“His sister invited me to dinner with them,” I sigh. “And when I tried to get out of it by saying I had plans with you—”
“She invited them to the diner.”
“Bingo.”
“And why didn’t you just say no?”
“Have you met me?” I ask. “Plus, I made a new friend today; I didn’t want to lose her right after meeting her.”
“So, you’re going to sit here with Declan and act like everything is fine?”
“He’s not saying much, so I have nothing to worry about.” I pause, glancing back to my table. Declan’s smiling for the first time since we got here. Makes sense since I’m no longer at the table.
“I guess you’re gonna have to get used to it, though, with this project of yours.”
“Don’t remind me.” I groan. “And if this attitude of his is gonna be around while we’re working on our project, it’s gonna be a long school year.
“Or the two of you will be jumping each other’s bones by day two of working on the project,” she teases.
“Ha,” I scoff. “When pigs fly. Now, let me get those drinks before Brinley asks what’s taking so long.”
“Here, Em.” She hands me the drinks. “And if you need an out, just shoot me a look, and I’ll be there.”
“Thanks,” I say, and as I turn around, I remember Brinley’s milkshake. “Oh, and could you throw a strawberry milkshake onto our order?”
“Strawberry?” she wonders. “You’re a chocolate girl.”
“Not for me.”
“I’ll add it in,” she says, and I turn back around. “Oh, and Em… breathe.”
“That’s a lot easier said than done.”
Especially when Declan Sanderson is involved.
Ithought the first class was unbearable, but we’re now four classes in, and I think it’s getting worse.
The only time Declan seems to tolerate me is in this classroom. Not that I’m crazy about seeing him outside of these walls, either. If it were up to me, I’d have us put the project off as long as possible.
Unfortunately, our professor has other plans.
“I don’t want this project to be something that you put off until the week it’s due,” he says, almost like he was reading my mind. “Starting next week, you will turn in weekly progress reports.”
By now, the class knows better than to groan, but I can still see the lack of excitement on everyone’s face.
“And that doesn’t mean giving me a paper that says you’re working on the project,” Mr. Randsen says, and there’s a subtle collective eye-roll. “Every Wednesday, you will submit a worksheet that can be found on Canvas. Once class starts, that worksheet will no longer be accessible, but the one due the following week will then become available. All of you can find two hours to set aside to complete it.”
Two hours might not seem like a lot to most people, but Declan and I haven’t talked since Brinley forced us into an uncomfortable situation last week. And even then, I don’t think you could say what happened between us was a conversation. It was more so Brinley trying to incorporate him into our conversation and him grunting and groaning his limited responses.
“Alright,” he sets a stack of papers on his desk and then turns back to us, “any questions.”
The room remains silent.
“Good, let’s start today’s lesson. Turn to page 246.”
I flip through my book until I land on the page, then pull out my notebook and prepare for today’s lecture. Declan just sits back in his chair, keeping his eyes glued to the board.
I, on the other hand, write down everything. It’s probably stupid, but it hasn’t led me astray yet. It’s just given me arthritis in my right hand, but I guess it’s the price to pay for getting straight As.
