I tried not to take it personally.
“Here are your partners for the duet project,” Professor Slade said as class ended. He let his textbook fall shut with athumpand pulled up a spreadsheet on his projector. “Pairings were randomly generated and are final. I don’t want to hear about how badly you need to be paired with your best friend.”
I scoured the list for my name, unsure which I was dreading more between Noah and Smelly Boy. Finding Cheyenne’s name next to mine was a welcome relief. I could breathe again.
My eyes unwittingly sought out Noah’s name and found it next to Blaise Rousseau, Slade’s teaching assistant.
That didn’t seem fair.
“For next class, make sure to study up on your inspirators. You’ll be doing an in-depth analysis on the composers you’ve been influenced by,” Slade said when there weren’t any complaints. “That’ll be all. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”
There was a mad dash for the door, but I remained behind. My toes wiggled and my weight shifted restlessly while I tried to get my apology straight.
“Emily?” The voice that would surely haunt my dreams was closer than before, and I peeked up from under my lashes to see Noah waiting beside my desk. He was too self-possessed to hover, and accusing the man of loitering felt like a crime.
Time to face the music.
“Oh. My name is Emma.” I tried not to grimace at the fact that he’d forgotten my name when I’d already doodled his a total of three times in my notebook. My grip tightened around his glossy pen as I clutched it behind my back. A tiny delusional part of me hoped he’d stopped by to ask something as mundane as what shampoo I used instead of demanding his precious pen back.
“You have something that belongs to me.” He showed no acknowledgement of whether he’d retained my name or not.
“Right.” I pursed my lips as I used my free hand to straighten my skirt, then scooted out of my chair. It’d be easier to run away if I was standing. I took a deep breath and faced him, wincing when I saw his frown. “Your pen.”
“Yes, my pen,” Noah said slowly, presumably in case I didn’t understand someone speaking at a normal rate. “The one you promised to return.”
“You see, that’s the funny thing about pens.” I giggled a little hysterically as his eyes impatiently scanned my person and desk. The pen remained firmly behind my back in a grip that would battle any laboring mother’s. “They start out as just a pen, right? But then you hold it for the first time, and you realize ‘maybe this is what I’ve been missing all my life’—”
Oh God.Shut up, Emma.
“—and I know I said I’d return it, but I was wondering if you’d be interested in a trade or—”
He cut me off with a narrowed look that proved words were unnecessary. “I allowed you toborrowmy pen with the promise that it would be returned following this lecture. I’d hate for you to go back on your word.”
“… Okay.” I took a deep breath and straightened my spine until it threatened to bend backward. “Can I just preface this by saying that I didn’t eat breakfast this morning? I’m a growing girl, you know, and first day of class always makes me a little nervous. Also, I can’t really be blamed for—”
A pale, polished hand appeared palm up in front of me with more authority in its pinky finger than I had in my entire body.
My shoulders sagged.
“I’mreallysorry,” I muttered in defeat and pulled the pen from behind my back. It took effort, but I dropped the casualty into his outstretched palm before snapping back to clasp my fingers together. “I’ll pay for a new one. I promise.”
Silence fell as Noah’s posture went rigid. He looked down at the mutilated pen with a face that would rival any poker champion. My foot shuffled anxiously against the linoleum as I waited with bated breath.
“This can’t be sanitary,” he finally said, allowing a single blink at the offending writing instrument.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, then offered what I hoped was an apologetic smile. I shifted my weight to the other foot. “But it kind of adds a little character, too, don’t you think?”
Not to mention it completely destroyed the sophistication and elegance of the pen.
Noah didn’t deign to respond. He just slipped the pen into his slacks pocket and shook his head before heading toward the door.
I blinked. No bloodshed?
“Wait!” I scooped up my backpack and made quick work of stuffing my notebook and planner inside. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I ran to catch up. My skirt didn’t appreciate the rush, and it took both my hands holding it down to keep things decent. “Noah!”
Part of me wanted to turn the other way and forget our mortifying exchange ever happened, but guilt overpowered that urge. So, I flung myself down the stairs at a speed that was bordering on suicidal—clinging to the sides of my skirt and doing something that resembled a penguin skipping—and caught the back of Noah’s head as he started down the second flight.
With my bookbag thumping against my back on every step, I wove through the littering of students in front of me.
