Page 16 of Left on Read

I nod. Her language in public leaves something to be desired, but it’s an entirely true description, so I don’t say anything. “I just don’t know what she sees in him.”

“Well.” Esha leans against the wall beside me. “Maybe it’s not what she sees in him. Maybe it’s what she doesn’t see.”

I’m about to respond when I hear someone walking in our general direction.

“Hey!” Not someone, then. Something. Hayes. I don’t turn around or respond because I don’t think he’s talking to me. Mostly because I don’t want him to be.

“Nova …,” Esha says, cajolingly.

“Hey!” he says from directly behind me. Okay, so heistalking to me.

“What?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at him because I refuse to turn around.

Rolling his eyes, he steps around, standing in front of me and Esha so I can see him. So Ihaveto see him.

“Are you headed to Lowry’s office?” He’s looking directly at me,barely paying Esha any attention. That’s rude. He’s wearing a dress shirt today, like always. Off-white, kind of worn. Sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Black jeans. I wish it all didn’t look so good on him.

“How did you know that?” It occurs to me that I could’ve askedhimto come with me, rather than Esha. Only I think I’d rather punch myself in the face.

“Don’t bother. She’s not there. There’s a sign on the door that she’s not doing office hours this week.”

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath. But cursing in front of him feels like a weakness, like he just saw some vulnerable, imperfect side of me he shouldn’t have. Future Beta Club presidents don’t swear in public.

“Yeah …,” his voice trails off, and for a moment, his usual confidence just … vanishes. Now I feel like I’m seeing some vulnerable side ofhimI shouldn’t be. “Listen, I think we’re gonna have to do something about her.”

I don’t even know whatdo something about hermeans, but it reminds me of those vintage country songs where people end up dead in lakes. I don’t think that’s what he’s planning, though. Ihopethat’s not what he’s—wait, I really don’t like this ambiguouswehe’s talking about.

“We?” I ask, my voice rising an octave.

“Yeah, we. Me and you. I don’t know what to do; I just know that she’s royally screwing all of us over by refusing to teach us, and I know none of us can risk the hit to our GPAs from a random C in her class. Do you trust her to grade your work?”

I find myself shaking my head.

Everything he says is true.

“We have to deal with this together, Nova,” he says, holding my gaze with an intensity I’ve never seen in him before. “You’re smart, and you understand how to handle teachers. Together, we can figure out what to do.”

“I’m sorry, but who are you? The Hayes Collins I know wouldneverwillingly admit to me being competent at something.”

“Admit? Like this is court? What do you want, a signed declaration?” He leans against the wall behind him, as if suddenly this conversation is wasting his precious time.

“Maybe. Would you be willing to submit to a video deposition to the judge?”

Esha snorts.

“I know you’re having fun hating me,” he says, brow curved, “but can we be serious for one second?”

“Absolutely.” I nod like I’m getting my head in the game. (I’m not. I’m still having fun.) “So, just to recap the situation. You don’t know what to do, and you just …assumethat I will?”

He nods. “I mean, yeah. This is what you do. Solve problems. Specifically school problems. English-class problems should be yourspecialty,right? You basically had this class mapped out day by day in your head. You know how it’s supposed to go, and it’s not supposed to go likethis.“

He looks oddly serious. And so certain about my ability to fix this.

My mind starts to whir. Soon enough, my brain is literally buzzing, and I can’t keep up with the nonlinear thoughts bouncing off its walls, so I just let myself jump around with them. I used to fight myself during moments like these, try to flatten out those nonlinear thoughts into something resembling a “normal” mental process. I gave up that fight a long time ago. What does it matter? Iamsmart. Icanfigure things out. The way I reasonworks.

It’s moments like these when I realize I’m not normal, but I’m not supposed to be.

“Well, we could talk to the department head or the dean … but Lowryisthe department head. And she’s tenured, so it’s not like they’ll fire her. I’m not even sure I want them to fire her, you know? Like, she’s supposed to be the best English professor here. Or sheusedto be, anyway. I’ve been wondering about what happened to her. Burnout, maybe? Burnout can be really serious. And it can hit women so hard, because we’re expected to be overachievers at work and at home, and there’s a limit to that—overachieving. It’s doesn’t seem like she’s exhausted, exactly, although I guess I wouldn’t know. More like she actively doesn’t care. Like she resents us, almost. I don’t really understand what the problem is, butyes,you’re right, Hayes—much as it pains me to say that—it’s affecting our education and that’s not fair. Who else can we talk to at the college about this situation? Probably not the registrar’s office. I mean, that’s just scheduling, right? And the president’s not going to get on the horn with a student. Especially a high school student in the accelerated program. Like, come on. Maybe this is more of aDIY situation. Maybe we just have to brute-force the material independently and learn it so well shehasto give us amazing marks.”