Page 135 of The Addict

“Should I keep going…or?”

“Delane, I’m not going to lie, you’re basically speaking another language.”

I shook my head, laughing. “Okay, okay, let’s back up.”

“And I was too busy looking at you,” he added in cooly, “Professor Marsh.”

“I…uh…” I stared at the pages in my journal, desperately trying to prevent my cheeks from blushing.

“There it is, see?” He reached out and touched my nose with his finger. “The red starts here at your nose before moving to your face.”

“It does not!”

He shifted forward, and our shoulders touched. “I make you nervous,” he stated with confidence.

“You–” I took a breath. What was the use in lying anymore? “You do, yes. Sometimes.”

“I like that,” he breathed.

“I bet you do,” I scolded, a tad more harshly than I intended.

“Woah, woah,” he laughed, easing back from me. “My bad.”

“I didn’t mean that to be r-rude,” I stammered, the grip I had on my pencil would surely break it soon if he continued to put pressure on me. “Can I just help you with this essay?”

“Sure,” he replied, adjusting his paper in front of him. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Yes, you do, I thought with a huff.

“Okay, I’m writing an argument,” he announced, focusing intently on the first line. “Wait– what am I arguing about?”

I gaped at him. “Well, I don’t know, what was your prompt?”

“Prom? I didn’t go to that.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing aloud. My god, he is clueless.

“Prompt,“ I repeated, pronouncing the consonants at the end. “Like, the topic your professor wanted you to write about?”

A light bulb went off, “Ohhhh, okay.” He studied the paper for a moment as if the answer would magically appear to him. “Yeah, no clue. I must not have written that down.”

I placed my head in my hands. “Goodness.”

“Hey, Delane,” Noah began, and I could tell immediately that his tone and manner had shifted. His entire body language seemed to have changed gears, and his eyes appeared distant. It was like he was in neutral, just idly rolling. “I’m Sorry. I’m not good at this whole… school thing.”

He snickered, but it wasn’t because something made him laugh. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

My eyes caught his. He believed those words wholeheartedly, almost as though he thought I’d agree with him. My heart throbbed.

“You’re not an idiot.” I stressed, reaching for his hand. He watched my fingers curling around his. I waited and my breath hitched at the feel of his hand closing gently around mine. “I don’t know who is telling you that,” I whispered, “but it isn’t true…”

His words appeared to catch in his throat just as he was about to speak.

“I believe in you,” I said, making sure I had his gaze.

I meant it.

The air around us was charged. I sensed it. The space between us felt small, and although I was sure the food court was bustling with students traveling and chatting, I could only hear the heavy beating of my own heart in my throat.