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Sykes doesn’t say more than that for a long time. He flips through the pages of the binder, his brows rising and falling as he reads everything we’ve written. I can tell he’s engrossed, taken in by the story that’s woven through the report.
For several long minutes, we all just stand there watching him. Finally, he folds his arms on the desk in front of him and looks up, cocking his head to the side.
“This is very interesting. And very well done. Worth full marks, certainly.”
I want to exhale a relieved breath, but I don’t. Because I know he’s not done.
“But,” he adds. “It’s over a month late. What do you want me to do with it?”
“We want you to accept it. To speak to the school administrators on our behalf and accept our final project retroactively,” Trent says. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he adds, “Not for me. I’ll take the ‘F’ on my transcript. I earned it.” His gaze moves to me, his light blue eyes burning intensely. “But for her. She didn’t earn it, and she didn’t deserve it. She put in the work, and I was the one who wrecked that for her.”
“I see.” Professor Sykes rubs a hand over his chin, turning to Reese and West. “And for you two? What do you want?”
“I want her back in school,” Reese says immediately, tilting his head toward me. “I don’t care about my own grade.”
“Same.” West’s voice is firm. “A ‘fail’ didn’t do more than knock our GPAs down a bit. It got Emma kicked out of Clearwater. And that’s not fucking fair.”
I wince at the f-bomb he just dropped, but Sykes doesn’t even seem to notice. Still looking thoughtful, he squints slightly. “And you are aware that life isn’t fair, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” West says, and the heavy bluntness in his voice makes me think of his father, and the shit West had to go through growing up. Of how well acquainted he is with the fact that life isn’t fair.
He could play that card right now. Try to garner sympathy from Professor Sykes. But instead, he leaves his answer at just the one word, keeping his gaze fixed on the older man before us.
Sykes nods thoughtfully, glancing back down at the thick binder before him. He flips through the pages again, making little noises in the back of his throat as he reads.
Oh fuck, I can’t take this. The anticipation is killing me.
I reach out and grab Reese and Trent’s hands, gripping them tightly like I’m waiting for a firing squad to unleash a volley of bullets at me. I’d made my peace with no longer being a student at Clearwater, with moving forward in a different direction with my life. But once Trent and the others planted the seed of the idea in my head, it took root—and as I stand before Professor Sykes, it strikes me just how badly I want this.
We’ve put in so much work. We’ve come so fucking far.
Please. Please. Not just for me, but for them too.
I still see that haunted look on Trent’s face sometimes. And although I’ve reassured him that the past is in the past, and that there are worse things that could’ve happened than losing my scholarship to CU, I know how much he wants to make things right.
Professor Sykes looks up again, and his keen gaze falls to my hands enfolded in Reese and Trent’s. He takes in all four of us again, and then finally he nods.
“You’ve modified the assignment to fit your own aims,” he comments. “But I can’t deny you did well with it. And the fact that after everything you’ve been through, you’re still standing here together—well, that’s something worth rewarding, I think. Besides, I have tenure. So I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
I almost choke on my tongue at his last words, realizing that maybe it was stupid of me to have worried about West cursing in front of our professor. Sykes obviously has a saltier side to him than he usually revealed in class.
Honestly, it makes me like him more.
“Yeah, alright.” The gray-haired man chuckles. “I’ll agree to retroactively give you an ‘A.’ But you’ll still have to convince the admins to let you back in.” He rolls his eyes. “In theory, if your admission was contingent on grades, then this should do it. But they’re a bunch of stuffy assholes over there, so be prepared to argue your case.”
“We will, Professor,” I say quickly, excitement humming through my veins. “We promise.”
I have no doubt he’s right, and I know it’s not quite over yet, but that doesn’t stop the hope from blooming in my chest.
This really might work after all.
And if it does, I am so signing up for Professor Sykes’ next class.
22
Emma
Two days later, we have a meeting with Dean Philips and a few other admins.
