No Dogs Allowed

To Befriend an Impasse

(ty for readin', the little star calls your name, thank you :D )

(EDITED)(Note to readers: Some chapters ahead may not be fixed to be in line with the new edits)

A caveat to being an off-record nobody without a valid transcript or an honest bone in my body, it meant I was subject to the unforgiving, utterly grueling onslaught of modern university general education courses. No transfer credits to save me, no strings at Mercy's hands she was willing to pull to help me, and no AP classes to absolve such requirements, it meant I had the full, complete list to cover. 

History was one such Hell.

I'd taken the course in fall—tried to, at least—but my grade had fallen through with ease all circumstances considered. It'd sent me face to face with a thoroughly-unimpressed advisor with the dignity of a man who could manage all 118 elements of the periodic table and their isotopes, but no, could not for God's good graces remember the order of the presidents.

Therefore, American history. 

Taught by a bloodsucker from the 1890s that spoke fluent French but was also not at all French and in fact, hated the French for unknown, personal reasons. Whoever taught it was not my concern, frankly, but rather where I was when they taught.

I sat down at the back of the lecture hall, the rightmost corner, and set my head down on the tabletop. When I peered around to see the accompanying emptiness, I grinned to myself. Perfect. My sleep schedule might fare well from this.

My head was halfway to slumber before such assumptions were torn apart. Someone clinked the desk beside me and said in a voice muffled by my hood, "This taken?"

"Oy vey," I muttered, still face-down.

"That's not an answer."

"All yours, man." I sighed.

"Good to know your lack of manners isn't exclusive to the setting."

I frowned. I pulled my head up to snap something back at whoever had the unfortunate mind to sit next to me, but I paused at the face that met me.

King stared back, clad in a navy knit sweater and jeans that weren't quite black but weren't quite gray either. It took a moment of staring at him staring at me to realize everyone else in the class seemed to be staring at him staring at me staring at him staring at me. A matrix of staring. You get the image.

I gaped. "Why?" I hissed.

King cocked a brow. "Thanks," he deadpanned. He sat down and laid his book bag on the desk. "I usually fill an elective credit to pair up with a Corvus member, and you're here."

"Good to know my company is craved," I admitted, "but you're already forcing Rosalie to sit through the tribulations of engineering chemistry, Zoe's in my writing class, I've got Wynter in calc, etcetera etcetera, I don't think I need another stalker." I leaned back, placing my hands behind my head. "I've got a good head on these small shoulders."

He was unfazed. "Is that why you failed out last quarter?"

I gasped, sitting up. "Who told?"

"Who fails American history? You're American."

"I'm Canadian."

"What?"

"I figure if I say it enough, it'll one day amount to a real citizenship," I sighed. "But for your information, I failed out of rebellion."