Page 15 of Left on Read

“I will be,” I answer firmly, because I can’t speak for him, even though I know he’s going to run. Everyone knows he’s going to run. “I don’t really care whathedoes.”

“My Lord.” Mrs. Jacobs sighs, one hand on her forehead. “The two of you will be the death of me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say. My fingers twitch again under the table, skin picking at skin until it rips.

“You gave Piper such good advice. And yet, you’re in a similar situation, and you can’t see the obvious solution.” Mrs. Jacobs shakes her head, strands of hair falling from her giant clip.

“I amnotin the same situation,” I scoff. So, so not in the same situation. “I mean, how? In what way?”

“Really?” Mrs. Jacobs leans forward and rests her elbows on her tabletop. “You think Piper’s holding on to a boy that’s dragging her down. What do you think you’re holding on to?”

For a second, I think about it. Then, I say the only thing I can come up with.

“My spot at the top. An opportunity. The only one I might get.”

“No, Nova. You have the highest GPA at this school.” She shakes her head again, looking disappointed, and I don’t think I’ve ever hated anything more. “You’re holding onto a grudge.”

“Agrudge?” I blink once, twice. I wouldn’t call it that. I wouldcall it “justified dislike,” or “mutual enmity,” or “a fierce competition between bitter adversaries.” A grudge is childish, one-sided, pointless.

But Mrs. Jacobs gently eviscerates me with just a few words.

“You’ve been holding a grudge against Hayes because his success doesn’t seem to cost him as much as yours costs you. And maybe that’s true. But you’re only hampering yourself by fixating on him. Have you considered that there might be another explanation for all these big feelings?”

OfficialEndeavourHigh:Campus police are now offering a reward for the missing traffic cones.

Have you considered that there might be another explanation for all these big feelings?

It’s possible I’ll never be able to forget that one sentence.

It’s echoed in my mind all weekend, and as I try to go about my Monday with all of the vigor and energy I usually possess (ha), it follows me around like a ghost.

“What iswithyou today?” Esha asks, struggling to keep up with my stride.

I didn’t realize my feet were pounding against the floor so hard, and now that I do, I realize they actually kind of hurt. My chunky loafers look like they’re made for stomping, yes, but they’re more fashion than function. Esha catches up with me as I slow my pace. I really must have been booking it. Her legs are way longer than mine.

I asked her to come to Lowry’s office hours with me because I didn’t want to go alone.

She grabs my elbow, pulling me to a stop at the end of thehallway, where it opens up into the cafeteria. “Are you going to tell me what’s up, or am I just going to have to follow you around campus all day?” She still has a hold of my elbow. To be cute, we showed up in matching old Endeavour shirts, moss green. She’s wearing hers with baggy low-rise jeans, a thick white Y2K belt, and chunky sneakers, and I’m wearing mine over a tight black dress that hits just above my knee. (I would absolutely get dress-coded without the T-shirt.)

I look around, making sure there’s no one within earshot.

“What is it about boys that makes girls lose their good sense?” I ask, looking away from her face and down at the broken skin on the fingers of my left hand.

It’s happened to me often enough—losing my good sense at the hands of a boy. Boys, actually. One after the other. Those wounds are still healing. Some are at that stage where they’re uncomfortable and the new skin is itchy.

“I don’t know,” Esha replies, her voice lightening up an octave. “But whatever it is makes me glad I’m gay.”

Esha laughs, but I don’t, and then her face shifts.

“Is this about Hayes?” she asks, gently. I don’t know if the gentleness is because she doesn’t want to upset me, or if it’s because she doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

“No,” I say, even thoughyesis on the tip of my tongue. “It’s about her, actually.”

Discreetly, I hope, I point to where Piper sits alone at a high-top table near the edge of the cafeteria. Before yesterday,I would’ve walked right past her without a second thought. I would’ve assumed she wanted to be alone. Wanted her own space and a moment of peace in an increasingly chaotic life. She’s entitled to any and all of that.

Today, I don’t think that’s what she wants, though. She seems … lonely.

“Oh, yeah.” Esha sighs. “She should’ve ditched that asshole a long time ago.”