Chapter Sixteen – Wren #2
Maybe it’s due to the little talk we had before class, but it’s easy to tune Logan out and pay attention to Professor Scott as he lectures. He has this way of lecturing that makes it seem like he’s talking specifically to you and you alone—or maybe that’s just how I feel after his praise.
Professors always have a habit of meeting the eyes of the students they know are paying attention, especially those in the front row, since we’re closest to them, but it’s different with Professor Scott.
I swear those eyes of his land on me the most, and he always holds my gaze longer than he does anyone else.
Normally, eye contact like that might make me uncomfortable, but in this case it doesn’t.
I actually feel kind of good, like Professor Scott really did mean everything he said, and he’s checking up on me to make sure it all sunk in. He thinks I could go far in the field of psychology. Not sure what I’d do with it, unless I want to stay in the academic field, though.
My good mood is as good as shattered when, towards the end of class, Professor Scott starts talking about the group project.
He hands out papers, going row by row, as he speaks, “In other psych classes, you’ll be expected to create hypotheses, run small experiments, and summarize your findings.
Here, I want to keep it simple. In groups of two or three, I want you to come up with a presentation, along with a written paper, of something you find interesting under the umbrella of psychology.
For this, I want at least three academic sources, with at least one from the library.
This isn’t a creative writing class, so you won’t be judged based on the skill of your writing, but rather how you assemble your ideas. ”
As the class mumbles their unhappiness—no one is ever thrilled to receive homework, let alone a group project—Professor Scott returns to the podium and says, “Your presentation could be about sociopaths and their role in society today, or perhaps about serial killers and how they’ve evolved over the decades.
Maybe you want to dive into the psychological effects of today’s world events or the rise of AI.
I am giving you free rein in choosing your topic—just as I am letting you choose your own groups.
I want groups selected before you leave today, and your topic by the end of next week.
As always, if you have any questions, feel free to come see me before or after class, email me, or visit me during office hours. ”
Nobody moves a muscle, leading him to finish, “Go on. Talk amongst yourselves. I’ll be waiting down here once you have your groups ready. Come see me, give me your names, and then you’re free to go.”
I hate group projects as much as the next person, but that’s mostly because I don’t really talk to anybody, and somehow I always end up doing all of the work anyways in whatever group I end up in.
This one will be no different… although I have the feeling I already know what group I’m going to be stuck in.
A pair. With Logan, obviously.
I don’t even need to turn to look at the guy next to me to know he’s grinning ear to ear.
Loan leans in toward me and says, “Good thing I already have my partner. I guess I should go up there and tell him so you and I can get out of here and talk about what we want our topic to be about. Maybe we should do that movie night at your place after all.”
With a sigh, I meet his expectant stare, the refusal on the tip of my tongue, but the way he looks at me, the confidence that oozes out of every pore, catches me up.
Besides, even if I deny him and tell him I want to work with someone else, who will I choose?
I haven’t spoken a single word to anyone else here.
I’m stuck. Working with Logan might mean I have to see him more, but odds are I’ll do the same amount of work with him than I would with anyone else.
I could try to go for the unknown, but I’d almost rather deal with Logan more than other random people.
At least with him, I know what to expect, and I know how to handle him.
Sort of.
“Fine,” I say, packing up my notebook and shoving it into my bag. I stand.
Logan is already packed up, and he tosses his bag over his shoulder and stands with me, saying, “Wait. Really? I was expecting a fight from you.”
Of course he was expecting a fight, because who in their right mind would want to partner with him for anything academic? It’s pretty clear he won’t do a lick of the work. Most people would hate that, but I’ve grown so used to doing all the work I think I prefer it.
When it comes to anything with groups, I’d rather do it all, so I at least know it was done right.
I walk with Logan toward the podium, where Professor Scott waits. We are the first to approach him, as everyone else is still deciding their groups. When he watches us come toward him, he eyes us both up, although I think his gaze lingers on me more, and his earlier warning echoes in my mind.
