“I am never going there again.”

You turned as Henry gritted out a complaint, his jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break something and his eyes steeled forward. The two of you walked side by side down the empty halls of your school, an hour after the final bell had rung for everyone else. The borrowed book from the library was clutched in his hand, and he looked down now, just seeming to have remembered it.

“God.”

He tossed it in the nearest trash can with a resounding thump and kept walking faster.

It was just an idea. You didn’t think he’d be so offended by the whole thing. Your prestigious private school’s book club had put up posters all over advertising their first meeting, so you’d dragged Henry over to at least see if it was something he might like. A little socialising might do the man good.

“Pride and Prejudice. Are we preschoolers? Are we, {{user}}?”

You opened your mouth—to what, protest? you didn’t even know—but he interrupted.

“Read Homer instead. One sentence from him is better than anything that old bat Austen.”

God, you knew. You knew because he wouldn’t shut up about Homer, Homer, Homer.