Chapter Thirteen
You said the Poe stuff would be interesting. You didn’t say it would be so violent.
Which death was your favorite?
You scare me.
Good.
Notes exchanged on the pages of “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe
She finally mentions the midterm assignment at the end of that week. On a Friday. And she drops the bomb on us—a bomb that was not in the syllabus.
We have to work with a partner. We will pick a thesis together, write our own papers, and collaborate on a presentation.
O, the horror!
The unimaginable, depressing horror!
Having a partner for an assignment this huge will absolutely compromise my academic integrity.
I don’t know how, exactly, but it will. To say nothing of my grade!
I am so screwed! Everything about this class has felt like the death of my fucking dream, and this moment is no different.
Even worse, though? I know exactly what I have to do to ameliorate the damage.
I have to pick the one person whose head is at least partially screwed on.
I look at Hayes.
Hayes looks at me.
The unspoken conclusion hangs between us in the air.
“What are you thinking, Novella?” he asks, leaning over. The full force of his attention is almost too much. I’ve never met anyone with eyes as intensely focused as his, and I’m not sure I’m comfortable being the object of that penetrating gaze.
“I’m not thinking at all,” I say, waving a dismissive hand.
“Yeah, right.” He chuckles. “There’s no way you’re thinking about nothing. I’d bet money you’re always thinking about something. You’re not one of these people who just have elevator music playing in your head all day.”
I roll my eyes. Being an elevator-music person seems peaceful.
But he’s right. I’m always thinking. I exhaust myself sometimes. And I know I can be exhausting to deal with for others too. For a split second, I wonder whether I even want to subject Hayes to that.
“Well, I’m not thinking about nothing-nothing,” I admit.
He sits beside me in silence, watching me with those bright, barely blinking eyes. It’s too much. I don’t think I like that. I don’t like the feelings that come up out of nowhere when he looks at me like this. I don’t like that I can’t identify them.
“I was thinking regretfully about the midterm.” Even to my own ears, I sound a little whiny. Like a kid who dropped her ice cream cone. “I was excited. I had an idea. And I had a plan. A plan for one person. One. Person.”
He nods. Smiles.
More feelings spring up from the floor or flow down from the ceiling or ooze out of my pores. I hope they’re not visible on my face like beads of stress sweat. They feel just that kind of gross.
“I wasn’t part of your plan, was I?” His smile turns into a sly grin. He’s so, so certain we’re gonna be partners, even though I could theoretically choose anyone.
But he’s right about that too.
“No,” I breathe out between my clenched teeth. “You weren’t part of my plan.”
“So … we’ll have to make a new one.” He spins my notebook around on the desk with one finger on the corner. “But first, let me see this brainstorming. What were you gonna write about?”
“Oh no.” I scramble, tearing my notebook away from him.
“Come on.” He tries to grab the notebook back from me.
I think it would be easier to get me to part with one of my kidneys.
We end up fighting over it like first graders playing tug-of-war, and I realize at some point that this immaturity could lead to the destruction of my favorite notebook’s delicate pages.
So … I let go. The recurve energy sends Hayes flying back into his chair hard enough he almost tips over, my notebook still in his hand.
“Hayes,” I whine, not even caring how childish I sound. “Be mature.”
“It’s okay, Novella.” He smiles. He scoots closer to the table and closer to me, examining the notebook like it contains the secrets to an important test he only has one chance to take and one chance to pass. “I just want to know how your mind works.”
Oh.
Well that’s … not at all what I expected him to say. Mostly because no one’s ever said that before. No one’s ever wanted that before.
And if I do this, if I let him into my favorite place in the world, my brain, there’s no going back. One look into my head, and he’ll either understand me on a deeper level than anyone else, or he’ll see just how fragile I really am.
He looks at me, ready to flip open the cover. Without words, he’s asking for permission.
I nod.
My heart starts racing. His eyes, flying at a truly wild speed, move over the pages covered in midterm ideas.
I hold my breath the entire time. There’s no logical reason why this feels so important.
It’s more power than I ever thought I could give someone.
More power than I thought I’d ever willingly give him.
When he looks up at me, his face is blank.
I’ve spent so much time studying everyone around me, especially him, to see and understand and learn the kind of things that everyone else just instinctively knows.
I’d like to think I’m decent at it by now.
Decent at faking it, anyway. But I don’t get this. This look is entirely unfamiliar.
“Goddamn, Nova.” He almost scoffs. “You’re a genius.”