“I thought you were going to say be around each other at all.” He huffs.
“That too. I don’t want you getting in trouble.” My stomach cramps up, and I know I don’t mean the words. I want to take them back before they are even out of my mouth, but I can’t, because it’s what should happen.
“Not happening, Waylynn. Don’t bring it up again.” He eyes me from the other chair, daring me to argue, and when I don’t speak, he continues, “I’ll talk to Hilbrand on Monday. There are allowances for stuff like this, hence Oswald being in the class I’m running. I’m not allowed to grade any of his work or evaluate his performance. We can do the same for you,” he reasons.
“He was your brother before the class, they already made the exception for him.”
“It will be fine. I’ll tell her you’re my brother’s girlfriend and I don’t feel comfortable grading you. It will be fine,” he says with such an air of confidence, it’s hard not to believe him. Should I go along with this? Will he hold me responsible if something happens? And what about the other girls? I’m feeling way too much to be able to sort out my own emotions.
“Tomorrow will be fine because you’ll be there to watch my brother, just like me and Bates,” he says as if he’s trying to convince himself.
I don’t think it’s such a good idea. Now I just need to get the courage to tell him I’ll get my own ticket in the student section. “Um…”
“Don’t worry, Waylynn, but maybe we shouldn’t ride together. Are you okay getting to the game? I could have Bates pick you up,” he offers.
“No, I’ll be fine on my own, thank you.” He just solved my problem for me. I’ll send him a text tomorrow saying that I got my own seat.
“Your ticket will be at the will call booth. You’ll need your Mcard to claim it,” he reminds me, even though Oswald explained it to me last night after Bates’ show ended.
“I’ll have it,” I assure him, and we fall into an awkward silence that was never a problem before.
“Have you eaten?” he asks in a rush, as if he was struggling to find something to say and that popped into his head.
“I’m not hungry,” I reply.
“It wasn’t a date,” Memphis tells me, and it makes me think he might feel guilty. “She thought she was helping.”
“How would that be helpful?” I question, wondering where this will lead.
“By making it seem like I was unavailable.”
“Yeah, that was evident. I guess what I was asking was how she knew it would be helpful to you if you seemed unavailable.”
Memphis scoots back in the chair, distancing himself from me and the question. “I have a reputation for being an asshole,” he admits. “She might have thought she was saving you from me.”
Bullshit.Something about his statement doesn’t feel true, but I’m not going to keep asking the same question while he evades answering. “Okay.” I feel slightly defeated when the words leave me, like I’ve given up too easily, but the truth is I just don’t see this conversation going anywhere productive right now.
I stand up, ready to say goodnight to Memphis. I’m not done feeling sorry for myself just yet. This is the third time he’s acted like I was invisible—at dinner in the south quad, after dinner when we ran into Mia and her friends, and again today. While I have an explanation for the behavior, it doesn’t make me feel any better about it.
“Where are you going?” He stands too.
“I’m going to call it a night.”
“Not yet, you’re still mad.”
“I’m not mad,” I argue.
“Okay, then tell me what you are so I can fix it,” he demands.
“I do not need to be fixed.” The denial is instant and harsh. His words trigger something inside me that has always felt different, broken, crazy, and too emotional.
“Fuck,” he mumbles and briefly looks away. “I don’t want to walk away feeling like this. Like I could have done something more to make this better between us.” He touches his chest.
His words hit me right in my gooey center, the part where I imagine someone saying all the right things without me having to tell them, so I spill my guts just like I’ve been trained to do by my therapist. “It’s a lot for me right now. The right thing to do is to walk away so I don’t risk your future.” Memphis takes a step toward me, but he stops when I lift my hand. “But I don’t want to do that, and it makes me question if I even deserve to be with you if I don’t put your needs above my wants.”
“There’s no question. I don’t want you to do that, Waylynn. You’re lucky this bullshit with school is holding me back the tiniest bit, or I probably would have told you I needed a place to live just so I could see you in the morning before I start my day.”
That’s not supposed to be sweet, right? Is that a red flag?
