Fangs for the Memories by Molly Harper

of my tricks. So he rolled his eyes a bit and nudged me. “Ben Overby, remember? Gigi’s ex.”
    Right, Gigi Scanlon. The reason I was sequestered in this educational hellhole in the first place.
    â€œOh.” I tried not to make a disdainful face at the cute little human. He couldn’t help it that he had horrible taste in women. “Lovely to see you again, Ben.”
    â€œNice to see you, too,” he said, with a cautious little smile. What was it about Half-Moon Hollow that fostered such “aw, shucks” harmless charm in their young men? Ben had the same sort of affable sincerity as Jamie, highlighted by a healthy pink flush to his cheeks. Was he so intimidated by me that he was blushing ? Or did he not appreciate my adorable-but-oblivious beau’s reference to him as “Gigi’s ex”?
    One I could enjoy . . . and the other I could enjoy and use to my advantage. I smiled sweetly and Ben relaxed his shoulders ever so slightly.
    â€œI ran into Ben in the laundry room at my building. Turns out he lives two floors down from me. We thought we’d stop in and see you and give you this book before we head over to the gym.”
    As Jamie handed me a textbook from our shared biology class, I tried not to let my irritation show. I didn’t need the reminder that Jamie had been allowed to live in a nice vampire-friendly off-campus apartment building. Yet another step on Jane’s part to keep her childe separated from me.
    â€œJamie, sweetheart,” I said, “we don’t need to go to the gym. Our bodies never change form and we have superstrength.”
    Jamie shrugged. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a good workout.”
    I shook my head. I loved him, but sometimes, I didn’t understand him.
    â€œI am not spotting for you,” Ben said in a tone that implied that he’d made the statement before. “And I came to see my friend Jason, who lives on one of the human floors.”
    My eyebrows rose. Was Ben friends with Naked Jason? Somehow, that made Ben slightly more interesting.
    â€œHow are you enjoying your semester so far, Ben?” I asked.
    â€œEh, it’s my senior year. I’m just trying to coast on electives while I search for a good job,” he said, shrugging with that disdainful boredom so common to his generation. He apparently noticed the flicker of annoyance cross my face and straightened his shoulders, formalizing his tone as he added, “Jamie said this is your very first experience with modern education. How are you enjoying it?”
    â€œClasses are . . . not what I remember them to be,” I said, thinking of long-ago childhood mornings spent in a freezing cold schoolroom, memorizing religious texts that would be considered advanced secondary material by today’s standards.
    â€œAnd have you chosen a major?” Ben asked.
    I frowned at him and Jamie winced. Ever since the Council had sentenced me to an undergraduate program, I’d struggled with choosing a degree. I didn’t know what I wanted to study. Frankly, if the vaunted scholars that ran this campus allowed us to count life experience, I could have walked out of this place with a doctorate in about a week.
    Science had never appealed to me. I didn’t want to major in something as mundane as accounting, though I’d always excelled at bookkeeping. Well, I excelled at keeping my considerable finances organized, inappropriate expense reports notwithstanding. Art? Sure, I was a decent draftswoman and knew enough about the history to put my human professors to shame—which I had, on multiple occasions since the semester started. But I would never be able to get a job with an art degree, according to the rants I’d read on the Internet, unless it was in “digital media.” But honestly, I didn’t really need a job. For right now, I was undeclared and that was a bit of an