Page 80 of White Lights
“I’ll take questions at the end,” Zarlengo says.
“This isn’t about the lecture,” Dez says.
Her fellow students shift to look at her. Moriah coolly pets her snake. The room grows tomblike and still.
“Perhaps you’d like to make an appointment,” Moriah says.
Dez shakes her head. “What happened this morning?”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Moriah says.
“Many of us woke up to the sight of a dead body out our window.”
Around her, other students murmur their agreement. Simon looks worried for Dez.
“Ms. Quinn was troubled,” Moriah says flatly.
The room erupts in gasps.
So theyaresaying it was Alice. Yael was right. But Dez feels the lie hanging like a cloud over Moriah.
“We did all we could to help,” the director says, “but at this time, we ask that you respect Ms. Quinn’s privacy while we contact her family about next steps. We are happy to offer counseling to anyone who needs it …”
Dez stands up. Moriah’s placations are an insult to them all. She’s not going to listen to this.
“Ms. Rae, attendance is required,” Moriah calls as Dez throws open the door and leaves the room without looking back.
Stepping outside onto the tri, eyes stinging with tears, she runs straight into Rafe.
He looks tortured, like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Probably just a hangover.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Why would it be my fault?”
“People are saying you and Alice had an argument at the bar last night.”
“That’s ridiculous. I accidentally bumped into her. She spilled some drinks. But, Rafe, I don’t even think Alice is the one who died—”
“I’d think after what happened with your brother you’d want to steer clear of homicidal drama—”
“Asshole.” She’s trying to push past him, too, but he takes hold of her arm, and the touch sends an electrical pulse through her.
“You’re dangerous, aren’t you, Dez?” He’s looking at her like he wants to bend her over and make her beg for more of whatever this is.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I’ve helped you out of a jam before. Don’t be afraid to lean on me.”
Her eyes sting again but she will not cry in front of him.
“You’re a shitty mentor, Rafe.” She glares up at him, needing him to hear her. “One day, you’re hot. One day, you’re cold. One day, you’re accusing me of, what, murder? I never know what to expect from you, and I don’t need any of it.”
“Well, then, let’s try to keep it cold, shall we?”
“Great.”
“Great.”
