Page 57 of Trust Me

Chapter 16

Oliver

I wondered what Dean liked to eat besides burgers. There were still quite a few hours to figure out dinner. But . . . I wasn’t that patient.

As quietly as I could, I tore a piece of paper out of my notebook. Dean glanced over at me, making it hard to be inconspicuous. After writing the question down, I folded it up into a domed shape that fit nicely over the eraser of my pencil. Stretching my arms out to each side, I tipped the pencil enough that the note fell into the back of his shirt.

He reached around to touch his neck, then shot me a look before he unfolded the paper. When he shook his head, I pouted a little.

I ripped out another piece, highly aware of the way he looked at me. Chewing on my pencil, I tried to think of something more interesting.

My phone buzzed, so I pulled it out quickly.

Broku: Leave me alone

Ignoring the text, I started writing.

You look way too serious right now, Broku. What’s the lecture about?

Rolling it into a ball, I positioned my hand just right and flicked it over to him. It landed on his desk, nearly falling to the floor, but he casually stopped it at the last second. I ducked my head, hoping Mr. Pritchard wouldn’t notice what was going on. It felt like high school all over again.

Without warning, the little paper ball hit me in the eye, making me swear. Everyone looked at me, and I offered them a smile.

“Everything alright, Oli?” Mr. Pritchard asked.

“Peachy. Just broke my lead.” I snapped it off in my lap, then held up the pencil to show him.

When he started going over the material again, I unfolded the paper to see what Dean had written.

You’d know if you were paying attention.

I clicked the end of the pencil to let out more lead. Translation: you’re as lost as I am.

After I rolled it up, I saw him stretch his hand toward me discreetly. I placed the note in his palm, and he closed his fist, trapping my fingers for a second. When I looked at him, he was already starting to open it. The corner of his lips twitched as he read it, but he kept his expression carefully controlled.

He returned the note, and I hurriedly flattened it out. Translation: you’re distracting.

I’m more interesting than Mr. Pritchard.

I could practically hear his next response. You’re delusional.

Yet you’re entertaining my nonsense.

You’d probably get sad if I didn’t.

Does that matter?

This time, he didn’t pass the note back. I considered writing another, but it felt too desperate at this point.

“Okay, kids,” the professor said, resting his hands on the desk. “Get out of here. I’ll see you next week. Don’t forget you have your first check-in for your project due Tuesday.”

I caught Dean at the door before he could get out of sight. He seemed to be moving faster than usual, like he was dying to escape.

“You didn’t answer my last question.”

He barely glanced at me. “I thought it was rhetorical.”

“What about the first?”