GET THAT PUCK

Rules and Exceptions

I tap my pen against her notebook, right over the perfect heading she's written in neat, controlled letters. "Wow, Owl, your handwriting's a 10/10. You dot your i's with hearts too?"

Her notebook snaps shut so loudly half the row flinches.

"One more word, Raev—"

"Word," I shoot back instantly, fighting my smile like a losing battle.

Her elbow drives into my ribs with the force of someone who means it. I wheeze—actually wheeze—and a few people twist around to stare.

"Violence," I hiss, clutching my side like I'm dying. "Professor, I'd like to report a crime. My tutor is assaulting me. In class. Shameful, really."

She doesn't even dignify me with a glance. Just flips her notebook back open with surgical precision and resumes writing like I'm air. Except her ears—those pretty, pale shells—are turning red. That's the win. That's the crack in her armor I live for.

I lean back in my seat, smirking, watching her pretend like she doesn't care that our thighs are still touching. The cheerleaders across the aisle notice, whispering behind their perfectly manicured claws. Good. Let them. Let the entire social hierarchy lose its mind over the fact that Liora Holt is willingly sharing oxygen with me.

She's about to make some enemies.
She has no idea.
Even better.

Whitman claps his hands together like he just solved world hunger. "All right, everyone. Project topics will be emailed this week. Be sure to check your inbox. Class dismissed."

Chairs screech. Backpacks zip. And Liora—my delicate demon, my academic assassin—launches out of her seat like she's escaping a hostage situation. No goodbye. No glare. Just gone. I catch a flash of curls disappearing into the hallway crowd.

Cute.
Run, Owl. Run fast.
I always catch up.

I take my time packing, mostly because I like watching her vanish. When I finally drift into the hallway, Kane is already there, leaning against the wall like he's posing for a poster—hair a little messy, shoulders relaxed, phone slipping into his back pocket.

"So," I say, falling in beside him. "What do you think of Holt?"

Kane doesn't even blink. Which is bothersome. Kane blinks at everything—especially girls. But he plays it cool.

"She's smart," he says.

"Smart," I mutter. "That's it?"

He shrugs, unbothered. "Sharp. Funny. Doesn't take your shit. Which, honestly, Nobel Prize stuff right there."

There it is—the faint upward pull of his mouth. Interest. Not full-blown, but present. Kane isn't easy to read, he never has been. He keeps everything tucked behind that solid calm, waiting for the right moment to tip his hand.

"Fine," I say, even though nothing about this is fine. "PETA party tonight. You coming?"

He snorts. "You mean the business frat pretending to care about animals so they can hand out vodka in reusable cups?"

"Exactly," I say. "So—yes?"

Kane pushes off the wall, giving me a look that's equal parts amused and intrigued.
"Yeah," he says. "I'm in."

 Ace bulldozes down the hall like he's trying out for the NFL, Cameron trailing behind him, both of them loud enough to get us kicked out of a monastery.

"Truck's out front?" Ace grunts, already shoulder-checking me like I'm a door he forgot to open.

"Where else?" I jangle my keys and head out.