Page 34 of Icarus

“Sounds good. What are we supposed to be doing it about?”

Julian made a face. “We can choose, but since you obviously don’t know or care about what we’ve been studying, I’m going to pick for us. I want to do a presentation on labor strikes. I’m liking the Bread and Roses Strike or the Memphis sanitation workers strike from 1968. One is about textile mill workers—mostly women—and the other is about Black sanitation workers.”

Icarus thought for a moment.

“We could do both, and then contrast and compare public reaction to each and give an analysis of social dynamic within protest?” He leaned his head on his arms. “That way we could each handle it as a separate research project, and then have our conclusion be more like a discussion.”

Julian bit his lip and scribbled something down. “Hmm. That’s . . . efficient. This took a lot less time than I thought it would. Do you want to do a slideshow?”

Icarus shook his head. That would require more collaboration.

“Let’s do a photobook. We could probably get away with printing twenty-three copies, handing them out, and then leading a class discussion a few days afterward. Then we won’t even have to do a real presentation. We’ll just make everyone else talk and then say a few closing sentences and be good to go.”

Julian hmmed low in his throat, then closed the notebook completely.

“Great. Now all we have to do is make sure you actually do the work and I don’t wind up doing everything for us.”

That was irritating.

“I have a question.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

Julian frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Icarus folded his arms. “I said I was going to do it and I will. The only class I’m doing C work in is this one, because it just starts too early for me. But that’s because it doesn’t affect anyone but me. Working on something with someone else changes that.”

“And how was I supposed to know that, dingus?” Julian said. He leaned back in his chair, clearly nonplussed by Icarus’s attitude. “I’m not hinging my grade on hopes and dreams. Just cause I think you’re decent doesn’t mean I’m ready to gamble on it.”

That was it. He’d had enough of this.

“Why do you even care?” Icarus exploded, standing up. His chair scooted back with a loud screech.

Some other students were starting to watch them, curiously, but Icarus was too worked up to focus on being quiet.

Julian side-eyed the tables next to them, but said nothing.

“Why do you do this . . . this thing where you’re nice and mean and nice again? I don’t get it,” Icarus said bluntly.

Julian sighed. “Can you be quieter? It’s the library,” he said. “And you shouldn’t yell at people for caring about you—it’s weird. Can you just like . . . sit down or whatever?”

“No.” Icarus picked up his bag.

Julian flung his arms out, annoyed. “Dude, do you even remember the first week of class?”

Icarus didn’t, but he also didn’t walk away like he’d been planning to. Instead he waited. Julian sighed loudly, then leaned forward so the people next to them wouldn’t hear.

“You nodded through every single day,” he hissed. “Mr. Harrison was making fun of you. On Thursday you asked to borrow a pencil from me, then fell asleep before you could use it. On Friday, I accidentally got double my drink order on the way to school and gave the other one to you just so I wouldn’t have to carry it around. You haven’t slept in class much since.”

Julian scowled at a girl who had stopped on her way to the shelves near them to listen. She walked quickly away.

“Dude, sit the fuck down, this is embarrassing.”

Icarus could feel his ears getting hot. He pulled the chair back out and settled into it.

“I’m not your responsibility,” he mumbled.