Page 23 of Left on Read

“Yeah, right.” He chuckles. “There’s no way you’re thinking about nothing. I’d bet money you’re always thinking about something. You’re not one of these people who just have elevator music playing in your head all day.”

I roll my eyes. Being an elevator-music person seems peaceful.

But he’s right. I’m always thinking. I exhaust myself sometimes. And I know I can be exhausting to deal with for others too. For a split second, I wonder whether I even want to subject Hayes to that.

“Well, I’m not thinking about nothing-nothing,” I admit.

He sits beside me in silence, watching me with those bright, barely blinking eyes. It’s too much. I don’t think I like that. I don’t like the feelings that come up out of nowhere when he looks at me like this. I don’t like that I can’t identify them.

“I was thinking regretfully about the midterm.” Even to myown ears, I sound a little whiny. Like a kid who dropped her ice cream cone. “I was excited. I had an idea. And I had a plan. A plan for one person.One. Person.”

He nods.Smiles.

More feelings spring up from the floor or flow down from the ceiling or ooze out of my pores. I hope they’re not visible on my face like beads of stress sweat. They feel just that kind of gross.

“I wasn’t part of your plan, was I?” His smile turns into a sly grin. He’s so, so certain we’re gonna be partners, even though I could theoretically choose anyone.

But he’s right about that too.

“No,” I breathe out between my clenched teeth. “You weren’t part of my plan.”

“So … we’ll have to make a new one.” He spins my notebook around on the desk with one finger on the corner. “But first, let me see this brainstorming. What were you gonna write about?”

“Oh no.” I scramble, tearing my notebook away from him.

“Come on.” He tries to grab the notebook back from me.

I think it would be easier to get me to part with one of my kidneys.

We end up fighting over it like first graders playing tug-of-war, and I realize at some point that this immaturity could lead to the destruction of my favorite notebook’s delicate pages. So … I letgo. The recurve energy sends Hayes flying back into his chair hard enough he almost tips over, my notebook still in his hand.

“Hayes,” I whine, not even caring how childish I sound. “Bemature.”

“It’s okay, Novella.” He smiles. He scoots closer to the table and closer to me, examining the notebook like it contains the secrets to an important test he only has one chance to take and one chance to pass. “I just want to know how your mind works.”

Oh.

Well that’s … not at all what I expected him to say. Mostly because no one’s ever said that before. No one’s ever wanted that before.

And if I do this, if I let him into my favorite place in the world, my brain, there’s no going back. One look into my head, and he’ll either understand me on a deeper level than anyone else, or he’ll see just how fragile I really am.

He looks at me, ready to flip open the cover. Without words, he’s asking for permission.

I nod.

My heart starts racing. His eyes, flying at a truly wild speed, move over the pages covered in midterm ideas. I hold my breath the entire time. There’s no logical reason why this feels so important. It’s more power than I ever thought I could give someone. More power than I thought I’d ever willingly give him.

When he looks up at me, his face is blank. I’ve spent so much time studying everyone around me, especially him, to see andunderstand and learn the kind of things that everyone else just instinctivelyknows.I’d like to think I’m decent at it by now. Decent at faking it, anyway. But I don’t get this. This look is entirely unfamiliar.

“Goddamn, Nova.” He almost scoffs. “You’re a genius.”

OfficialEndeavourHigh:Please keep in mind that in your college classes, absences and tardies are dealt with at the instructor’s discretion.

Everyone is sitting in the classroom like we always do, waiting. As usual, Lowry’s late. It’s a bad habit, but unfortunately not one of her worst. I know everyone is counting down. I can practicallyhearthe clock ticking, winding toward the fifteen-minute mark where we can leave without being dinged an absence. People herelovethat policy.

I tap my pencil against my textbook.

I’m so exhausted today that I’m counting down with them. I don’t know how things got this bad, how I waited three years to take a class I’m now hoping gets canceled. At first, I was counting down the minutes of valuable class time I was losing. Five minutes a day, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. That’s fifteen minutes a week. An hour a month. At least a week’s worth of class time over the entire semester. That used to feel like such a loss. Now, I would love to lose that week’s worth of time. And more.