Page 19 of Head Under Water

“Or someone might’ve given it to her. On purpose.” The sentence feels foreign on my tongue. Impossible.

Will just looks at me, and something sad sits in the air between us. I’ve always assumed it was an accident, and Mom didn’t say otherwise, though I’ve never been able to bring myself to outright ask.

I never once, as a kid, imagined this might be where our lives ended up. Isn’t it terrifying how quickly everything can change?

“Why wouldn’t Mom have told me about this?” I mutter, looking away.

That, too, lingers in the air. Unanswered. Unacknowledged.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AGE 19

“For the record, I hate this.”

Will and I are working late in the library, papers scattered across the table, laptops open. By some cruel twist of fate, Professor Gene chose us both to be class volunteers. Apparently, we have similar averages and would each benefit from the volunteer grade bonus—impossible, if you ask me, because there’s no way Will’s doing his work at all, and I’ve been busting my ass—yet he refuses to choose between us.

And trust me, I mean refuses.

Will and I begged. We bargained. We reasoned.

Professor Gene wasn’t budging.

It’s either both of us or neither of us.

“Feel free to quit, then.” Will beams at me. He knows I won’t. We both know I won’t. He huffs out a long breath, leaning back and shoving his laptop to the side. “Look, this sucks. Like, this is my nightmare. Working with you, looking at you, remembering you exist.”

“Will.”

He gives a breathy laugh. “But I also need to pass this class, a class that’s definitely going to get harder by the end of the semester, and I could really use an easy win. So, I’m not quitting. And I don’t think you should quit either.”

Just for that, maybe I will quit. He can’t tell me what to do.

This is never going to work.

“So we have to work together on a few datasets, so what? We might have to create a chart or two together once or twice a week. Not the end of the world.”

“It’s more than that. Like the entire semester,” I point out. “Probably a few evenings per week for months.”

“I know what a semester is.”

I clench my jaw. “And I’m not going to pull your weight. I’m not going to do the work for you.”

“I’m not asking you to, okay? I’m going to do the work because I need to pass. And Professor Gene said if we can’t get along, he’ll give the opportunity to someone else. So, I’m proposing…we get along.”

“Monumental idea. Five stars,” I deadpan.

“I’m serious. What if…we pretend to get along. To be friends, even. Just to pass this class. And then we can go back to hating each other.”

“My favorite hobby. What will I do with all my free time?”

“Opal.” He’s serious in a way that makes me pause. He rarely calls me by my name, so when he does, it sends a pulse through my gut.

I lick my lips, thinking. “I…I don’t trust you not to ruin my report just to embarrass me.”

The corners of his eyes go soft, like he’s actually shocked I said that. “I won’t. I wouldn’t do that.”

I purse my lips. We both know that’s a lie.