Relief crashed into irritation. “Professor Yates,” I said, tugging off one glove and trying to steady my voice. “How are you?”
He stepped inside, peering around like my workshop was some foreign country. His gaze caught on the half-finished panel on the table, then shifted to me. “I saw the light on. I thought you had classes this afternoon?”
“I’m caught up on the reading material,” I said flatly. Too quick. Too defensive.
He gave me the kind of look teachers must practice in the mirror, the one that saw right through flimsy excuses. “I thought I heard your father mention on Saturday that you’ve been... distracted lately. Is that true?”
“Of course not.” Heat licked up my neck. “I’m fine.”
He'd heard that from my dad? At the booster event?
“Hmm.” He circled the table, fingertips brushing the air just above the glass like he was afraid of getting cut. “This piece — it’s strong. Bold.” He glanced up at me. “But rushed. You usually take more care, Savannah. Want to talk about it?”
I clenched my jaw, my hands forming fists at my sides. “Nothing to say.”
“Nothing?” He arched a brow. “You’ve solder splattered here, an uneven foil line there. That’s not nothing. That’s...somethinggetting in the way.”
Or someone.Was that what he was implying? Or was it my own guilt?
My skin prickled. I was overreacting, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like feeling defensive when I usually felt so comfortable around him.
Professor Yates straightened, studying me with that mild, probing expression that somehow felt worse than my father’s sharp disapproval. “Don’t let distractions sabotage your talent, Savannah. You’re better than that.”
I swallowed hard. “I said I’m fine.”
“Want to talk about it?” he asked again. “No judgment here.”
Except he literally just judged me.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I mumbled. “I was trying a new technique, it didn’t work,” I added lamely. “Honestly, I’m fine.”
“You know I’m very invested in your work, Savannah.” He gave me a small smile, and I wasn’t sure if I should feel guilty or grateful.
“I know, Professor.” My voice was shaking, and I tried to take a deep breath to steady it without him noticing. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
He sniffed, his attention once more on my sculpture. “It wasn’t easy finding a place to let you work on this.”
I nodded, feeling guilty. “I know, I’m sorry I snapped. I’m fine, honestly. I tried something new—”like kissing the quarterback— “and the result wasn’t what I expected.”
Understatement of the year.
Advice from my mother, of all people, echoed in my head.When in doubt, change the subject to something they’re comfortable with.“Are you excited for Thursday’s event?”
It worked like a charm. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he nodded as he took his glasses off to clean them. “Very much so, we’ve some exceptional students showcasing this semester.” He gave me a look of pity. “You would have fit right in.”
I licked my lips, trying to hide the kernel of resentment that burned within me. “That’s very kind of you to say,” I murmured. “But I will be there at least in attendance,” I added with a forced laugh.
“Yes, of course.” He looked around my work shed. “You’re sure that you’re okay?”
“I am.” I felt a little more relaxed if I were honest. “I think this short break was what I needed.” This time, my smile was more genuine, like it usually was when I was talking to him. “Thank you.”
His gaze lingered a beat longer than it should have, and I thought he was considering something else to say, but instead, he nodded, satisfied enough — or maybe not wanting to press. “Glad to hear it. See you on Thursday.”
When he left, the silence slammed back down, louder than before. I stared at my hands, at the soldering iron cooling on the bench, and wished I could scrape Dante off me as easily as a quick conversation with Professor Yates.
My phone dinged with a message. Expecting my father or someone else, I picked it up.
QB10: John hangs around your shed a LOT
