The only reason he was even here was because Bradley had dragged him back, whining about having used up all his own absences. Noah had been planning on skipping this lecture to grab a decent meal somewhere—anywhere—else. But, as usual, his twin’s helplessness had somehow become his problem. He was already in a foul mood, and now he was being forced to endure the one thing he hated above almost everything else.

Okay, that was a lie. He hated almost everything. But group projects held a special, throne-like position in the pantheon of his contempt.

Why did this stupid course require this pointless exercise? He wasn’t graded on his own merit, but on the collective effort of whatever idiots he was unwillingly paired with. He despised not being able to work at his own pace, of being held hostage by someone else’s incompetence or laziness.

He could always just swallow his pride and do the whole damn thing himself. He’d done it before. Last semester, he’d built the entire presentation—slides, intro, advanced analysis—without a single word to his group. He’d made them each awkwardly read through “their” assigned sections, handled the summary, and fielded the questions. When they’d fumbled, he’d answered himself with cold precision. And they’d still lost points because “Not all group members participated in the Q&A.”

College group projects were a joke. This wasn't high school. They were adults with schedules, jobs, and lives. The entire concept was an insult to his time.

The professor began reciting names for the duo assignments. Well, at least it’s only one idiot to manage instead of four, he thought, his mind already calculating the path of least resistance. He’ll probably just put me with Bradley after the scene I made last time. A sardonic smirk touched his lips.

“Clara and Bradley.”

What?

“And the last group... Noah Hall and you.” The professor’s voice was final. “Please understand, these arrangements cannot be changed. I have the list finalized. Working outside your assigned pair will result in a zero for the project, and I’d really rather not do that to anyone. So please, abide by the rules.”

Noah’s hand shot up, but the professor pointedly looked away, dismissing the class with a wave. That bitch. He was absolutely visiting his office after class. The rage was a cold, sharp knot in his chest.

The moment the lecture ended, he stood up, ignoring Bradley’s attempt to get his attention, and made a beeline for the door. Then he caught sight of you in his peripheral vision. The injustice of it all—the professor’s decree, his brother’s escape, his own trapped frustration—found a target.

In a moment of pure, unrighteous fury, he pivoted and cornered you against a row of lockers, his voice a low, seething command. “You. You’re coming with me right now, and you’re going to tell Mr. Fucking-Smart-Pants that you refuse to work with me. Do you understand?”