Page 10 of Ethan & Grace

I grabbed his hand, which just a moment ago had been resting reassuringly on my back, and pulled him towards the door. I only managed a couple of steps before he braced himself and stopped.

Confused, he stared at me as if I were losing my mind. “What are you doing?”

I shrugged. “Taking out the rubbish.”

He wrenched his hand free. “Very funny.”

“What? I can’t carry you.”

The corners of Ethan’s mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly. I waited for a retort, but none came. Instead, he shouldered past me, bumping against me as if I were just some annoying obstacle in his way. Wordlessly, he returned to his laptop and began ignoring me. It was as though he’d decided I was no longer worthy of his attention.

I sighed.

Yes, Ethan Darlington was an arsehole, but he was a nice arsehole. Today, at least. Because this wasn’t a victory I’d won myself; he’d let me win. My grief and pain gave way to another feeling—not exactly relief or joy, but something different. Something that felt unbelievably good, like a little slice of normality . . . and I had Ethan to thank for that.

4

Richard Darlington: A Date for the First Court Hearing Has Been Set!

INsider headline

Ethan

“In the following week, we will be looking more closely at the modelling of financial risks. Make sure you’re familiar with modelling approaches. I don’t have time to explain the basics to you again,” Professor Sattler admonished, hoping to elicit a reaction from the students. But the hall remained silent; his lecture had sent most of us into a deep sleep. His next magical words woke everyone up.

“That’s all for today. You may go. Except you, Mr. Darlington. I’d like a word with you.”

Fuck.

Dave, who sat next to me, gave me a look that said, Sorry, mate, you’re on your own, before bolting, as though afraid he’d be kept back too if he dawdled.

I shoved the iPad I’d been taking notes on into my rucksack and made my way down the auditorium steps while everyone else fled for the exit.

I stopped in front of Professor Sattler’s desk. An older gentleman, he could probably already smell the sweet scent of his impending retirement. The years had turned his brown hair grey, and he’d shaved off the beard he’d worn in previous terms, likely because he’d caught wind of students calling him “Boring Santa” behind his back—a nickname I myself had coined at the start of my first year at Imperial College. He no longer looked like Santa, but he was still just as boring.

With my hands in my pockets, I waited for Professor Sattler to acknowledge me. He calmly packed his bag without sparing me a glance. It was a familiar power move. Professor Sattler couldn’t stand me and had had it in for me since my first term, when I had vomited on his car. In my defence, it had been the Monday after my birthday, and I hadn’t known it was his car. The wave of nausea had hit me out of the blue—what was I supposed to do?

“Mr. Darlington,” Professor Sattler said, once he’d kept me waiting long enough. He gave me a frosty look. “I assume you know why I asked you to stay behind.”

“Not really.”

Professor Sattler’s eyes narrowed. He looked at me as if I were a stain on his favourite tweed jacket. In truth, I had no idea what he wanted from me. I hadn’t caused trouble during his lecture. I’d even made an effort to listen. I’d handed the last paper in on time, so that couldn’t have been it either.

“It’s about your last paper.”

Or maybe it could.

“What about it?”

“It was good. Very good, in fact.”

“Is that a problem?”

Professor Sattler pulled my paper out of his briefcase. Despite his praise, it was heavily marked in red pen. “I’ve spoken to a few of the other professors and looked through some of your earlier work, Mr. Darlington. It won’t surprise you to hear that your academic performance has left much to be desired since the start of your time here. Rarely have I seen a student with so many bad grades and fails as you.”

Unfortunately, he was right. Education hadn’t been my number one priority for the last year and a half. If I was honest, it had maybe ranked only fourth or even fifth. But since my conversation with Henry at the start of the year, I had been trying to do better, to be less destructive with my life. It had earned me a few better grades on my January exams, which Professor Sattler had no doubt chosen to ignore.

“What are you suggesting?” I asked.