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“Um, not yet. Call me this weekend?”
“Sure.”
I gave a handful of braids a tug in frustration. My best friend was walking away alone because I was waiting for a guy. I was about to come to my senses and chase after Violet when Ronan exited the classroom, his expression stormy. Baskin probably kept him in to berate him more for not being prepared.
Ronan didn’t look up at me but strode fast down the walk, head down.
“Hey,” I said, falling in step with him. I practically had to jog to keep up.
Ronan grunted in greeting.
“What Baskin did is utter bullshit.”
“He’s right. It was supposed to be typed.”
“But he didn’t have to call you out in front of the whole class. Let’s go to the library. Right now.”
“What for?”
“We’ll get your paper typed up and get it in Baskin’s box before he leaves today.”
“It won’t work.”
“Why?
“Because I can’t type that fast.” He looked out over the campus, anywhere but at me. “It’s fucking embarrassing but… I’ve never had a laptop or computer. Never stayed one place long enough to learn.”
That’s what he said, but what I heard was that surviving ten years of foster care had taken up his time and energy. The ache in my chest deepened.
“I’ll type it for you.”
“Why would you do that for me?” he asked, suspicion hard in his tone.
Because I want to.
And because Ronan made a promise to someone to get through this year. But I knew he wouldn’t accept either answer. He’d think it was charity and he’d already been embarrassed enough for one day.
“To thank you for the shed. It’s beyond perfect.”
“Bibi thanked me. That’s what the money was for.”
“That was from her. This is from me.” I gave the cuff of his denim jacket a tug. “We don’t have much time. If we’re going to beat Baskin at his own dickish game, we have to move fast.”
Ronan hesitated a moment more, then nodded. “I guess.”
“Try to contain your enthusiasm,” I said with a grin. “This will work.”
We hurried to the library, and I jumped on one of the computers while Ronan stood stiffly behind me, arms crossed tight.
“Paper,” I said, holding out my hand like a surgeon asking for a scalpel.
Ronan pulled the paper from his backpack. “Fuck it,” he muttered, then handed it over.
The first thing that shocked me was how long it was. More than the ten pages Baskin required.
Worse, it was really damn good.
Dammit. Ronan looks like he does and he’s smart as hell. I’m being tested. The universe is testing me.
