest of the students were still pulling up the program and laying their foundations. Cheyenne could have paid for her entire graduate education ten times over without batting an eye; the money her grandparents had left her made sure of that. That would’ve been nice to have as a freshman, sure, but she’d gotten a full ride to Virginia Commonwealth University on academic scholarships, none of them manufactured on her end, so it wouldn’t have made a difference.
And the way Mom talks about them, her parents were people who didn’t think anyone could be responsible for anything until they were twenty-one.
She worked on the assignment until she felt like tearing her hair out in boredom. Then, she remembered a trick she’d learned with closed proxies and threw it in for fun. If Bergmann couldn’t open it, all the better.
Cheyenne logged onto the school’s slow wi-fi and attached her new code-baby to an email from her personal address. The university’s email provider drove her nuts; despite having to work around sending files that were way too big for undergrad assignments, all her previous instructors had insisted on everything being sent that way. Bergmann, however, had provided her new students this semester with an alternate email address unencumbered by a crappy server.
Once she hit send, she reclined in her chair and closed her eyes. I need to sleep.
Five seconds later, a little ding came from Bergmann’s computer. She watched the professor lean forward with a frown of curiosity, click a few times, then her eyes widened. She glanced over the top of her laptop at Cheyenne.
The half-drow glanced away and cleared her throat. She shut her computer and stood, turning toward the door.
“Do you have somewhere to be, Miss…”
“Cheyenne.” If she saw my name on a roster, she knows what it is.
Bergmann smirked. “Miss Cheyenne.”
“Just the bathroom.” Cheyenne jerked her thumb toward the closed door. “Unless we’re supposed to be locked up until ten.”
The professor’s eyes narrowed, and her laughter cut off. “Interesting choice of words for someone who opted to keep coming to school.”
Some other students raised their heads from staring at the monitors and looked at Bergmann, then at Cheyenne. Most of them kept working, but Messy Bun wasn’t one of them.
Cheyenne shrugged, although it took more effort to keep from getting pissed off. “I didn’t think I had to raise my hand and ask permission.”
“You don’t.” Bergmann leaned back in her chair. “I just want to make sure you have enough time to do the work before you head off to someone else’s class.”
Seriously? She just got my email.
“Yeah, I’m good.” Cheyenne went toward the door, fighting not to jerk the handle off. That ribbon of tingling warmth was building at the base of her spine, and it distracted her enough she couldn’t figure out why the door wouldn’t open. “This door get jammed a lot?”
“Only when someone’s trying to pull it open.”
Cheyenne whipped her head over her shoulder to shoot the professor a confused look. “What?”
“It’s a push-out door,” Bergmann said. When her gaze darted toward the hair that was supposed to be covering Cheyenne’s ears, the half-drow’s stomach lurched. It made the heat crawling up her back stronger.
Cheyenne twisted the knob and pushed. The door shot out and banged against the wall. She didn’t bother to catch it or close it again as she stormed toward the closest restroom. She didn’t stop until she stood in front of the sink, then she splashed three rounds of cold water on her face.
That was the other thing she hadn’t had time for this morning. Even with the piercings and the braid of her black hair tied tightly around her head, the chains and the black clothes, Cheyenne hadn’t quite recognized herself with the makeup washed off in the shower last night. Even if she’d put any on this morning, she wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to think twice about washing it off in the bathroom sink with water that sputtered and burst from the faucet.
Sighing through the cold wetness dripping off her face, she opened her eyes and stared at her reflection. “Shit.”
They weren’t there, but she’d expected them—the twin points of her half-drow ears poking up from the binding of her hair. She didn’t miss the hint of gold light flashing behind her eyes, either. Her skin hadn’t done much more than go a little darker at her fingertips and around her nails, but even that was enough for people to start asking questions. “No, it’s not a phase,” she whispered, imagining Peter’s stupid smirk as she glared at the mirror. “This is my fucking life.”
Clenching her teeth, she slapped another handful of water on her face, slammed the faucet back down with a dull thud, and almost left the bathroom before remembering she did have to go.
By the time she finished and washed her hands, every trace of her drow heritage had disappeared beneath the mask of a world-weary grad student who still hadn’t outgrown herGothphase. “They shoulda seen me in high school. But nobody saw me, did they?”
“What did you do to your face?”
“You’re such a pretty girl. You don’t need all that makeup.”
“I’m sure your mother didn’t raise you to mutilate yourself like that.”
Just a bunch of judgmental crap from the few people who’d she’d been forced to meet in her life. Bianca had kept her isolated in their giant lodge off 653 in Henry County, surrounded by more trees and deer and occasionally black bears than people. That didn’t mean Cheyenne hadn’t gotten out as a kid, just not as much. “And four years in college still hasn’t wiped all the weird out of me. Good.”
With
