Free In Ruins by Danielle Pearl Page B

vanishes instantly.
    I stop breathing entirely, the black photocopy ink blurring as I stare right through the paper, but Julia taps my shoulder excitedly, and I try to suck in air and focus as she gushes over our being in the same group.
    And then she’s whispering in my ear, “And that super hot lacrosse player is with us, too! The one always staring at you—Tucker Green.”
    My eyes shoot to his icy green gaze to find it locked on mine, completely inscrutable. He works to unclench his jaw, his mouth a thin line of displeasure.
    Zayne claps once to get our attention. “Okay. So like I said, you can make your own schedules to work on your campaigns, and in the next couple of weeks I’d like you all to have an idea of what organization your group will choose.”
    He dismisses us. As always, everyone rushes out the door to get to their next class, except Tucker, who always sits there waiting for me to be long gone before he heads out. But I make my way up to Zayne’s desk, all too aware of hostile green eyes on me, and vaguely I wonder why he doesn’t take the opportunity to get out of here.
    “Hey, Carleigh.” Zayne’s boyish smile makes him seem younger, more like one of us. I would find it disarming if Tucker’s presence didn’t make me feel like I need a full military detail.
    “Do you have a minute?” I ask him tentatively. I need him to change my group. There’s no way Tucker and I can work together—there’s too much riding on this project—and he shouldn’t have to be the one to switch. But as I stand here chewing on my bottom lip, I still don’t know what excuse I’m going to give Zayne for wanting a new group.
    His smile falters and his brow furrows. “Is everything okay with you?” Something about the way he asks seems like it’s coming more from a friend than my professor, and when he places his hand on my arm in concern, I wonder how obvious my distress actually is. I’m usually so much better at hiding my emotions.
    Suddenly Tucker’s chair scrapes noisily against the floor as he stands up. But I refuse to turn, trying desperately not to show how acutely aware I am of him.
    “Yeah,” I assure Zayne. “I’m okay. I just need to talk to you about something. About the campaign,” I clarify.
    Zayne nods, but he doesn’t remove his hand from my arm. “I have office hours in a few minutes, but I do have a couple of students coming. Why don’t you drop by my office between four and five this afternoon? That way I can give you my focus.”
    I nod and thank him, relieved that I’ll have time to think of some reason for wanting a new group, and that he seems so reasonable and understanding.
    “No problem, Carleigh. I’m always here if you need to talk. About class, or whatever else, okay?” His eyes shine with empathy, and idly I wonder if he really identifies that well with his students, or if I’m actually just that desperate to feel understood by a guy.
    I turn to find Tucker glaring at us—or at me, anyway. I swallow thickly and hurry out of the room.
    A massive hand closes around my elbow and I’m so startled I almost scream before Tucker spins me to face him. “What was that about?” he demands gruffly. He holds me so firmly it almost hurts, and if it were anyone else, I’d wrench from their grip. But as much as his touch burns me, I crave it. Like a stupid mosquito flying into one of those electric bug zappers, attracted to the very thing that means to destroy me. “ Carl .” His impatient growl reminds me that I’m just standing here gaping at him.
    “I—I’m going to change groups,” I tell him.
    He releases me from his grip, and I expect his relief, but it doesn’t come. He continues to glare down at me, and I wish fervently that I could read his thoughts. “Don’t do that,” he says, his voice deceptively soft and low.
    I blink up at him, confused.
    “Don’t go to his office.” He exhales harshly. “Okay?” he adds, amending his order to a request, and it