“I’m Amrin,” I added, because silence was worse.
We started walking again—slower this time—and I noticed it.
That he had adjusted his stride for me had me paying attention to him in a way I knew I shouldn’t.
But I couldn’t seem to help myself.
A small, ridiculous flicker of satisfaction sparked in my chest.
“I know your name,” he said.
Of course he did.
Everyone knew everyone here.
Even if they pretended not to.
“Okay, good,” I said, pulling out the wrinkled parchment from my bag. “So you already know I’m failing.”
“Obvious.”
I shot him a look.
“That’s really helpful.”
“It’s really accurate.”
Fair.
Annoying.
But fair.
“My mother is going to lose her mind if I have to repeat this course,” I said, more quietly now. “She already thinks I’m lacking.”
That was the polite version.
The controlled version.
The version that didn’t say disappointment.
Or embarrassment.
Or why can’t you be more like your sisters.
He didn’t respond.
Didn’t offer sympathy.
Didn’t soften.
Good.
I didn’t want that.
“I just need to pass,” I continued. “And Professor Franco’s extra credit assignment is my only option.”
“That ridiculous thing?” he asked, finally glancing at the paper.
