But Ethan’s high eroded when he didn’t see Greg sitting next to him. His seat was empty and stayed empty as Professor Sharpe coughed through his lecture. He texted Greg to find out where he was, but got no response. Ethan’s thought process went from no big deal (Oh, he’s sleeping) to major freak-out (What if he’s in the hospital? How would I ever know?).
Greg wandered in during the last ten minutes of class. Ethan smoothed down his hair and shirt. He had ditched khakis for class, but he had spent a few extra minutes in front of the bathroom mirror this morning.
“Hey,” Greg said.
“You’re super-late.”
“I just came to pick up my test, which he’s not doing until the end of class.”
“Makes sense.” But Ethan wondered why he hadn’t just come for the whole class. Ethan was there.
“What are you doing after this?”
Ethan acted as nonchalant as possible. “I don’t know. I don’t really have plans.”
“Maybe we could do a little shopping.”
Not the answer he expected. “Um, okay.”
“Trust me,” Greg said with his smirk. “It’s a good type of shopping.”
“Okay.” Perhaps they were going to do actual shopping. It would be a new activity for them: going somewhere where they not only remained dressed, but accumulatedmoreclothes.
Greg slouched in his chair and put his arm on the armrest they shared. Ethan casually rested his arm next to Greg’s. And then nothing happened. Ethan counted down the moments, waiting for Greg to make contact. A stroke of his arm. Interlocking fingers. Something. They were right next to each other, and nobody was looking.
Ethan brushed Greg’s thumb with his pinky. Greg sat there, taking it, not doing anything back. Ethan tried to get Greg to look at him, but no dice.
Greg moved his hand away. “The TAs are handing out exams up front,” he said and bolted out of his seat.
Ethan watched him bounce down the stairs. He joined the crush of his classmates at the front.
“Follett!” the female TA called out. Ethan shot his hand up and pushed through the jam of classmates.
“How’d you do?” Greg asked Ethan as they walked out together.See, we’re walking out together, Ethan reminded himself.We’re fine.
“A-minus,” Ethan replied with a shrug of faux-modesty. “You?”
“Not an A-minus.”
“Bad?”
Greg handed over his exam. A huge C in blood-red ink was scrawled on top. Ethan must’ve gotten graded by the female TA because his grade was written in swirly cursive.
“I’m sorry.” Ethan handed back his test.
Greg heaved out a breath. Ethan wasn’t sure where they were going, but he trusted Greg had a plan. As always. “I hate this class.”
“You always have,” Ethan said. “I think there’s still time to drop it.”
“But it’s too late to switch into another class. I’d have to forfeit the credits, which means I may not graduate in four years.”
“That wouldn’t be terrible.”
“You seem to have a very warped definition of the word terrible. Listen, Folly: I have to graduate in four years. I have to take this stupid class. And that’s that.”
Greg crumpled the test up in his fist. He held it over a trash can, but some greater force within him pulled his hand back.
“I hate this class.” Greg kept walking.
