Page 25 of Left on Read

Hayes:your do not disturb isn’t even on

Nova:and yet I still do not want to be disturbed!!!

“Um,excuseme?”

Hayes is on my favorite bench. The bench I sit on every day. The bench where I spend my every Esha-free momentbecause I can be alone.It’s quite literally the geographic center of my world.

No one else is supposed to be there, least of all him.

“Hey, Novella.” He smiles at me like he didn’t make a huge, grand academic gesture in class yesterday.

His stuff is scattered all over the floor around the bench and the seat itself. Loose papers are spread out in a circle in front of him. They look math-y. It’s a language I don’t really speak.

“Hey,jerk.” I stand rigidly, uncomfortable. I’ve gotten used to him being close by, but this is my space. This is different.

“Oh, you wanted this seat for yourself, huh? Sorry,” he sayscheerfully, stacking some of his sheets of paper in a haphazard pile. “I thought maybe we could talk. Join me.”

He pats the place next to him.

I perch, trying not to be painfully awkward. I don’t think it works.

He throws an arm over the back of the bench, behind my shoulders. With the rush of warmth from his body, I completely short-circuit. With a massive, massive effort, I sort of shift my body around to his, so I can face him.

“Are we gonna talk about what happened yesterday?” I ask, in an attempt to regain some semblance of control.

“Yeah,” he responds. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I thought I should probably apologize. I got carried away.” He crosses one leg, leaning one ankle on the other knee. His body language is so effortlessly casual. I envy the relaxed way he interacts with the world around him.

“Hayes,” I huff again. “You want to apologize for calling me brilliant?Thatwas getting carried away? No one’s ever called me that. You want to apologize, do it for something else.”

I don’t know why I admitted that.

He blows a sigh out between his teeth and leans his head back against the tiled wall. The ugly khaki paint makes his hair look darker.

“No, no,” he says. “That’s not what I meant. Well, youarebrilliant, I meant that part. I meant all of it, actually, I just didn’t askyour permission before I volunteered you to take an unofficial TA role in our class.”

“Oh, yeah.” I laugh. “That.”

“I should’ve. Asked for permission, I mean. It just seemed like such a simple solution. Everyone is struggling, and you can help. It took me way too long to consider that you might not want to help and almost definitely don’t want to be volunteered to. I’m sorry for that. And if you don’t want to take on this kind of extra work, that’s more than reasonable. I’ll tell everyone I got too excited and jumped the gun. And I’ll help them instead. It’s only fair.”

I sit with that for a minute. His faith in me, and his apology. His complete willingness to take it all back.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” I confess. “I thought you hated me. I thought we were as close to enemies as this school has. But you’re being complimentary. Cordial.Contrite.Are you, like, ill?”

He shakes his head, chuckling bitterly. “We might berivals,Novella, but I’ve never hated you. I promise.”

“Okay. Well. You could’ve fooled me.” I shake my head, like the motion will clear it, will make this all make sense. I still haven’t gotten used to him sitting here—let alone him trying to shift our entire dynamic.

“Are you upset about yesterday?” he asks, shifting his arm so he’s leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. His body heat leaves me when he does, and I have no idea why that feels like a loss. “Sometimes I don’t have the best impulse control. And I am sorry.”

“No, I’m not upset.” I don’t know what I am, but I’m not upset. “I was mostly surprised. You don’t like me, but you think I’m more competent than you to TA a college course?”

“An English class? Of course you are.” His brow furrows. “I don’t dislike you, Nova. But maybe I did something really shitty a year ago. And maybe now I want to try and make it up to you. I think I know how to—”

“What’s happening here?” Esha asks, sneaking up on us around the corner.

“Moriarty,” Hayes says, addressing her by her last name like they’re in the military or something.

“Collins,” she responds. They nod at each other in a way that’s ridiculously formal. “I repeat, what’s happening here?”