Drew: Awesome, babe. Be there shortly.
Smiling to myself, I toggle over to my message thread with Scottie to answer the one that came in right before I got into the building.
Scottie: If Dr. Nick can’t heal me like he says he can, I hope he can at least write a prescription for a lightning-fast motorized chair. Getting around campus in the rush is a PITA.
Me: Now, now, none of that talk. We’re staying optimistic, remember? These are Lexi’s genes we’re talking about. And you said he sounded super confident.
A little under a week ago, Scottie had her first consult with Lexi Winslow’s dad and renowned neurosurgeon, Dr. Nick Raines, about her paralysis from a traumatic cheerleading injury in the spring. All the doctors involved in treating her before said the chance of getting any use of her legs back was extremely limited, but Lexi’s dad isn’t convinced. He’s been working on new research in Germany, and he thinks there’s a chance for surgery and rehabilitation. After everything Scottie’s been through—her family trauma is so unimaginably heavy—I want it for her more than I’ve ever wanted anything for myself.
She’s an amazing person. She deserves every opportunity in life and to actually catch a break for once.
Scottie: He did. But I guess I just…don’t wanna get my hopes up too high, you know?
Me: I get that. But I’ll hope for the both of us, okay?
Scottie: Thanks, Jules.?
Me: Are you kidding? You’re my girl.
Just as I’m finishing typing, there’s some movement next to me, a hand moving my backpack out of the way out of the corner of my eye.
I smile and tuck my phone away, my head jerking as my gaze makes a bumpy landing on a face I’m not expectingat all. It’s not Drew. It’s Ace.
Which does not compute.
“Ace? What the hell are you doing here?”
He waggles his eyebrows and lifts his backpack into his lap, undoing the zipper slowly. “Getting ready to get my learn on. What do you mean?”
I swear, my eyebrows might as well be singular, they’re so close together. “You’re in this class?”
Ace shrugs, taking out a pen, notebook, a pair of tweezers, a turkey baster, an…is that an unopened slip ‘n slide?…and his laptop in answer. I have questions, lots of them, about the contents of his bag, but compared to the giant pink elephant of his presence, they’re inconsequential right now.
“But…how? I don’t understand.” This is Calc 2, which means you need to have taken Calc 1 to be in it. Unless he managed to fit in summer classes I didn’t know about, Ace hasnottaken Calc 1.
“You’ve rubbed off on me, I guess, Jules.” He grins at me and flips his baseball cap around so he’s wearing it backward. I swear, I hear three girls behind us sigh dreamily when he does it. “I know I’ve been pretty lax about it in the past, but I’m going to start taking my schoolwork more seriously. Shooting for good grades, taking the hard stuff. You know a student’s effort in college is a good sign of how much they succeed in life?”
“It is?” I question, but I don’t even really know whatI’m saying. His ramble and unexpected presence are making my brain feel like scrambled eggs.
“No.” He chuckles softly. “Well, I mean, at least I haven’t heard anyone other than me say that. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Life is ninety percent effort, ten percent ability.”
“I don’t know that that’s—”
“Good morning,” the professor announces from the front of the room, effectively cutting off our discussion with a finger to the lips and a pat on my knee from Ace. He turns to the front, his pen at the ready, the random smattering of items tucked back into his backpack and notebook opened.
I turn to look for Drew as someone else takes the seat on my other side, effectively leaving him without a spot. I don’t say anything, my shock over the whole last two minutes robbing me of my normal vocal abilities.
Drew comes in just as I’m about to turn back to the front, confusion spreading across his handsome face. I wince, mouthing an apology across the space as he’s forced to find a seat in the second row on the far side of the room.
I sit quietly for a little while as Professor Emmsy introduces himself and the class basics, but as the intricacies of Ace’s presence hit me, I have to delve deeper. I quiet my voice to a whisper and start to talk, but Ace shakes his head, his eyebrows forming a sharp wrinkle with their severe pull.
He points to the professor again and cups a hand around his ear, mouthing, “I’m trying to listen.”
Frustrated, I reach over and rip a piece of paper from his notebook and steal his pen, scribbling my thoughts down quickly and handing it back to him.
How are you in this class??? This is Calc 2, Ace. You haven’t taken Calc 1.
He scribbles back and shoves it toward me, shaking his head seriously this time and pointing toward the board where the professor has started to outline the course’s expectations and syllabus.
