Chapter 3 The Writing Class #11
He’s right. Even though I don’t have a clue how I’m going to smooth things over on the whole Grayson issue, I know there’s truth in what my dad is saying. I need to prove to Tessa that my love is constant—that it won’t waver just because some literary latte-drinker in a blazer caught her attention.
I take a deep breath, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “What about the other guy? How do I get rid of him?”
Dad gives me a stern look. “Well, I wouldn’t recommend violence.”
“What makes you think I’d be violent?” I manage a wry smirk as I hold up my split knuckles.
“Don’t worry about the other guy,” Dad says. “Once he realizes he doesn’t have a shot with Tessa, he’ll drift out of her life without you having to do anything about it. If I were you, I’d trust Tessa to handle that side of things.”
“And what if…” My voice dies in my throat, and I look down, squeezing my hand into a fist and then releasing it.
I’m ashamed to finish the question—ashamed that there’s still a twinge of self-doubt cowering in the pit of my stomach.
“What if he does have a shot with her? What if she likes him way more than she’ll admit, even to me? Even to herself?”
Dad contemplates for a minute before answering, “Then she was never the right girl for you.”
It’s like an uppercut to the chest, hearing Dad echo the same words Tessa threw in my face last night. I don’t want to believe there’s any truth in them, but it’s impossible to ignore the way my stomach twists with dread at the thought of Tessa loving someone else.
It sparks a fear in me I’ve never experienced before. I hate how helpless I feel, facing an opponent I can’t fight back against—not with words, not with fists, not with anything.
I rise to my feet, walking over to the window and looking out at the streets of Rockford. The sun is sinking low in the sky. Quarter past five, according to the wall clock. Tessa will be heading to her writing class soon. She’ll get a ride from someone else tonight. Her mom, maybe.
Or Grayson.
The possibility is enough to make my hands coil into fists at my sides. The thought of her walking into class with him, laughing at private jokes with him, letting him open doors for her, flirt with her, be there for her when I’m not… it’s enough to light a fuse inside me.
No. I will be there for her. Always.
“Hey, Dad?” I turn to look at him. “Would it be okay if I left now? I want to see if I can catch Tessa before her class starts.”
He nods with an approving smile. “I think that’s a good idea.”
TESSA
My heart is racing as I shut Mom’s passenger door behind me and wave goodbye through the window. To prove that I’m not nervous about this, I turn and start walking purposefully down the campus path. But as soon as Mom’s car is out of sight, I stop dead in my tracks.
I hate confrontation.
I tap my foot nervously on the leaf-scattered sidewalk as I stand frozen under the enormous oaks, mentally preparing myself for the conversation I’m about to have with Grayson.
I need to clear the air between us. I need to prove to Weston—and to myself—that his fears are unfounded.
Ever since our argument last night, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this conflict between us. I didn’t mean it when I told Weston that maybe I wasn’t the right girl for him—I know I’m the right girl for him, and he’ll always be the right guy for me.
But can’t he see I need to be free to make my own choices? I’m not as na?ve and foolish as he thinks I am. And I’m about to prove it.
I’ve already planned a speech—of sorts. I’m going to tell Grayson the truth about Weston’s suspicions, without beating around the bush.
And as much as the mere idea of confrontation sends my heart flying into a panic, I know I have to do this.
I have to be strong, independent. I don’t need Weston to protect me.
Steeling myself with a deep breath of resolve, I march down the snaking walkway toward Avery Hall.
The lampposts are shining, though twilight hasn’t quite blanketed the sky in purple-blue.
It’s still bright enough to see a familiar, long-legged boy in glasses and a blazer come striding down the intersecting path towards me.
“Tessa!” He waves, his smile a flash of white in the indigo dusk. “Wait up!”
My heart flops. No time like the present, I guess.
“Hey, Grayson,” I greet him with a wary smile. “I’m glad I caught you. I was hoping we’d… get a chance to talk alone before class.”
Grayson’s eyes light up with interest. “Oh? I’ve got time after class too, if you want to discuss our books more. You can come back to my dorm afterwards.”
Perhaps that invitation would have struck me as benign and platonic before last night—but now all I can hear is Weston’s voice echoing in my memory: If I didn’t exist, he’d be taking the next step… Getting his hands on you—alone, preferably in his dorm room.
I shake my head, dispelling those ridiculous thoughts from my mind. “Uh, actually, this isn’t about our books.”
