His lips definitely flirted with a smile at that. “There’s a very short list of things I’m afraid of, but I can’t say mugging made the cut.”
I sighed, itching at the side of my nose. It must’ve been nice not having to carry pepper spray around in your backpack.
“Listen, Noah. I’m here on scholarship,” I explained, cutting to the chase. “And not just because they like the way I play piano, but because I literally couldn’t afford to buy a single textbook, let alone pay tuition. But don’t worry, I’m going to pay for the pen.”
“I don’t need your money.” Noah waved a hand dismissively, as if girls chowing down on his yacht-equivalent pen was an everyday occurrence.
I blinked back at him, not understanding how someone could be so blasé about this. If a stranger chewed on something as trivial as my fifteen-cent pen, I’d want to punch them in the face.
Wait—could that be a sign of undiagnosed anger issues?
I cleared my throat, feeling like a broken record. “That’s great, but Idointend to pay you back. I just can’t do it all at once. Honestly, I’ve got about seventeen dollars to my name right now.”
Seventeen dollars already allocated toward food and my coffee budget.
He had that look on his face again—the one that warned me he was going to turn down my money and probably make me feel like dirt because he could so easily write off a pen that cost more than my nicest dress—so I held up a hand before he could unwittingly degrade me further.
“Hold your horses. I was just wondering if maybe… well, okay, this makes me feel really poor—but maybe we could set up some sort of payment plan?” I asked hopefully and offered him my best smile. “I’m not very liquid right now, but I could pay you back ten or maybe fifteen dollars every week? At that rate, it’ll be settled by Thanksgiving.”
Two and a half months to pay a guy back for his pen. Did this sound ridiculous to anyone else?
“I don’t need—”
“Please stop telling me you don’t need the money. I ruined your pen, and I’m paying you back for it.”
Noah raised a brow, and the sharp line of his jaw tensed. “All right. If you want to pay me back—fine. If you don’t, that’s also fine. But you’ve apologized enough for an honest mistake. Now, I need to be somewhere, so the room’s all yours.”
At a loss, I nodded and shrugged in tandem. He slipped the binder into his messenger bag before slinging the bag over his shoulder and making to walk past me.
Chewing on my lip, I glanced back at the empty spot on the shelf where he’d taken the binder from. “You’re not really supposed to take those with—”
Noah’s raised brow cut off any further comment, and I bit my tongue as he brushed past me. When the door clicked shut behind him, I sank onto the rigid piano bench.
Out of all the pens in the world, why did I have to chew on his? I was just grateful Music Theory didn’t have assigned seats.
CHAPTER6
A Cupcake
Dear Diary,
Why is it so hard to make money?
Seriously. I ate a Pop-Tart for lunch today, and I’m convinced my stomach will stage a revolt if I don’t give it proper nourishment soon. My scholarship covers the bare minimum—tuition and housing. Yet my mother won’t even entertain the idea of giving me access to my recital earnings to buy something as basic as food.“It was your decision to go off to college, Emmaline. This wouldn’t be an issue if you stayed home with us.”
Who exactly decided it would be a good idea to create trust funds people can’t access until they turn twenty-five? I want names.
Then I was supposed to tutor the Sterlings’ son in piano this week, but they cancelled because it overlapped with his riding lesson. That’s forty dollars I’ll never see.
At this rate, there’s no chance I’ll pay Noah back.Unless I stop buying coffee?
Wait. Pretend I never wrote that. How do I erase pen?
Sincerely Starving,
Emma
* * *
