Walking into the cafeteria the next morning was a mistake.
A big one.
The second my shoes hit the tile, the entire room buzzed like someone flipped a switch. Heads turned. Whispers shot through tables. Someone actually dropped their spoon.
Great.
Absolutely wonderful.
This was exactly what I wanted: public humiliation before breakfast.
One would think that they would have calmed down after I said “No, we're not together" so many times yesterday, but no, they have the fake relationship ingrained in their heads.
Geneva, of course, loved every second. She clutched my arm like she was escorting royalty, “Smile. Or at least pretend you aren't plotting murder.”
“I am plotting murder,” I muttered.
“Plot it prettier,” she whispered.
I shot her a look. She pretended not to see it.
We wal