What else can I do? Tell Logan I want to work with someone else, people I haven’t said a single word to so far? If this can keep my bubble small, I’m all for it. Talking to new people is exhausting, from an introvert’s perspective.
“Got our group,” Logan proclaims with a smirk. “Me and Wren.”
“Is that right?” Unless I’m mistaken, which maybe I am, I swear I detect a hint of challenge in his voice. Maybe he’s challenging me. Maybe he only wants to make sure I’m okay with this. When I nod, he jots something down on a paper as he says, “Wren and…”
“Logan,” the guy beside me finishes for him, and Professor Scott writes his name beside mine.
“All right, Wren and Logan, I look forward to hearing the topic you choose.”
Logan doesn’t say anything to him as he turns around and heads for the stairs on this side of the room, and I go to start after him—not to follow him, just to leave class—but Professor Scott says something to me, something quiet, once Logan is out of earshot: “If you ever need anything, come see me. I want you to have everything you need.”
I give him a smile and a nod of acknowledgement before I march up the steps and leave the auditorium, and then, when what he said really hits me, I wonder if he’s going to say the same thing to everybody, or if he’s singling me out because he thinks I’m something special, something he needs to help cultivate or something.
Logan waits for me just outside the auditorium, in the wide hall. “What’d he say?”
“Nothing,” I quickly say, and thankfully he lets it drop. He does not, however, let his idea for the night drop, because as I keep walking, he tags along with me.
“So, when do you want to get together and pick a topic?”
“You know, we don’t need to do this.” We make it to the side stairwell, and I push open the door and head down with pep in my step.
“I didn’t think you’d let us bomb this—”
“That’s not—obviously, that’s not what I meant.
” I shoot him a dirty look. Once we’re on the ground level, we exit out into the bright sunlight.
The temperature is nice, but we’ll only have a few more weeks of okay weather before it starts to rain every day and running between classes turns miserable. Then it gets chilly, snowy. Yuck.
Logan sounds curious, and totally dumb when he asks, “Then what did you mean?”
“We don’t need to pretend. I know you’re not going to do any of the work, so why don’t you just let me handle it?
I’ll choose the topic, I’ll do the research, I’ll write the paper and plan our presentation.
I’ll even write down what you’ll have to say in front of the class—all you’ll need to do is practice it a few times.
Hopefully you’re not awful at public speaking. ”
He frowns at me. “I can handle myself in front of a crowd just fine.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“And, you know what? No, I’m not going to sit back and let you handle it. We’re in this group together, so we’re going to do it together. Suck it up, buttercup, because you and I are going to start seeing even more of each other.”
I can’t hold in the sigh of exasperation. “Why? Why are you like this?”
“Maybe if you let me come over tonight, I’d shut up about it.”
“Say I let you come over. What do you think will happen?”
“I told you. I’d bring food. We’d make popcorn. Watch a movie. Share the same blanket—”
I lift my eyebrows. “And you’d be okay if nothing happened?”
“You really think you’d be able to share a blanket with me and keep your hands off me?” The arrogance. The cockiness. He might wear them well, but I do not find them attractive at all… even if I do kind of like it when he smirks.
I don’t know how long I gaze up into his eyes, but it’s a while. Thirty seconds, at least, and as I do, he doesn’t say another word more. It’s like he’s wordlessly begging me to prove him wrong. God, this guy is the very definition of hot and cold.
Finally, I ask him, “Would you keep your hands off me?”
He’s ready with a comeback immediately: “Would you want me to?” He glances around us.
The sidewalks are getting busier, now that classes have officially let out.
He takes a single step toward me, practically blocking out the sun as he now stands less than eight inches away.
The breeze blows between us, around us, and I catch a whiff of something—not smoke or weed, like I smelled at the party.
No, it’s something different, something I can’t even describe.
Musky pine laced with danger, his scent, and it’s actually not bad.
“You know,” Logan says, his voice suddenly husky, too husky for standing on the sidewalk in the middle of the afternoon, with dozens of other students walking by, “you might not know this, but it only gets better. You learn what you like. You learn new moves, new techniques… there’s a lot I can teach you. ”