Page 64 of Breathe Like Hell

Dakota slowly moved her focus back onto my face, her brows pushed together.

“Test grades don’t matter to me. I don’t give a fuck how well you can memorize concepts and formulas—I don’t even care how well you can apply those formulas. There are always going to be people or machines who can do those things. I like how you think. You don’t trust yourself, but you will. I’m keeping you in my lab as long as you’ll let me, alright?”

“I don’t contribute anything meaningful. I mean, Nick is the one who’s giving you ideas and shit⁠—”

“He’s worked for me for a lot longer than you have, and I’m still not satisfied with my work with him.” I shook my head. “He can do the math; he can read the papers; he can think like an engineer. But you are more than that. I don’t expect you to understand it the way I do since you haven’t gone through as many years of schooling as I have—you haven’t even seen industry at all. You have no clue how rare you are.”

I knew she wasn’t believing a word I said, but I hadn’t really expected her to.

I was old enough and disciplined enough to have developed a large well of patience.

“I’ll say it as many times as you need me to until you believe it,” I continued, keeping Dakota pinned in place with my gaze. I needed her to see that she occupied all of my attention. “Most engineers don’t see the world how you do. They are smart and capable, but there are all these blind spots. They like math and science. Numbers. And while you’re capable of those things—whether you think so or not—you’re capable of other things too. You can write. You can think. You can feel. There is a beautiful lyricism in the way you form your thoughts, a subtle art in the way you solve problems. It’s worth it to me to spend time uncovering that. You are worth spending time on.”

“You’re just saying those things,” she argued. “To make me feel better.”

“Think about what you’re accusing me of.”

Dakota blinked, clearly confused. It wasn’t the response she expected, but I liked making her think. Forcing her to go against her knee-jerk reaction of self-destruction.

“Tell me again what you just said,” I instructed again.

“I said that you are just saying these things to make me feel better.”

“And do you feel better?”

“No.”

“So that’s not why I’m saying them,” I told her, still never looking away from those green eyes for a second. “I don’t do things without purpose, and I know that me telling you how I think of you won’t make you happy right now. I’m telling you because you need to know. And I will keep telling you again and again until you internalize it, whether or not it actually makes you happy.”

“It’s a waste of time.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“But you’re still mad at me.”

“Shockingly, I am a multifaceted person with the capability of feeling more than one emotion. I can be angry at things you’ve done while still wanting to help you.” I raised my eyebrows. The barest hint of amusement softened her face. “Now, show me your grades.”

“Oh, my God,” she groaned. “Micah, no.”

“Masters, yes.”

“I hate you.” She turned around and stared at her closed laptop. “And my laptop is dead.”

“You don’t hate me.” I went across the lab space to a drawer under the computer, then pulled out a bundled-up cord. “And look—” I put the cord on the countertop “—a charger.”

“Wow. You are very prepared.”

“I’d actually argue that this is evidence of me being unprepared, since I forget to charge my own laptop often enough that I need a permanent charger for the lab.”

She tilted her head up at me, narrowing her eyes as I plugged the cord into the wall. “I don’t like this game.”

“No game.” I held my hands up, palms facing her.

“Stop trying to make me happy. It’s not going to work.”

“I’m not doing that. I’m just being myself.”

Dakota narrowed her eyes again. “This isn’t yourself. You’re trying to be funny.”