Page 41 of Left on Read

“Okay,” I start, rising to my feet. Everyone’s looking at me, and I know that was kind of the point, but there’s still a fleeting moment where I feel a visceral need to hit the deck. “Everyone is … having a rough time right now. It’s undeniable. And I’ve answered your emails and your texts with questions, as much as I could. But remember when I told you I had an idea for us? A bigger idea? I think it will ensure weallpass.”

I barely finish my sentence before the uproar starts again, everyone trying to complain-slash-vent-slash-respond at once.

“I know!” My voice somehow rises above their collective volume. “I know this class has been miserable and weird, and we’ve barely read anything, and we’ve watched a million movies, and the project’s due next week, and there’s no way a student can pass this class if they don’t get a good grade on it!”

I realize that in stating the awful, unvarnished facts they all know, I’m making the horrible vibemuchworse, but … that’s how I roll.

“So here it is: What if we all worktogether? Like a study group, but we help one another with ourmidterm projects.She doesn’t do office hours, so we could do our own—workshop theses, trade drafts for peer editing, review notes collectively, all that.” I’m starting to gain momentum, the tiny spark of this idea blooming into flame. “I’ll make a shared calendar. We can figure out a few hours this week to work in one of the classrooms. No one left behind.”

I’m not the biggest fan of eye contact, but it’s necessary in a public-speaking situation like this, so I make it. And I see that people are listening. They are looking at their project partners, making silent agreements with the looks on their faces.

“You meanyoucan help us,” someone says, laughing.

“Yes,” I say, nodding my head in a way that I hope conveys some professionalism and authority and makes me look older than eighteen. “I can help you.”

There’s a low whistle, and it takes me a second to realize it came from Hayes. A warning whistle. Lowry is coming. I drop into my seat as quickly as my uncoordinated limbs will allow.

“Specializing in tiresome sounds, are we, Mr. Collins? Perfecting the art of exasperating behavior?” Professor Lowry says to Hayes as she enters the room, sneering. She is exactly fourteen minutes late. “My class does not need awhistler,thank you.”

Oh. I hate her.

Thisis hatred.

She’s made this entire semester miserable. She’s been a disappointment in every way possible. She’s let me down more than any other role model in my life ever has. It’s funny, how that all feels like nothing compared to her going after him.

Holy shit. I am furious.

I stare daggers into the glasses perched on top of her hair, because of course she’s looking down at her iPad instead of at us.

Hayes sits back down next to me.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. My fingers wrap around his wristunder the table, and I can feel the slow rhythm of his pulse. It’s the barest of touches, the most fleeting moment.

“Don’t be. I’m surprised she even remembered my name.” He winks, and I breathe out a sigh of intense relief. She didn’t actually hurt him, then.

But she tried, and that’s enough for me.

Lowry looks up. She smiles at me and Hayes, and it’s devastatingly fake in a way that probably would’ve destroyed me a few weeks ago. Now, I smile back with all my teeth and all the newfound indignation simmering in my soul.

Olivia from American Lit:omg I just realized someone could be writing about the same topic we are

Olivia from American Lit:not sure how that’s possible since we don’t really know what our topic is, but I’m still worried

Nova:don’t worry! There are only two Hawthorne groups in our section, and I’m pretty sure you’re writing about different stories

Nova:they should be coming to the study group tonight though if you want to double-check!

Olivia from American Lit:you are a lifesaver

When I proposed this grand scheme to save us all from failure, I was shooting from the hip, throwing my big idea into the air like I didn’t have a care in the world. Then I set up the group calendar, and everyone started adding in their info, and I booked the biggest study room in the library for the next three Wednesday nights until midterm week, and …

It’s actually a lot of pressure.

“Why are you pacing?” I hear Hayes ask from behind me. “That’s my thing.”

Let the record state that I am not pacing. I am simply walking from one side of the room to the other in a circular fashion.

Which is fine, because pacing is an anxiety response, but walking is a form of exercise.