Grayson’s steps slow over the pavement as we near the corner of an old brick building.
We’re a stone’s throw from the lecture hall, where the windows are already seeping golden light, and I can see students filing through the front door.
But if I don’t get this conversation over with, it will be impossible to focus on anything else.
So I stop, turning to face Grayson. “Look, I… don’t know how to say this. So I’m just going to say it. Okay?”
A little smirk twitches at his mouth as he slides his hands into his pockets. “Please do.”
I reel in another slow, deep breath, glancing around to make sure we are truly, absolutely alone before I speak.
“You’ve been a really good friend to me, Gray. You’ve been so nice about my writing and such a helpful critique partner. I really value your feedback, and I’ve enjoyed our discussions about literature…”
That sounded smooth, I encourage myself. Now for the hard part.
“This is going to sound ridiculous, but… over the past week, my boyfriend, Weston, seems to think there’s some sort of… romantic attraction between us. I know that probably sounds crazy, but—”
“You’re asking if I’m falling for you?”
My gaze snaps up to his, breath catching in my throat. “Well… yeah, I guess I am.”
Grayson’s eyes roam over my face, his expression softening. After a moment of hesitation, he nods. “Yeah. I think I am.”
The confirmation knocks the wind out of me. I stare at him, speechless.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he says. “Who wouldn’t fall for you, Tessa? You’re beautiful and intellectual and funny… You’re the first girl I’ve ever met who truly understands me.”
“Grayson—”
“I know there’s… your boyfriend. But honestly, what do you have in common with him?
You and I are so similar. We read the same books; we like the same things.
I could talk to you for hours and never get bored.
Most girls think I’m freaky, they think my writing is weird and depressing, but you don’t—you get me. ”
His confession rushes out so quickly and without warning, I can’t make my voice work to reply. I’m dizzy, overwhelmed, frozen where I stand—unable to move even when Grayson steps closer and envelops my cold hands in his warm ones.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t felt it, too,” he murmurs, his breath clouding in the chilly air. “There’s some kind of… chemistry between us, Tessa. You light me up every time you walk in the room, every time I see a new email from you—”
“Grayson, please.”
“I know—you feel bad because of Weston. Maybe he’s the one who made you feel you shouldn’t get close to me—”
“That’s not… You don’t understand—”
“I do understand,” he insists, his voice a rough whisper as he reaches up to brush a strand of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering on my neck. “I understand you better than he ever could. And you understand me in a way no one ever has.”
Before I can take my next breath to reply—
He’s kissing me.
It happens in a heartbeat, so fast I don’t have time to back away. His lips move over mine in a soft, lingering kiss before I lurch backwards.
“Grayson,” I gasp, rattled to my core. The shock of someone else’s mouth on mine is both startling and invasive. “I don’t like you like that. There’s… nothing between us except friendship. I thought that’s what you were—my friend.”
I try to take a step back, but his hands catch me by the waist, holding me where I am.
“Don’t say that,” Grayson rasps, something wounded in his eyes. “I know I’m more than just a friend to you. I knew what it meant yesterday when you sent your boyfriend away so you and I could be alone.”
My stomach sinks, the choke of regret tightening around my throat. “No, Grayson—that wasn’t what you thought it was. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you. But you’re deluding yourself. I love Weston. I like you, as a friend, but… that’s it.”
Grayson stares at me for a long moment, his hands still encircling my waist. The tiniest smile curves at the edges of his mouth, determination setting fire to the rejection in his eyes.
“I don’t believe you,” he whispers. “I think you’re just telling yourself that because you feel bad for your boyfriend—but you shouldn’t. ”
He moves in to kiss me again, his fingers tightening around my waist as he pulls me closer. A surge of panic rises in my chest, and I reel backward, breaking away from his lips.
“Grayson, stop.” My voice cracks, thick with tears, as my eyes well up. “You need to stop, okay? You need to leave.”
“Leave?” That single word knocks the air out of his lungs. “You can’t mean that, Tessa.” He steps closer, putting his hands on my shoulders.
“I do mean it,” I say firmly, squirming out of his grip. “Let go of me.”
That’s when I hear footsteps pounding over the pavement. A hand claps down on Grayson’s shoulder, wrenching him away from me. I stumble backward in confusion.
And there stands Weston—murder in his eyes.
WESTON
I’m going to kill him.