Chapter Five Evan #2
I keep glancing at her as we walk down the corridor, and I can’t help but smile at how pissed she looks.
Her shoulders are hunched up to her ears, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized jacket, brown wavy hair falling down her back.
All she needs now is a cartoon storm cloud above her head to complete the look.
“You seem stressed,” I say helpfully as we turn a corner.
“I’m not stressed. Just annoyed that I have to work with you for the rest of the semester,” she grumbles, not sparing me a glance.
“Come on. You know we work well together.”
She lets out a sharp laugh. “Do we? Really? You think arguing all the time means we work well together?”
“We challenge each other, and we get the work done.”
“I could challenge literally anyone else in our cohort,” she says, adding in a quieter voice, “Why does it have to be you?”
I grin proudly when she finally looks at me. “Maybe I’m the chosen one.”
“Right. Sure. That’s definitely it,” she deadpans. We find an empty table in the library and unload our things onto it. Scarlett stands up straight, looking at me like she rues the day I was born. “We should start researching.”
I nod, and I navigate my way through the fashion and business textbooks, pulling out ones that could help us find a starting point for phase one of the project.
The best place to start will be with some brainstorming of what our start-up in the fashion industry would be and how to make it stand out from the others.
Considering both of our families’ history, it shouldn’t be hard.
I gather the things that I think we’ll need, and we both start flicking through pages and making notes. We don’t talk much. Or at all. Mostly because I’m too scared to say anything with how intense Scarlett looks right now.
Her eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, eyes scanning each line with precision as she punches out words on her keyboard in an aggressive rhythm.
She’s always been like this when I see her working, like she wants to live inside a textbook or her laptop.
Like she’s searching for the most efficient and perfect way to complete a task.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
“What?”
Her voice startles me, and I snap my gaze away from her, looking down at my textbook. “What? Nothing.”
“You keep staring at me.”
“I’m just thinking.”
I look up at her and she juts out her bottom lip, tilting her head to the side. “About me?”
“About why you’re on this course,” I answer honestly, and she jerks back a little, confused.
“Realistically, we could finish this entire project in one highly caffeinated night if we wanted to. You could also be working for your parents or something instead of trying to learn something you already know.”
Scarlett’s eyes narrow. “Is that a . . . compliment?”
“No, it’s an observation that even though you’re good at what you do, you don’t really like it. I don’t see much . . . passion? With this module, at least.”
“Passion?” she repeats slowly, like she’s talking to a child.
“Yes. You know, that little spark you’re supposed to get in your eye when you do something you love.”
Scarlett scoffs. “I’m trying to work hard and get a degree that will be beneficial for multiple careers. Plus, I already know what I want, so what does passion for this module have to do with it?”
“Everything.”
She sucks in a sharp breath.
I don’t know why I suddenly care so much, but I do.
I’ve seen her shoving sketches into her bag when she thinks I’m not looking.
Watched the way she spaces out during our lectures.
She’s a creative, but she’s always hiding that side of herself.
Maybe it’s easier that way, since she didn’t take up any creative classes this semester.
Scarlett and I must’ve both had choices not to go to college.
We could’ve easily got a job working in the field just because of who our parents are.
I know why I chose to come here. I just can’t figure out why she would.
It’s irritating—she could put in half the work and still be one of the smartest people in any room.
It almost feels like a waste for her to be here, staying up late studying to go to work for someone she could work for right now if she wanted.
I can see how that sounds like a compliment, but it’s not. I just feel bad for her.
Scarlett folds her arms against her chest, leaning forward across the table. “What do you know, Branson? You could be working for your dad’s company too, but you’re not. You’re here as well.”
“I am working for B&Co,” I say without thinking.
She laughs. “Why am I not surprised that Daddy would give you a job just like that?” I shrug, feeling uneasy that I just lied to her.
But I’m more annoyed that she’s picking me apart.
“We don’t get things handed to us like you do.
We actually have to work to be a part of the business.
My parents aren’t just going to hand it to me because I’m their daughter. ”
“Is that the only reason?”
I know I’m pushing too far, but fuck it, I’m curious.
I know what happened when she was sixteen.
Why she stopped attending events and basically went into hiding until she started college.
I know how much power her family has. How easy it would be for her to work as an intern or something and not bother about college at all.
But maybe we’re more alike than I thought. Maybe she wants this degree just as much as I do because she’s trying to prove something too.
“Scarlett, I know—”
“No, Branson, you actually don’t know anything. Can you just drop it?” she snaps, fiery-brown eyes staring into mine. “I want to take this project seriously.”
I swallow, leaning back in my seat. “Fine.”