Chapter Fifteen
Hayes: hey
Nova: do not disturb
Hayes: your do not disturb isn’t even on
Nova: and yet I still do not want to be disturbed!!!
“Um, excuse me?”
Hayes is on my favorite bench. The bench I sit on every day. The bench where I spend my every Esha-free moment because I can be alone. It’s quite literally the geographic center of my world.
No one else is supposed to be there, least of all him.
“Hey, Novella.” He smiles at me like he didn’t make a huge, grand academic gesture in class yesterday.
His stuff is scattered all over the floor around the bench and the seat itself. Loose papers are spread out in a circle in front of him. They look math-y. It’s a language I don’t really speak.
“Hey, jerk.” I stand rigidly, uncomfortable. I’ve gotten used to him being close by, but this is my space. This is different.
“Oh, you wanted this seat for yourself, huh? Sorry,” he says cheerfully, stacking some of his sheets of paper in a haphazard pile. “I thought maybe we could talk. Join me.”
He pats the place next to him.
I perch, trying not to be painfully awkward. I don’t think it works.
He throws an arm over the back of the bench, behind my shoulders. With the rush of warmth from his body, I completely short-circuit. With a massive, massive effort, I sort of shift my body around to his, so I can face him.
“Are we gonna talk about what happened yesterday?” I ask, in an attempt to regain some semblance of control.
“Yeah,” he responds. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I thought I should probably apologize. I got carried away.” He crosses one leg, leaning one ankle on the other knee. His body language is so effortlessly casual. I envy the relaxed way he interacts with the world around him.
“Hayes,” I huff again. “You want to apologize for calling me brilliant? That was getting carried away? No one’s ever called me that. You want to apologize, do it for something else.”
I don’t know why I admitted that.
He blows a sigh out between his teeth and leans his head back against the tiled wall. The ugly khaki paint makes his hair look darker.
“No, no,” he says. “That’s not what I meant. Well, you are brilliant, I meant that part. I meant all of it, actually, I just didn’t ask your permission before I volunteered you to take an unofficial TA role in our class.”
“Oh, yeah.” I laugh. “That.”
“I should’ve. Asked for permission, I mean.
It just seemed like such a simple solution.
Everyone is struggling, and you can help.
It took me way too long to consider that you might not want to help and almost definitely don’t want to be volunteered to.
I’m sorry for that. And if you don’t want to take on this kind of extra work, that’s more than reasonable.
I’ll tell everyone I got too excited and jumped the gun.
And I’ll help them instead. It’s only fair. ”
I sit with that for a minute. His faith in me, and his apology. His complete willingness to take it all back.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” I confess. “I thought you hated me. I thought we were as close to enemies as this school has. But you’re being complimentary. Cordial. Contrite. Are you, like, ill?”
He shakes his head, chuckling bitterly. “We might be rivals, Novella, but I’ve never hated you. I promise.”
“Okay. Well. You could’ve fooled me.” I shake my head, like the motion will clear it, will make this all make sense. I still haven’t gotten used to him sitting here—let alone him trying to shift our entire dynamic.
“Are you upset about yesterday?” he asks, shifting his arm so he’s leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. His body heat leaves me when he does, and I have no idea why that feels like a loss. “Sometimes I don’t have the best impulse control. And I am sorry.”
“No, I’m not upset.” I don’t know what I am, but I’m not upset. “I was mostly surprised. You don’t like me, but you think I’m more competent than you to TA a college course?”
“An English class? Of course you are.” His brow furrows. “I don’t dislike you, Nova. But maybe I did something really shitty a year ago. And maybe now I want to try and make it up to you. I think I know how to—”
“What’s happening here?” Esha asks, sneaking up on us around the corner.
“Moriarty,” Hayes says, addressing her by her last name like they’re in the military or something.
“Collins,” she responds. They nod at each other in a way that’s ridiculously formal. “I repeat, what’s happening here?”
“Nothing,” Hayes and I say at precisely the same time.
“That’s suspicious.” Esha raises her eyebrows at us. “I can’t believe you let him sit there.” She looks at me like she doesn’t know who I am.
“I don’t own the thing …,” I say softly, shrugging.
“What? You’re acting so timid around him today!”
“I’m not being timid!” My posture changes. Arms crossing, spine stiffening. I am many things, some good, some bad, but for some reason, I cannot stand being thought of as timid. Fuck that.
Hayes has no visible reaction to that accusation, which is frustrating. I need some data to interpret here. The blankness is just completely unhelpful.
“You’ve always had this … thing with him.
” She sits on the edge of the bench, scooches toward me so I have to scooch toward Hayes.
She’s wearing a flowy dress today, this one a pale-green floral pattern with an empire waist. She crosses her legs, rests one elbow on her knee.
I feel like we’re in therapy. “I was certain it was dislike, but you’re looking awful cozy. “
I’m not great with social conventions, but I’m fairly sure that she’s not supposed to share these thoughts about me and a boy with me and a boy. That seems like something better saved for a just-her-and-me talk.
Hayes is still silent, making no move to confirm or deny this alleged … coziness.
“Maybe timid is the wrong word,” she starts again. “Maybe the word is calm. Usually, he annoys the hell out of you so much, you get flustered and can hardly speak intelligibly.”
“Esha,” I hiss, a blush of embarrassment flaring up on my face.
“Are you two getting close in that class? Hmm? Nova, tell me!”
I cover my eyes with my hands, pressing so hard that I see spots. Usually, this kind of embarrassment comes from something I said. Not from something my best friend said. She’s supposed to be the shield for my weirdness. She’s supposed to keep everyone else away from it, not expose it to the world.
Gentle fingertips wrap around my wrist, pulling my hands down. Hayes’s fingertips. He smiles. His eyes are warm and kind of melty. Soft, even in the middle of his sharp, angular face
“No,” I tell her immediately.
But is she right?