Is that the only reason I got invited? Why Flávia called a truce? I try to ignore those thoughts. I’m here, after all. There’s nothing I can do about it now.
I see Flávia’s lips move but the sound gets drowned out by the music, which seems to be getting louder and louder with every passing second.
I shake my head to indicate that I didn’t hear what she said. She grabs my hand, sending a jolt through my entire body, and drags me out of the room. We weave through the house—the hallway littered with people, the kitchen almost as full as the sitting room—and finally slide into a small, deserted room.
The room has a few bookshelves pressed against the wall, a small desk in one corner, and a cozy-but-beaten-down couch in the other corner. It’s so small that it can barely fit the two of us in with the furniture.
“It’s the study. Well, technically it’s a store room my mom converted into a study.” Flávia’s voice seems too loud without the booming music in the background. “Sorry, I didn’t think we could have a conversation in the sitting room.”
She clicks the door shut and strolls over to the couch. Settling herself into the cushions, she raises her eyebrows toward me.
I shuffle over too, wondering why exactly she brought me here. What kind of conversation is she looking for? Our last conversation wasn’t exactly sunshine and daisies. Plus, I’m pretty sure we could have had a conversation in the hallway, or even the kitchen. Sure, they were crowded, but the music wasn’t as loud and there were plenty of people talking there.
This setting—the two-seater couch, the deserted room, the closed door—it all feels too intimate.
When I’m settled into the couch beside her, Flávia is still watching me in a way that’s disconcerting. I don’t know what the expression on her face means. It’s unreadable—to me, at least.
“So … let’s get it out of the way.”
My stomach sinks. Was this truce not a truce at all?
“Were you happy?” she asks.
“W-what?”
“With your results? Were you happy?”
“Oh.” I let out a breath. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess?” She smiles.
“Well, it’s nothing to write home about but it’s not, you know, bad,” I say. “Were you happy?”
She shrugs and finally looks away from me.
“It wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for, but I guess it’ll have to do.” She sounds disappointed.
“What did you get?” I lean forward, trying to catch her eye.
“You can’t ask that!” she says with a slight laugh. “That’s like … against the rules of polite society.”
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” I can see her thinking about it.
“Okay, tell me yours.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath, wondering why I offered to do this. “Two Cs, three B’s, and five A’s.”
“Five A’s!” Flávia exclaims, a smile breaking out on her lips. “That’s kind of amazing. You should be proud.”
“Thanks,” I mumble as a blush creeps up my neck. “And you?”
She sighs. “Three A’s, three B’s, and four C’s.”
“And you’re disappointed with that?”
“Did you not hear the number of C’s?”
“Did you hear the number of A’s?”
