I’m stunned by the brief encounter, considering that we really haven’t been interacting with each other unless we have to—well, besides the bookshop yesterday.
I look down and see the copy ofThe Great Gatsbythat I had been admiring in the bookstore. My eyes snap up to his, astonished. The student had clearly asked whatever question they’d had and dashed out the door. Asher is back at his desk, like nothing happened. He’s not even watching me formy reaction. He really is acting like I randomly left some book behind after one of his classes.
My fingers trace the delicate foil title on the soft blue leather.
Everyone has filtered out of the classroom at this point, but I can’t help myself; I flip through the pages and stop on one of the first. On the title page, I recognize the same clipped, neat handwriting that has scrawled across my Counseling Theories essays.
I never understood Gatsby’s obsession with the green light.
Until now.
My head jerks up to look at Asher again, but he’s already gone.
14
ASHER
Getting the book for herwas stupid. But I couldn’t help it. The look she’d had on her face when she’d been admiring it and hadn’t known anyone was watching her was one of pure wonder. It was clearly a story she loved, and the edition was beautiful.
Writing in the book was even more stupid. I’m not sure what I was thinking. Comparing Summer to Gatsby’s green light felt so corny and like such a bad idea. What was I thinking?
Summer basically sprints down the hall after me as I make my way toward my office. “Why did you give me that book?” she demands.
I shrug, quickening my stride and refusing to look at her. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit,” she snaps back. “Why did you give me this?” She practically thrusts the book in my face as she follows me. I turn the corner and can see the door to my office as Summer continues to hound me. “Are you really just going to ignore me?”
“Trying to,” I mutter back.
I push the door to my office open and am prepared to let it swing shut on Summer, but she catches it and follows me inside, slamming it behind her. I drop my bag by my desk, hoping that if I continue to ignore her, she’ll eventually just take the hint and leave. She crosses her arms and taps her foot, waiting for me to acknowledge her.
When I don’t, she shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just randomly give me gifts and write notes tome and then refuse to tell me why.”
“I already told you. I don’t have a better answer for you, no matter how badly you want one,” I grumble.
She steps toward me and shoves the book into my chest, forcing me to take it from her. “Then I don’t want this,” she snaps.
She spins on her heel and is halfway to the door before I say, “I don’t know why I got it for you!” She stops and slowly turns back to look at me. “It was probably a bad idea, but… the way you were looking at it in the bookstore… I could tell how much you loved the story based on that single look. You left the bookstore, and I just couldn’t leave it there. I wanted to see the smile you’d make when you got it.”
“I didn’t smile,” she says hesitantly.
“No, you didn’t,” I respond quietly, though I offer her a small smile of my own.
“I love the gift,” she says quickly, as if afraid I had thought otherwise.
“I’m glad.”
“But I don’t love the note,” she adds. I feel my eyebrows scrunch as I look at her. I’m still holding the book in my hands, and I resist the urge to flip it open to look at the note I scrawled within the pages. “That wasn’t some romantic gesture,” she continues. I can feel an amused grin start to play across my lips, and her eyes narrow in frustration. “Gatsby’s green lightisn’t romantic,” she insists. “It represents Gatsby’s unattainable dream. You’re…” she trails off, sounding unsure of herself.
“Go on,” I urge softly.
“You’re saying that I’m some unattainable thing you’ll always be chasing.”
I don’t say anything.
“Do you really believe that?” she asks, no louder than a whisper.
“You’re my student,” I murmur, believing that that is explanation enough.
