Page 43 of Left on Read

“Are you sure?” He closes his laptop and looks at me with those all-too-serious eyes.

“I’m here.” I nod. My fingers twine in his hair. “I’m good.”

OfficialEndeavourHigh:The traffic cones have once again gone missing, and their tracking software has been disabled. If you have any information on their whereabouts, please contact Principal Hinshaw ASAP.

Thank God it’s Friday, or whatever.

We’re exactly one weekend away from our midterm, and the vibe in the room is right on the edge of panic. It’s all internal panic, though. The entire fifty minutes was eerily silent. I spent that time answering messages in our class group chat. Every single one was a question someone should’ve asked her, and yet no one spoke a word.

And then it’s over. People file out, walking past our table with discreet waves and mouthed thank-yous and a couple of exaggerated eye rolls in Lowry’s direction. As for her, she can move quickly when she wants to. Typically, that’s only when she’s leaving.

It’s just me and Hayes again. My head flops forward onto my crossed arms, and I swear I could take a nap right here. This has all been way, way too much. I’m in one of those moods where I hate myself for doing too much, but I also can’t imagine doing anything else, because what was I supposed to do—not help? Let everyone fail?

Now, though, it feels like the weight of an entire class’s success is on my shoulders, and it’s crushing me. Maybe this is something you learn when you’re studying to be a teacher, how to deal with the pressure of so many minds under your care. Or maybe you don’t learn anything like that at all, and that’s how professors like Lowry come to exist.

“You okay, Novella?” His cool fingers come to rest against the back of my neck.

“I’m fucking exhausted,” I mumble into the cave of darkness I’ve created with my arms.

“I know.” His thumb rubs against the skin below my ear. “I wish I could help you more. Did you eat?”

The question catches me off guard. I don’t know how he’s still doing that. I sit up, and the room’s bright light and the blood rushing from my head are a dizzying combination.

“I had coffee,” I tell him. Another possible reason for the dizziness, I guess.

“Of course.” He shakes his head. “I should’ve known you’re one of these people who think iced coffee is food.”

“It is.” I roll my eyes. I’m not sure why we’re still sitting here in an otherwise empty classroom. It’s possible that I just don’t have the energy to get up.

“Let’s go get brunch.” He stands, extends his hand, and wiggles his fingers. That’s so cute. I clutch his palm and use his strength as much as my own to stand. I throw my backpack over my shoulder, and we make our way out of the building that I’mslowly starting to hate. On the sidewalk, I see my favorite bench through the wall of windows at the front of the school. I don’t know when it stopped feeling like home. I don’t know how this place went from the center of my world to somewhere I just want to run from.

“What do you want?” Hayes asks, still holding my hand as we reach the edge of the parking lot.

There are many things I want right now, all of them seem devastatingly simple. Sleep. A break. A hug. Some more caffeine. A type of food doesn’t make the list.

“I don’t know,” I mumble.

“I’ll pick, then. Something good. I promise.”

We get in the car. He hums along to the music he’s playing, and the sound is oddly relaxing. I’ve always been that person who could fall asleep in two minutes flat in a moving car. He could drive across the country like this, and I’d be more than content. The idea of being Hayes’s sleepy passenger princess is kind of hilarious.

“What’s so funny?” He looks over at me as we’re stopped at a red light. “Why are you laughing?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just getting delirious.” I seriously don’t remember laughing. Doesn’t mean I didn’t, though. He smiles like I’m amusing or charming or … I don’t know.

We end up at the tiny café next to a gas station across from where I went to elementary school. It’s the kind of place where retirees meet with their friends and people go after church on Sundays. Hayes holds the door open for me, and I have the oddest urgeto pinch his cheek, right where that dimple is. I don’t know where that came from, but it’s weird, so I’m not gonna do it.

We sit down, and he starts looking at the menu, and I just look athim.At that windswept hair. Those crinkles in his forehead. That dimple that appears when he chews on his lower lip.

“What?” He catches me staring. “Figure out what you want.” He nudges the menu I still haven’t picked up. “I’m worried about your blood sugar.”

“Okay, Dr. Collins.” I pick up the menu, and he freezes.

Shit. I did it again. I said somethingwrong.His face pinches up, and my stomach sinks because I ruined whatever this is before it could really even start.

“You …” I decide to lean into it. Poke at the exposed nerve before I try to patch it back up. “You don’t want to be a doctor, do you?”

I’d noticed his notparticularlymedical tendencies, and the way he almost flinches when anyone mentions college or the future. I don’t know why I even brought it up. It just slipped out, and I wish I could take it back. His face softens, and oh my God, I still do really want to run my fingers over his cheekbone.