I hate it.
“You’re being weird,” he says, not looking up from my story grid. “You’ve rewritten this paragraph six times.”
“It’s not right yet.”
“It was right four versions ago.” He finally meets my eyes. “What’s going on, Pip?”
You joke-proposed to me over compatibility scores, and now you’re acting like it never happened, and my brain won’tstop calculating the statistical probability of us actually working together.
“Nothing. Just tired.”
He studies me for a moment, and I see him decide not to push. Professional. Appropriate. Ugh.
Thankfully, the clock hits twelve, ending our session.
“You’re getting better,” he says, packing up. “The improvements you made to the theme park story are genuinely great. We’ll definitely get that grade up.”
I blush and turn away, pretending to organize papers that don’t need organizing. When did I become someone who blushes at academic validation?
“Thanks,” I mumble.
He holds the lab door for me, and we spill into the corridor’s fluorescent assault. I’m half-mumbling a goodbye, ready to flee to somewhere I can breathe without smelling his stupid cedar cologne, when someone skids around the corner.
“Whoa—sorry!”
A stack of ecology textbooks goes flying. Ethan catches the top one with his stupid quick reflexes; I grab the next. Alex Ford emerges from behind the book avalanche, all freckles and chaos energy.
“Piper!” She tackles me with a one-armed hug, the remaining books making it more assault than affection. “Oh my god, it’s been forever!”
“Hey, Alex.” I can’t help but smile. “Still trying to single-handedly save the planet?”
We were roommates freshman year—never best friends, but we bonded over being the only two people on our floor who didn’t think 3 AM was an appropriate time for hall parties.
“Someone has to.” Her gaze ping-pongs between us, brown eyes lighting up with recognition. “Wait, you know Ethan?”
“He’s my tutor,” I say quickly.
“She’s helping me not fail Creative Writing,” Ethan adds, which is backwards, but whatever.
Alex practically vibrates with excitement. “Perfect! Then you both have to come to my party! This Saturday at my place. Full house bash—music, drinks, terrible decisions. I’m forcing Freddie to DJ, which means lots of throwbacks.”
“I don’t really know if…” I start.
“Please?” She deploys the puppy eyes. “I never see you anymore! Remember our David Attenborough marathons? Remember how we rated guys based on their mating display potential?”
“That was mostly you?—”
“Piper gave everyone scores out of ten based on scientific criteria,” she tells Ethan. “It was amazing. She had a whole spreadsheet.”
I’m going to die. “That’s not?—”
“I’d love to see that spreadsheet,” Ethan says, grinning.
“Anyway!” Alex continues, “Party. Next week. I’ll text the details. Oh, and it’s costume! Tara’s still deciding the theme because she claims it’s ‘an art form that requires meditation and possibly wine.’”
Before I can object further, she’s gathering her books. “This is happening. You can’t stop destiny.”
She says ‘destiny’ and Ethan catches my eye. I see him fight a smile.
