Chapter 8
“If that’s supposed to look like a melted trash can, you’re succeeding admirably,” Beau commented.
Vin glowered around his bleeding finger, stuck firmly in his mouth. At least he’d had a tetanus shot recently; the college had required that, the MMR booster, and other jabs and pokes and prods before he had been allowed entry three years ago. After getting jabbed several times, Vin had begun to wonder if it wasn’t worth signing the paper that forfeited the necessity because of spiritual or religious beliefs. Not that, as a whole, Presbyterians were against vaccines, but damn, he didn’t need to feel like a pincushion. On the other hand, he reflected, sucking thoughtfully on the scrape along his index finger, he was now free of the obligation of going to the school’s so-called Heal
