Page 43 of Wrong For Me

Mr. Malone,

Please find attached a proposed split of the office hour schedule. Let me know if you have any conflicts or questions.

Sincerely, Rose Ransome.

She’s attacheda schedule for splitting up the office hours we’re required to make ourselves available to help Hernandez’s students. I frown as I read through it, then immediately type out a response.

Miss Ransome,

You split the hours evenly. Dr. Hernandez said she wished for me to take the lead, since you’re a first-year grad student. We wouldn’t want to overwhelm you. The following schedule does a better job of reflecting our advisor’s request.

Leo

I retype the schedule,splitting the hours we’re available to students approximately 70-30, and send the email off. I’ve barely opened my text book before my laptop dings with a new message.

Leo,

This is ridiculous. You didn’t even assign me 30 percent of the hours. I can do more than this.

Rose

Apparently,I’m just Leo now, not Mr. Malone. I don’t know why, but that has me smiling as I type out a response.

Rose,

I think that remains to be seen.

Leo

She doesn’t respond right away,and I try to tell myself I’m not disappointed that she’s apparently not as invested in this back and forth as I am. But when I finally get an email back five minutes later, I wonder if maybe she spent that entire time writing and re-writing pissy responses. What she landed on is…terse. I grin as I read. It seems I have struck a nerve with Miss Ransome.

You’re insufferable,do you know that?

That’s it.Just six words. She didn’t even add a salutation. And for some reason, I can’t stop grinning. My grin grows even larger when I realize Rose has her telephone number in the automated signature at the bottom of her email.

I don’t let myself think about the folded-up bookstore receipt that’s inexplicably still in my wallet. Don’t think about the fact that I’ve actually had access to her number this entire time. Instead, ignoring any potential consequences, I pick up my phone and dial the number in her signature. She answers on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“How about this,” I say in lieu of a greeting. “Since I have 50% more university experience than you do, I’ll do 50% more of the work.”

She’s quiet for a minute before she responds, her voice uncertain. “Leo?”

I laugh. “Who else would it be?”

There’s a beat of silence. “My bad. I assumed you’d lost my phone number.”

There’s an edge to her voice I can’t ignore, her meaning clear. I never called her this summer. But I had a damn good reason, and she knows it.

“You have it in your email signature,” I point out. “You seemed to be getting a bit annoyed with our exchange, I thought this might be faster.”

She sighs. “Fine. Let’s hash this out. Because there’s no way in hell I’m only doing thirty percent of the hours. Working with Hernandez’s students is a huge part of the program. You can’t expect me to just sit that portion out.”

“I may have low balled it slightly,” I admit, and the sound of her soft laughter on the other end of the line sends a chill down my neck. Exactly the way I remembered it.

“How about this,” I offer, gritting my teeth as I try hard not to think of how she’d laughed after I made her come the first time. “We split the hours 60-30. The remaining ten percent you can take the lead, but I’ll be in the office in case you need any help.”

“Leo. I’m not doing thirty percent of the work.”