“That’s Hunter Davenport.” Pax is the one who speaks, and I instantly recognize that tone of voice. Translation: oh-em-gee I want to lick that boy up.

Sure enough, he’s got a dreamy look in his eyes. “Who’s Hunter Davenport?” I ask.

“He’s on the hockey team.”

Nailed it. I knew he was an athlete. Those shoulders, man. “Never heard of him,” I say with a shrug.

“You’re not missing out. He’s just some rich prick jock,” TJ says.

I arch a brow. “What do you have against him?” TJ doesn’t normally bash student athletes. Or anyone, for that matter, aside from the occasional jab at Pax.

“Nothing. I just think he’s gross. I caught him banging some slut in the library last year. Fully clothed, but with his pants pulled down revealing half his ass. He had her right up against the wall in one of the study rooms.” TJ shakes his head in disgust.

I’m disgusted too, but more so with my friend’s rude representation of Davenport’s companion. “Please don’t use that word,” I chide. “You know I’m not into slut-shaming.”

TJ is instantly contrite. “Sorry, you’re right, that wasn’t cool. If anything, Davenport was the slut in that scenario.”

“Why does anyone have to be a slut?”

“I want to be his slut,” Pax says absently. His gaze remains glued to the dark-haired hockey player, who’s still bickering with his girlfriend.

The girl keeps pushing the Tupperware into his hand and he keep pushing it back into hers. I think he’s saying he won’t have time to eat, because her answering screech is, “There’s always time to eat, Hunter! But you know what, fine. Go hungry. Forgive me for trying to offer you nourishment!”

Grinning, I cup my hands around my mouth and holler, “Just take the fucking lunch already!”

Davenport’s head swivels my way. He gives me a deep frown.

The girl, on the other hand, beams at me. “Thank you!” She shoves the container in his hand one last time and flounces off. Her kitten heels snap like tap shoes against the cobblestones that comprise most of the historical campus.

Hockey Boy is glowering as he stalks toward us. “You have no idea what you just did,” he growls at me. His voice is deeper than I expect, with a cute rasp to it. He lifts the container. “Now we set a precedent. She’ll be making my fucking lunch all semester.”

I roll my eyes. “Wow, forgive her for trying to offer you nourishment.”

Sighing, he starts to move away. Then halts. “Oh hey, how’s it going, man?” he says to Pax.

My friend’s jaw drops to his white tennis shoes. They look new too, so I guess the shirt wasn’t the only thing he picked up in Boston.

“Hi,” Pax blurts out, clearly stunned to be singled out.

“You were in my Alternative Media class last term. Jax, right?”

To my disbelief, Pax nods stupidly.

“You in this Abnormal Psych class, too?”

“Yes,” Pax breathes.

“Cool. Well, see you in there.” Davenport claps Pax on the shoulder before sauntering up the stairs toward the building’s entrance.

I stare pointedly at my friend, but he’s too busy gawking at Davenport’s ass.

“Hey Jax,” I mock. “Earth to Jax.”

TJ snickers.

Pax snaps out of his trance. He gives me a sheepish look. “He fucking remembered me, Demi. I wasn’t going to correct him after he remembered me.”

“He remembered Jax!”

“That’s me! I’m Jax. I now live life as Jax. Hunter Davenport said so.”

I smother a sigh and glance at TJ. “Why are we friends with him again?”

“I have no idea,” he replies with a grin. “Come on, Jax, let’s escort our lady to class.”

I enter the lecture hall sandwiched between the two boys, my arms linked through theirs. The bulk of my friends are male, a fact that my boyfriend has come to accept. In high school he wasn’t too thrilled about it, but Nico’s never been a controlling boyfriend, and I think he secretly likes how well I get along with his friends.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got girlfriends too. My sorority sisters. Pippa and Corinne, who I’m meeting for dinner tonight. But my guy friends do outnumber the girls, for whatever reason.

Inside the cavernous room, the boys and I find three seats together in a row near the middle of the room. I notice Hunter Davenport one row ahead of us at the end of the aisle, hunched over his phone.

“Gawd, he is perfection,” Pax groans. “You have no idea how often I’ve fantasized about luring him over to the D-side.”

I pat my friend on the arm. “Maybe one day. I have faith in you.”

The room fills up, but all chatter dies when our professor enters at nine o’clock sharp. She’s a tall, slender woman with short hair and shrewd brown eyes behind a pair of square black frames. She greets us warmly, and goes on to introduce herself, her credentials, and what we can expect to learn this year.

I’m pumped. My father is a surgeon and my mother used to be a pediatrics nurse, so it was inevitable that I’d wind up in a medicine-related field. It’s probably programmed into my DNA. But surgery and nursing never interested me. Since I was a kid, I’ve been drawn to the mind. I’m especially fascinated by personality disorders. By destructive patterns of thinking and how they impact an individual when they interact with the world.

Professor Andrews discusses the specific topics we’ll be covering. “We’re going to see how abnormal psych was dealt with in the past and how modern approaches to it have evolved over the years. Clinical assessments and diagnosis will play a large role in our studies. Also, I believe in a hands-on approach to teaching. Which means I’m not simply going to stand here at this podium and spew facts about stress disorders, mood disorders, sexual disorders, and the like.”

I lean forward. I’m already enthralled. I like her no-nonsense tone, and the way she sweeps her gaze over the room and tries to look everyone in the eye. I’ve had a lot of classes where the prof reads off a laptop in a monotone and doesn’t seem to notice there’re other people in the room.

She says we’ll be expected to write summaries of the case studies she talks about in class, that there’ll be a few multiple-choice tests. “All test dates are in the syllabus that was emailed to you. As for your major research project, it requires a partner, and it will be an ongoing partnership, with the final research paper and in-depth case study due before the holiday break. Now this is the fun part…”

I notice several uneasy glances being exchanged throughout the lecture hall. I guess it’s a red flag when a prof uses the word “fun.” But I’m not concerned. Everything she’s described so far sounds interesting.

“You know that old childhood game—playing doctor?” Professor Andrews grins at the room. “That’s the gist of this research project. One partner will play the role of the psychologist; the other will be the patient. The former will be provided with diagnostic tools in order to make an assessment and write a detailed case study. The latter will be assigned a psychological disorder that they’ll be required to research and, for lack of a better word, play-act for the doctor.”