Chapter Ten - 10. The Reveal #2
“I did mention it,” I said. “Obviously, you don’t have to. I need to bring someone though. Everyone on the committee agreed to bring a non-commerce plus-one.”
“So if I don’t go, you’ll take someone else.”
I nodded.
Taylor looked at me. He wasn’t scowling, but he didn’t look happy. The worst part was, he looked resigned about it. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go. Even though I’ll have to wear a stupid suit.”
“What are you talking about? You’ll look so good.”
That won the tiniest flicker of a smile. Then he turned back to his studies, pulling out another practice question. Maybe I was reading too much into it, but it felt like he was dismissing me, and that hurt.
Impulsively, I sat down next to him, leaning in close to read the question over his shoulder. Explain the elements required to establish negligence in Australian law.
I moved closer, the point of my nose brushing his jaw.
He gently pushed me away. “Sorry,” he said, already writing. “Not now. I have to study.”
I leaned back, relieved he wasn’t looking at me, seeing my disappointment. “I didn’t think you had to study,” I said lightly.
“Of course, I have to study. Everyone has to study.”
“I thought you were naturally good at everything. That’s what I thought, in high school, at least.”
“I worked hard when no one was looking.”
I thought of all the hours this year he’d spent on the couch, playing video games. Then I thought of how he went to the gym every day, like clockwork. Him preparing meals. Going to class.
The times I came back to the dorm, and he stepped out of his bedroom, laptop left on the desk, and asked if I felt like dinner. I felt stupid. Obviously, he worked hard. It had just been easier to resent him when he made everything look effortless.
“Do you want to eat dinner together, later?” I asked.
“Sure.” His shoulders twitched, like he wanted me to move away.
“Hey,” I said. Are you…okay? Have I done something to annoy you?
He had turned to me, waiting, finger fidgeting with the pen in his hand. I was wasting his time.
“Never mind,” I said, standing up. “I’ll cook. Pasta okay?”
Maybe I was overthinking things with Taylor.
Sure, I did the maths in my head and he was initiating less often than before.
Sometimes, afterwards, in bed, he’d stare at the ceiling with this look on his face and I’d panic and think, he doesn’t like it as much anymore.
But then other times, we’d be sitting on the couch, and he’d wrap me up in a blanket, turning me into a human burrito, and cover my face with kisses.
Or, as we walked to class together, just before we left Valentina Hall and went our seperate ways, he’d pull me into the mail room and kiss me hard, hands roaming up my sides like he didn’t want to let me go.
The semester ended, and then came a week’s break, where everyone frantically crammed for exam season.
One morning, I was at a library on campus, which I’d stepped into as soon as it opened at six, in an effort to claim a seat before the place was full, when my laptop dinged with a notification.
It was an email from student accomodation services.
Dear all,
This year, in an effort to better accommodate student needs, we will be altering dormitory living rules. Previously, once assigned a room, students were unable to change. However, we will now be accepting requests for room transfers for semester two to promote student wellbeing —
I clicked out of the email. It was funny — a few months ago, I would’ve applied to change rooms immediately, to move far far away from Taylor King. Now, he slept in my bed. He dropped his clothes into my laundry hamper. He charged his phone on my nightstand. I couldn’t be more pleased.
Exam season came and Taylor and I both had our first exam on the Monday. We stood at the kitchen island, and I knew it was an off day, because I couldn’t even taste the overnight oats I was shovelling into my mouth.
“The way I see it,” Taylor said, washing his jar out in the sink, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, “it doesn’t matter if you bomb the first semester because you have the rest of the degree to boost your GPA.”
“We both know that anything less than a perfect grade will be disappointing,” I told him, finishing off my oats and handing him the jar. “Thanks.”
He submerged it into the bubbly water. “I’m just trying to be encouraging here.”
“I know. Thank you.” I moved to stand behind him and looped my arms around his waist. He stiffened, just for a second. Maybe I was being too touchy. Maybe that was the issue. But then he relaxed into me. He smelled warm and toasty.
Exam season was over in a blur. The CSS ball committee had one final meeting on Friday night, the day before the ball, and everyone in the room let out a sigh of relief at the fact that we had sold enough tickets and that the ball wouldn’t be a huge disaster, or worse, a financial loss.
On the day of the ball, Taylor and I spent a mind-numbing amount of time on the couch, watching TV and playing games. When the sky darkened, we changed into our suits, and Taylor stood in front of the bathroom mirror for fifteen minutes straight, fiddling with his hair.
“I never knew you were so vain,” I teased.
“I have to look good. I’m representing you, remember? You can’t show up with some dishevelled guy as your date.”
“Plus-one,” I corrected. “Also, you could never not look good.”
He ignored that. “Can you go get my cologne for me? It’s in the drawer of my desk.”
I suspected he just wanted me to step outside of the bathroom, where I was crowding him, but I did as he asked.
His bedroom looked emptier than usual — he’d moved a lot of his stuff into my room.
On his desk was a stack of practice exams he needed to recycle.
His laptop was still on, and as I searched through the drawers, I caught sight of what was on the screen.
I felt like the floor had opened up beneath me. My gut swooped, like I was falling.
He was just looking, I told myself, except for the fact that he’d already filled in his details. Name: Taylor King. Student number: 117320. Course: Bachelor of Laws.
I stared at the heading on the top of the document, written in bold, sans serif font. Application for semester two room transfer.