Reyna
THE PROFESSOR'S voice cuts through the large lecture hall. “You, using your phone, leave my class.”
For a second, I think I misheard her, but then her glare locks on me.
I freeze. My phone’s frozen too.
Just perfect.
“You with the ginger hair,” she speaks again, her cold eyes finding mine through the rows of amphitheater lecture seats. “I said leave my class.”
I open my mouth. “Prof, I wasn’t—”
“I don’t care,” she snaps. “Out.”
I gulp.
A wave of whispers moves through the hall. A hundred pairs of eyes all suddenly fall on me.
My phone had glitched, freezing when I tried to check the time because the stupid wall clock stopped working. That’s all.
I try to explain again.
But this time, the woman doesn't just shut me up; she slams her fist on the podium.
I jerk. My heartb
