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There’s a sudden sinking in my gut. An ache so strong it has me frozen to my spot. Around me, students swarm, bumping into me with zero apologies. My feet drag when I make my way over to him. Standing beside him, I whisper, “Hey.”
Tired, tormented eyes lock on mine. One second. Two. Then he goes back to his original position.
My heart drops.
“Take a seat, Ava,” Mr. McCallister says, walking into the room. “Are you with us, Connor?”
Connor sits up, grumbles under his breath, “Unfortunately.”
Mr. McCallister waits for the rest of the class to settle in, and when enough silence descends, he announces, “It’s your lucky day, people. My laptop has decided to die, so you’ll be working on your nature versus nurture assignment, and since it’s such a lovely day out, I’m going to let you partner up and work wherever you like. Within reason, of course.”
A flurry of excitement fills the room. Beside me, Connor groans. “Jesus. No.”
Connor silently, reluctantly, agrees to follow me outside. With his backpack in one hand, a basketball in the other, his feet drag as he tracks behind me.
I take him to the school gym.
“Here?” he asks, moving to the center circle. “You want to work here?”
I shrug. “I figured it’s where you’re most comfortable.”
Dropping his bag by his feet, his eyes take in the surroundings: from the championship flags strung off the ceiling to the retired jerseys hanging on the walls. I try to make small talk. “First game of the season’s in a few weeks, right?”
He eyes me sideways, a rush of air falling from his lips. I watch the way his shirt shifts beneath the muscles of his broad chest, strong shoulders, and I look away, hoping he isn’t witness to the heat forming on my ears, my cheeks, my entire damn body. “So, I think we should talk about—”
“The paper,” he interjects.
“—what Rhys said,” I finish.
He drops the ball, sweeps it up again, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “So, this paper…” he says, deflecting. “I’ve taken some notes. Hopefully, it’ll be enough to give us a starting point.” After reaching into his bag, he pulls out a few sheets of paper and holds them out between us.
Okay.
So.
He obviously doesn’t want to deal with what happened, and I’m clearly not going to get anywhere.
I step into the circle so I can take the notes, flipping through them without actually reading a word. My mind works in overdrive as I try to come up with a way to fix things for us,for me. I need a way to settle my guilt. “I was thinking,” I start, needing a moment to catch my breath. It’s as if we’re in his car again. Close. Almosttooclose. And there’s no one here but us. “I was thinking…” I repeat, coming up with a plan on the fly. It’s a selfish plan, one that will help me find a way to gain his forgiveness. “We should maybe put our own spin on it.”
“How?” he asks, and when I look up, I catch him watching me. He averts his gaze a moment later, focuses on the ball in his hand.
“I thought we could make it more personal? Have an actual test subject rather than resources we find online so it’s not the same old, same old, you know?”
He bounces the ball. Again and again. Contemplating. “You have a subject in mind?”
“You.”
His eyes widen. “Me?”
I nod.
“And what exactly would that entail?”
“You have to tell me about you. Genetics versus upbringing.”
He takes a step back, shaking his head. Jaw tense, a fierceness flickers in his gaze, a wall dropping down between us. It’s as instant as it is intense. He closes his eyes, slowly, his dark lashes fanning across his cheeks. By the time he opens them again, all emotions have been wiped. “I wouldn’t be the best subject for this,” he says, his voice flat. “We should use you.”
“Hell no.” A giantFuck No. There’s no way I’m willing to reveal the details of my life.
