Theo snorts. “As they should. Indicates a fundamental wiring issue.” He tips his chin toward Holden like he’s submitting Exhibit A.
There. Holden’s mouth quirks up. I catch it. My smile happens on its own, less because Theo’s got banter—though he does—and more because of a new development: Holden’s limbic system can indeed process a joke, an outcome I had previously filed under null.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect universal likeability. People run on different frequencies; not everyone tunes to mine. It’s plausible—upsetting, but plausible—that Holden doesn’t vibe with me. What grates is the refusal to even sample. From day one—first lecture, first question—he’s behaved like my presence is a contaminant to control for. Most people would call me low-noise unless you bring up marine science. Being this irritating on sight feels new. And, well, I’m not sure even an octopus would know how to handle something like this.
When I look back up, the zygomaticus-major event is over. His face resets to baseline boredom, and the red pen resumes its patrol.
Theo and I continue our small talk which, for the record, I always believed to be people just pretending they don’t Google oddly specific things at 3 a.m. He’s good at it, though. In a few easy beats I learn he’s in marine engineering, also working on hisPhD, and that he and Holden go back to undergrad. His charm is low-tide steady; making my shoulders drop an inch and relax, just a little. It almost drowns the current coming off the grumpy corner of the table. Almost.
“Are you TAing this year?” he asks, thumb drumming my chocolate wrapper.
“Not this semester. I’ll see for the next.”
“Smart. TAing is the worst part of the machine unless you’re courting tenure.”
“You don’t like your students?”
He shrugs, thoughtful. “I don’t really clock them as students. More like peers with questions. My job is to help them ask better ones.”
Did I say I liked the guy? Because I do.
Another half hour slips by and I surrender to not-studying. The opportunity will circle back; it’s not like my calendar is overcrowded with anything else but school. It’s oddly nice to sit beside Holden and not be scolded. He isn’t talking to me or looking at me or even reacting to anything I say for that matter, but he’s here, and he’s tolerating my airspace. For now that counts as progress. If he’s going to be my TA for the next year, I’d really prefer he not try to ship me back to Canada.
Not long after, a lanky streak of orange, blue, and unreasonable yellow drops into the seat beside me. Kai sets a latte by my elbow like a bribe and promptly turns his attention to the two TAs.
“Oh my. Taylor, premium seating today.”
My cheeks heat to second-grade fever. “We’re just… sharing a table. This is?—”
“Oh, I know who this is. Theo Anderson and Holden Wilkes.”
Holden’s eyes lift, flicking from Kai to me, as if trying to understand something that eludes me completely.
“Am I famous?” Theo leans back, laces his fingers behind his head. “How do you know us if we’re not your TAs?”
Kai mirrors the pose, unabashedly appreciative of the handsome male in front of him. “Duh. Everyone saw your Ehukai clip last year—the one where you saved your board and the camera and still stuck the ride. Half my lab group thought it was edited. I’m honestly surprised you’re enrolled here, too.”
Theo laughs. “What, I can’t surfandhave a brain?”
Kai considers him, takes a slow sip of the latte he brought me, and smirks. “Apparently you can.”
Theo’s grin tips toward the other, much less enthusiastic man. “And him? He’s not exactly on the circuit.”
“He’s Holden Wilkes,” Kai says with a shrug, like that’s a full sentence.
“I’m right here,” Holden mutters, uncapping again. The pen hovers, then lands—one clean correction, margin neat as a cut reef. He slips a binder clip from his pile, sets it on the loose stack I pulled out without looking. “You’ll lose those.”
Am I the only person on campus who didn’t know his mythology before existing in the same space? Apparently. Now I watch the way the room recalibrates around him. Theo’s banter sharpens like he’s sparring. Kai sits a hair straighter. Holden keeps rejecting attention like it’s a spill to be contained—cap, align, strike, turn. His very own version of going tall anddark.
When my highlighter rolls toward his side, he stops it with a fingertip and slides it back, eyes still on his page.
“Thanks,” I say.
He nods once.
Kai launches into a story about his shift that has both Theo and I giggling and, unfortunately, more than one person telling him to lower his voice.
“It’s only mysecondday, right. First rush? Four Alexes. I go, ‘Alex with oat?’—all four grab. I try by last initials instead and one guy goes, ‘It’s in the app.’ His screen saysalex_420. Cool, super helpful.”
