4. Will
WILL
I’m still buzzing from being number one on that leaderboard when I get to the library.
I figure the more time I spend in here, the less intimidating it’ll be.
I need to get comfortable here if I’m going to have a quiet place to study.
I was given a single room at a campus complex reserved for grad students.
But even with my own room and a door I can lock, the building is noisy.
I can hear someone’s TV through the wall.
The sound of heavy footsteps from the apartment upstairs.
Doors banging at all hours. People talking out in the hallway.
I’ve studied in loud environments before, but this is some high level shit, not tenth grade math homework I could have done with my eyes closed.
If I’m going to get any serious work done, it will have to be here.
I choose a spot in the main room of the library before I can get too in my head. There are rows of long tables set up in the middle of the room and most of them are pretty full. This is the emptiest one by far.
I’m happy with my choice so I open my laptop and bring up the course notes Professor Moreno posted after the lecture yesterday. I’m just getting settled in when someone pulls the chair out opposite mine. I automatically glance up to acknowledge them.
I can’t control the sigh before it escapes me when I register who it is.
“This seat isn’t taken, is it?” Priestley Rosenthal whispers.
I think about telling him it is, but I don’t want to let him know how much he’s already gotten under my skin.
“No.”
He lets out a satisfied hum before putting his bag on the table. It’s a fancy leather thing—something between a laptop bag and a briefcase.
I try not to pay attention as he starts pulling things out. A shiny MacBook Pro. A Moleskine notebook. A Montblanc pen.
I let out another sigh.
Priestley glances up at me. “Everything alright … William?”
I grit my teeth, think about correcting him, then change my mind. Being called William isn’t the worst thing in the world. My grandma still calls me it sometimes. And my ma, when I’m in trouble.
“Yes. Stop talking, people are trying to study.”
He shrugs as he opens his laptop. “You’re the one breathing like a hippo.”
I bite down the retort and choose to ignore him.
It’s easier said than done.
He definitely taps harder on the keys than is necessary. What is he even typing? We had one introductory lecture and were given a bunch of reading. Which is what I’m trying to do. Is he writing his review already?
I look up once—after trying so hard not to—to find him glancing at me. He’s sitting here, doing whatever he’s doing, just to annoy me.
I try not to give him the satisfaction but even being in the same vicinity as him is irritating the shit out of me. If I sit here much longer, I’m going to punch him.
Slamming my laptop closed, I shove it into my bag and move my chair back to get out.
“Leaving so early?” Priestley asks in an outside voice so everyone can hear him.
I don’t say anything in response, just leave and try not to look back at his smug face.
I’m fuming as I walk away from the library. Why the fuck should I have to leave? I have just as much right to be there as he does.
I stop walking. What would my ma say if she could see me running away like a spoiled little brat who didn’t get what he wanted? I’m acting just like that dick in there.
I turn around and walk back into the library, ignoring the rows of tables where Priestley’s sitting.
I have no idea if he’s seen me or not as I make my way upstairs to where there are comfy armchairs and smaller tables.
It’s not ideal for typing, but, despite whatever Priestley was doing down there, I don’t need to type, not yet.
I just need quiet so I can read the books that are available on the college e-library.
I keep expecting Priestley Rosenthal to come up behind me like a fucking ghoul, but after a while, when he doesn’t, I get focused on the reading and start writing my review with my laptop rested on my legs.
PRIESTLEY
After Will left the library in a huff, I thought, This is too easy.
Then I saw him come back in again, a determined expression on his face.
I thought he was going to come and sit right back down in front of me, open his laptop and start tapping loudly to drown me out, (I wasn’t actually typing anything, just writing fgfhdfhfkjhfdjkfhuegfeufhbfkbfjgh to annoy him) but he went upstairs instead.
I could have followed and continued to harass him, but that would have ruined the illusion that I was just here minding my own business.
Do I chalk this up as a win? I’d say it’s a draw right now. But I can’t imagine it was very comfortable writing in an armchair, so we’ll see when we get the results back in class.
I had planned on keeping to myself today and making headway on my peer review. It’s just an introductory piece of work to show we have the advanced critical thinking skills required to critique our future peers, and it’s due tonight. I have plenty of time and I’m sure I’ll ace it, as always.
My main concern is showing Professor Moreno that I’m so much better than Will O’Reilly academically that her putting me beneath him on her stupid leaderboard is, frankly, discrimination.
I’m sure the dean would like to hear about that.
I just have to make sure Will is so far beneath me that Professor Moreno can’t justify bumping me down purely for academic reasons.
I pop into the campus coffee shop to grab my morning espresso when who do I see working behind the counter? Oh, this is so good.
I hadn’t planned to harass Will O’Reilly at all today, but when an opportunity is handed to me on a silver platter … well, I’m not about to pass it up.
Ah, surely if karma is a thing, it approves of a little competition?
He’s greeting a customer with a ‘have a nice day’ service smile. I feel my own smile spread easily across my face as I step up to the register.
I note the exact moment he realizes it’s me and have to purse my lips to stop a laugh from escaping. Too easy.
“William,” I say, keeping my tone light and friendly. “I didn’t know you worked here. What a nice surprise.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. I note the slightest flaring of the nostrils.
“What can I get you?” he asks, as if I were any other customer.
“Hmm …” I tap my chin in contemplation. “What would you recommend?”
He fixes that fake smile on again, this one is more strained. “We have a new South African roast with a nutty flavor for an extra fifty cents.”
“Hmm …” I pretend to ponder. Will’s smile has faded into impatience. How much do I want to harass him? I don’t want to get him fired. This job is far too distracting for me to want anyone taking it away from him.
“I think I’ll just have an espresso.”
He takes a deep breath and fixes the smile back on his face.
“Coming right up. That’ll be—” I flash my credit card before he can finish the sentence. Nothing as basic as a platinum card. Anyone can get one of those. No, a finance student like Will should know exactly how exclusive my AMEX Black Card is. His eyes glaze over for a second as he looks at it.
“You can tap it there,” he says, pointing to the card machine.
“Certainly.”
I watch him as I wait for my espresso. It takes him a moment to compose himself for the next customer.
My espresso in hand, I take a seat where I can remain in his eyeline from behind the register.
I’m guessing he’s new here, as the semester only started this week and his accent tells me he’s not a local.
He’s doing a good job, for a newbie. Hasn’t messed up any orders yet.
Not even with me sitting here staring at him.
I open my laptop to get started on my review. I hadn’t planned on writing it here, but might as well.
When the coffee shop gets quiet, Will comes around the counter in his little green apron and starts clearing tables. I push my empty espresso cup away to show I’m finished with it and plan what I’m going to say when he comes near.
It takes him a while. I watch him move between the tables collecting empty cups and wiping down surfaces.
He’s wearing jeans under the apron, a grey t-shirt with the coffee shop logo across the chest. He has those impressive biceps that make sleeves wince.
He’s probably some sort of athlete. He could even be here on an athletic scholarship.
I beam internally. A job and a team schedule?
There’s no way he’ll have enough time to beat me.
I’m so confident by the time he reaches my table that I decide to be charitable and don’t even offer him a quip. I feel like he’s waiting for me to say something, so I look up as he takes my cup and say, “Thank you.”
He just nods.
By the time the lunch rush starts, I realize I haven’t written anything yet and Will has disappeared into the back, replaced by another server.