“I don’t want you to feel obligated to hang out with me,” she says.
“I don’t feel obligated,” I say. “I’m the one that’s winning tonight by making you watch my show.” That’s another attempt at a joke, and my voice sounds normal this time, but Eve doesn’t smile.
“Shit,” I say when she doesn’t respond. “Doyoufeel obligated?”
“Oh, no, not at all.” She shakes her head. “But …”
“But?”
Her expression is hard to read. “You have a lot of friends. I don’t have that many.”
“So?”
“So … I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”
I wait for her to explain, but she doesn’t. I think of the first time I went to her house, how she went from demanding I watchPride and Prejudiceto looking uncertain and shy. While I’ll never know for sure, I can guess what’s going on in her mind.
“You’re alright, Eve.”
She blinks at me. “What?”
“I said that I think you’re alright. Do you think I’m alright?”
“I—I suppose. You think I’mjustalright?”
I grin and she slaps me with a couch pillow. “Now, you know what two people thinking each other are alright is?”
“Tolerance?”
Friendship, I think. Instead, I pick up the remote. “Two people who would be perfectMoney Heistbinge-watching buddies. Okay?”
I get onto the first episode but don’t press play until Eve responds.
“Okay,” she says after a moment.
I press play.
15
Eve: The 24 Hour Supermarket
“If we started studying for this days ago, I wouldn’t be so stressed.”
Across the dining table, Noah smiles. “Then you miss the thrill.”
“The thrill?” I look at the Rosselli dining table covered in papers, notebooks, pens and highlighters. In front of me is my laptop and propped next to it is my annotated copy ofMacbeth.
“The thrill of the chance you’ll fail,” Noah clarifies. He’s wearing a hoodie with his local football club logo on the front. While I’m not wearing a hoodie, I’m dressed in potato-couch clothing: an oversized shirt and plaid shorts that look like I stole them from a grandpa. They’re very comfortable, though. The more I think about it, it looks like I’m wearing pyjamas.
Earlier, Ben arrived from work and heated up dinner for us, and we hadn’t eaten yet. He’d handed me a plate of lasagna and said, “so this is the clever friend Noah’s been talking about.”
That was hours ago. Now it’s past nine o’clock. And the assessment we’re studying for is on Monday. Tomorrow.
“I’mnot worried I’m going to fail,” I say. “But I’m worried about how I’m going to teach you everything we’ve learned in the past month, as well as teaching you how to write an essay from scratch.”
“I’m lucky to have you. And I’m also lucky that you helping me strokes your God complex,” Noah says.
I narrow my eyes at him, but he laughs because he’s sure it’s true. Since I knew it embarrassed Noah to ask for my help with homework, I may have overdone it with my enthusiasm for it. But I love helping Noah understand something he didn’t get before.
