Now I just have to bring her to the exam on time.

I don’t have time to think about my fight with Lo, being caught by all three guys, or the fact that paparazzi sprung up like woken zombies as soon as I arrived on campus. Someone leaked my class schedule to the press, and I sprinted into the building to avoid them.

I’m going to fail the exam anyway, but Lo and Connor would never let me skip. I leave the guys in the lobby to wait, and I jog up the staircase to the second floor. My plan is to slip into the back of the auditorium before anyone can see me. I’ll take the test, turn it in, and leave. How hard can that be?

I swing the door open and stop cold at the top of the auditorium-style room. All three-hundred students are already nestled in their seats while TAs walk up the aisles to pass out the exams.

I’m late.

And there’s no open seat anywhere in sight. Oh wait…

I spot one in the middle aisle of the middle row. There’s not much room to squeeze past people, and I imagine disturbing everyone as I hop over thirty bodies to reach my seat. I don’t want to be that person. Everyone always gives the late-arrival dirty looks, and since I’ve been on the news for the past couple of weeks, I can’t imagine the looks being the normal kind of dirty. They’d be dirty with an extra pinch of malice.

My throat goes dry and my palms turn clammy. I’m about to sprint out and make up some lame excuse to Lo, but the professor notices my lingering presence.

“Miss Calloway,” he calls.

I freeze, and like a tsunami, all three-hundred bodies rotate to set their inquisitive gazes on me. If this is what being an actress feels like, I want no part of it.

“Come see me down here, please.” The professor motions for me.

I suck in a shallow breath and descend the carpeted stairs, trying to avoid all the eyes. Not even halfway there, some guy coughs into his hand. On the second cough, I hear “whore.”

That’s original.

Two more steps and someone else calls me a skank, louder this time. I glance towards the noise and I see a girl elbowing the guy in the ribs.

Five more steps and the voices start to rise as people talk to their friends.

“All right, settle down,” the professor tells them.

“Go back to Penn!” a guy yells. Voices escalate and cheer in agreement.

“Better yet, go to Yale! I hear they like filth!” I don’t know what that person has against Yale, but I try to keep my cool. I’m almost to the bottom of the auditorium, and I silently curse myself for walking in on the second floor.

“Shut up!” A girl’s voice pitches over the talking. Huh…someone’s on my side? “We’re trying to take a test here!” Maybe not.

“Quiet!” the professor shouts, angrily now. “Everyone. The tests are out, and that means the next person who speaks gets a zero.” The room hushes instantly, and I finally reach my destination.

The professor is middle-aged and always wears a nice button-down with slacks. He takes out a manila envelope from his briefcase and hands it to me. My name is scribbled across the front.

“I’ve spoken to your other professors,” he says in a low voice so only I can hear, “we’ve agreed that your presence for finals week will only disturb the other students. Your exam today and your finals from all your classes are in that folder. You can turn it into my mailbox by the last day of finals.”

“So they’re like take-home tests?” I ask, a little confused.

“Essentially, yes. There’s no reason for you to be on campus for one last week. You’ll distract everyone. You’ve already wasted…” He looks at the clock. “Five minutes of their time. For some that could cost them a letter grade.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Just return the exams on time, and if you could, exit out this door.” He motions to the one behind him, the one where I won’t need to walk up all those stairs.

I say a quick thanks and then disappear quickly out the double doors. I peek into the envelope, all the tests nestled inside. It’s generous. They could have easily just failed me. But it also reminds me how my life is changing. I can’t even sit in a classroom anymore. What is next year going to be like? Will the professor give me all the tests to take home? Or maybe they’re hoping I’ll be expelled from Princeton before that happens.

But with my father’s lawyers defending my stay here, I know I’ll be back next year.

Walking down the hall, I find Lo, Connor, and Ryke sitting in the lobby where I last left them, waiting for me. They talk quietly amongst each other. I raise my hand to wave and call to them, but a body steps in front of me, blocking my path.

“Hey, aren’t you the infamous Lily Calloway?”

He speaks loud enough that I see Lo’s head perk up. His eyes hit mine and they fill with concern.

“Are you deaf?” the guy laughs.

I meet his pretty green eyes and scan his blond hair, a twenty-something guy, tall with muscular arms. He sports a black and orange Princeton tee.

“I’m Lily,” I confirm. My eyes flicker past his body again. Lo is on his feet, but he hesitates towards reaching my side.

Is he still angry at me?

Oh jeez, we’re still in a fight, aren’t we?

My heart beats crazily, and I focus my attention back on the blond. “I’m also leaving.” I sidestep and he follows suit, trapping me to this spot in the hall.

I hear Lo’s shoes on the tile floor, and I try to relax.

“Why would you want to do that?” Blond Guy asks. “I heard that you love going down, and I’ve got something here for you.” He grabs my hand, and fear bobs my throat. Oh my God. I never thought this could happen in a hallway (slightly empty, albeit) during the middle of the day. Maybe he thinks I’m as wanting and easy as they say I am on the news. Maybe he believes I won’t care or fight him. That has to be it.

But I’m not that girl. Sure, I may have played into his advances a year ago, but now they literally curdle my stomach. I recoil and try to untangle from his strong hold, but he grips my hand and places it right on his pants.

Whatever I feel—it doesn’t last long because Lo grabs his shoulders from behind and throws his back into the wall.

I flinch, not accustomed to physical aggression from Lo, not even when he pinned Mason against my car. And he eases off the guy within a second, his eyes pulsing with something hot and black.

“This is why America invented the sexual offender registry, you sick fuck,” Lo spits.

“I didn’t touch her,” Blond sneers, the veins in his neck bulging. “Your slutty girlfriend was all over me.”

“I was not,” I snap, about to charge him myself. I don’t have nails, but I’m not below slapping.

Ryke grabs me, and I squirm, trying to go help Lo. “Lily, stop,” Ryke says, holding me tighter.

“You want your dick to be touched so badly, fine,” Lo growls, and he does something that causes me to pause, going quiet and motionless in Ryke’s arms.

Lo slams the guy again, his back digging further into the wall, and he puts his hand over the guy’s pants. The icky feeling I had for touching Blond vanishes. I’m not the only who did it. Though, Lo volunteered his hand.

Blond thrashes, and Lo must grip hard because his face contorts into a pained wince. “Get the fuck off me.”

“What? You don’t like it anymore?”

“I can sue you for harassment.”

“Let’s play that fucking game,” Lo replies. “Let’s see whose lawyers are better. I’m a goddamn Hale. My family eats shitty fucks like you for brunch. Don’t you ever force yourself on a girl, ever again.” Lo loosens his grip, and then he steps back from him. Blond hesitates to retaliate, but his eyes ping from Lo, to Ryke, to Connor, and he mutters a curse and retreats down the hall.

Ryke looks ready to run after him and take a swing.

Lo’s chest rises, his hands clenching and unclenching. I see Jonathan in his words and actions, and I know the same comparison must infiltrate his head. Sober Lo still does mean things, and I’m not sure what the right way to protect me was—or what I could have done to help. But I do realize how much he hates even the notion of turning into Jonathan Hale. And for sacrificing a large chunk of his heart to come to my aid, I am very, very grateful. What he just did for me—it wasn’t easy.