Into the Light (University of Isles #2)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

“You need to come up with an elective, and fast,” my adviser, an older woman with wiry gray hair and a bright floral top said as she shifted in her chair on the other side of the desk.

“Why?” I moaned, running my hands through my hair. On the first day of school the last thing I wanted to do was sit in here. I glanced around at the overly obnoxious colorful paintings of the beach and ocean which seemed ironic since we were in the forest. Truly, the happiness in this tiny room made me repulsed, but the frantic email this morning from Ms. Burns telling me I needed to be here STAT forced me up at the crack of dawn.

“You failed your classes and are only starting to catch up. You somehow failed your elective, so before you can register for any upper-class writing sections, you need to figure out an elective.” She handed me a piece of paper, sliding it slowly like it contained the answer to all my problems.

“What is this?” I looked down at the paper, and everything seemed like gibberish.

“These are all the electives that are currently available. Since the semester started today, most things are taken, but there are some spots available.” I looked more carefully at the paper.

“Introduction to Farming?” I narrowed my eyes at her and laughed. “This must be a joke.”

“It most certainly isn’t. I guess I am the only one thinking about your future here.” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. I wondered how long it took for her to find a pair of earrings with matching bright-pink and neon swirls like her dress.

“Ms. Burns, please. I am thinking about my future, but as you know, my brother passed away a mere eight months ago. Sorry if Introduction to Farming is the one thing I read today that actually will bring me joy and not swallow me in a pit of despair.” Her eyes grew wide.

I tried to keep the cool facade wrapped tightly around me, but something inside of me stirred at the mention of Ash’s name.

“I-I’m so sor—”

“Underwater basket weaving sounds interesting,” I interrupted, not wanting to hear any half-assed apologies from people who had truly no idea what I was going through.

“You’ll have to go into Dansport for the final for that one,” she explained.

Hard no.

“What about the film class?” she asked. “It is a very quiet class and usually the pace is at your own leisure. There is one small partner-based project that you have to work on, but otherwise, although the class has certain times, you can come and go as you please.”

Huh. If I picked a partner who was smart enough, then maybe I didn’t have to do any of the work and could focus on whatever Mr. Ortiz needed from me. It kind of sounded like a perfect fit.

“Why didn’t you just say that from the start?” I laughed, and she started typing furiously on her computer.

“There is only one more spot left.” There was a dramatic pause before she clicked her mouse. “Got it.”

She clapped her hands. “Bad news is that the class starts today in roughly one hour, so you better get going. It’s over by the English building in the basement.” She handed me a piece of printed paper with the details. I grumbled before grabbing my backpack and heading off.

“Oh, and Rain?”

I turned back around. “Yeah?”

“You’ll need to stop by the camera store down on Main Street and grab a film camera before class,” she added. I rolled my eyes, regretting my decision to pick this class because it was becoming expensive as shit.

In the end, I realized enrolling in this class was essential for my graduation. It also carried the bonus of irking Mr. Ortiz, which, I must admit, brought a selfish sense of satisfaction. That man needed a place where he wasn’t constantly barking out orders. In any case, I was determined to make it through this semester, no matter what it took, and finally graduate.

After grabbing my camera and the rest of the gear I needed from the shop off Main, I revved up my motorcycle and headed toward the English building. When I gave Ember my car, I never bought another one. A few guys rigged the engine of Ash’s Jeep since we never found the keys and drove it back to the Den, but I couldn’t bring myself to drive it, so it sat in the back of the long driveway under a car cover.

Knowing Ember was an English major and that there was a high possibility she could be in this building, put me on edge. Add to the fact that for some stupid reason the university decided to have the first day of classes this semester on a Friday, which meant I needed to prep for the first party tomorrow.

Thankfully, there were no initiations this weekend because, as the leader, I was expected to participate. I thought it was the worst and dumbest part of the Den. Eh, I thought most aspects of the Den and the Cartel were absurd, siding with Ember’s complaints about how we were just grown-ass men acting like toddlers with guns.

I loved when she would come in and sit cross-legged on the couch while bitching about Ash being late because he was at another meeting with his dad. I loved the way she smelled delicate and feminine. When she spoke was what I truly admired about her because her words were so thoughtful and strung together better than any song I could ever have imagined.

But Ember was always Ash’s. Even when she sat on my lap that first night at the frat with this exuberant confidence and shoved her tongue into my mouth.

“Fuck,” I said as I realized I was now standing in front of the older stone building.

She’s not yours.

It was a reminder I’d often had to tell myself because the way she talked, the way her body moved, and damn it, even the way she fucked my brother was the most erotically beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on in my entire life.

She is not yours. I repeated, over and over.

I walked into the building, following the signs for the basement. The descent seemed to stretch on forever, and the farther I went, the eerier it became. Unlike the rest of the campus, where the sunlight filtered through the dense trees, down here, it was an abyss of perpetual gloom. The only illumination came from the flickering fluorescent lights above, casting a stark, cold light on the narrow corridor. It was the kind of place you half expected to stumble upon a hidden passage leading to a mystery novel’s clandestine lair.

Despite the surroundings, I found a strange comfort in the atmosphere. The basement’s grim ambience resonated with my love for crime novels. The darkness down here, the relentless hum of the ventilation system, and the distant echoes of footsteps in the corridor all contributed to an otherworldly setting reminiscent of the gritty narratives I cherished.

I arrived at the small classroom attached to the darkroom, and when I glanced at my phone, I realized I was late.

“Story of my damn life,” I grumbled. I used to be a top-notch student. Eight months ago, I was a contender for valedictorian of my class. I was well-liked by my classmates and generally kept to myself within the Den. Now, I was bitter, furious, and a shadow of my former self.