“You know, I was going to keep this between us.” She tapped her fingernails on the desk’s surface. They were long and painted red. “But if this is how you’re going to act, I suppose I’ll be forced to get the dean of students involved.”
He looked back down at the paper in his hand. There was no title page and the words made no sense. Why was she showing him this? He felt slow, stupid, and he hated that feeling, because he wasn’t either of those things. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, why he couldn’t remember the same word from one sentence to the next, but he could remember every state in the union and recite them alphabetically. He could find them all on a map, by shape and location. But he couldn’t read their names.
“I don’t…” He cleared his throat, trying to buy himself some time.
“Okay, let’s do it this way.” She pressed her lips together into a thin line, folding her hands on the desk. “Read it.”
He glanced down again. His hands were trembling. His eyes scanned the page, left to right, but nothing made sense.
“Out loud,” she insisted.
He gaped up at her, his mouth dry, no words coming out, and finally he understood. This was his paper. Not his paper, but the paper he had purchased online and printed out and put his own name and cover page on. Of course, he hadn’t read it. He couldn’t.
“Oh my god.” Professor Franklin’s eyes widened. They were dark and round behind her reading glasses, and even rounder in her surprise and realization. She reached out to touch him, surprising them both, her hand soft, clutching his. “You really can’t…Henry, can you read?”
“Leave me alone!” He stood quickly, letting the paper fall, jerking himself away from her touch. He took off down the hall, ignoring her calling after him. He turned the corner and hit the door hard, opening it and gulping the cool autumn air into his over-heated lungs.
He’d faced down teachers before. He’d lied, manipulated, apologized and weaseled his way out of a million punishments and reprimands. He was incredibly charming once he got his bearings. He had managed to convince everyone, including his parents, that he was just lazy and irresponsible sometimes. None of them had ever once guessed his secret.
So how does she know?
“Henry.”
He steeled himself, not turning to face her. Why had she followed him? Why wouldn’t she just call the dean of students, report him, have him removed from class? Or suspended. Even expelled. He felt like passing out just at the thought.
“Hey.” Her voice was soft, softer than he’d ever heard it. “Please.”
She touched his arm through his jacket and he glanced down at her. She’d taken time to put on a long, black wool coat. He tried to pull himself together. It was time to deny everything. He opened his mouth to do just that but even spoken words failed him when he caught sight of her face.
She was crying.
What the hell? Nothing could have surprised or disarmed him more.
“Henry, let me help you.” Tears streamed down her face. She cried openly, unashamed, squeezing his forearm, pleading with him. He was aghast. “Please. I can help.”
“I don’t need your help,” he sneered. “Or your pity.”
“Oh, no, Henry, you don’t understand-”
He turned and ran for the second time that day, determined to escape this time. He heard the click of her heels, her calls, but then they faded and he could only hear the sound of his own heart beating, the ragged pull of his breath as he ran, ran, ran, as far and as fast as he could.
“Dude, you’re gonna get kicked out of school.” Dean sat on the bed across from him. Henry just pulled the covers over his head. It was four in the afternoon and he hadn’t gotten out of bed. He hadn’t done much all week except stay in bed. He’d managed to ignore the phone-and his roommate. He’d even skipped hockey practice. Twice. Coach was probably going to kick him off the team. But it didn’t matter. Ultimately, he was going to get kicked off anyway.
“You’re not sick.” Dean sighed. “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”
Normally, Henry would have spilled his guts. Dean had a way of making him confess things he wouldn’t tell anyone else. But he couldn’t tell him about this. Not this.
“Is it Libby?” Dean asked.
Henry perked up at the sound of her name. He’d considered calling her, taking her up on the tutoring offer. But she couldn’t help him. No one could help him. He felt broken. It was too late to fix him. “I talked to her. She still wants to go out tonight.”
“With you.” He couldn’t let Dean forget how he had usurped Libby’s attention. Was today Friday already? Had the whole week disappeared?
“Her roommate is hot,” Dean reminded him. “And she’s on the rebound. That’s practically a sure thing.”
“Is that all you ever think about?” Henry’s current concerns seemed huge and even the thought of Libby seemed far away in light of them.
“Come on, Henry.” Dean sounded pissed. He’d tried a few times this week to drag Henry out of bed, but they’d been half-hearted attempts. This time he sounded serious. And mad.
“No.” Henry rolled toward the wall.
“But we’re supposed to meet the girls in, like, an hour!”
Henry’s voice was muffled in his pillow. “You go.”
“Well I can’t exactly date both of them, can I?” Dean snapped.
“Take Bel.” He smiled at the thought. Bel could barely say his own name in front of a girl.
“Henry, don’t be a dick.”
He rolled back over, crossing his arms and glaring at his roommate. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to take a shower.” Dean leaned over and thwapped him on the arm. Henry winced. “You stink.”
“You just want to get into Libby’s pants.”
Dean grinned. “Can you blame me?”
“Just leave me alone.” Henry rolled back toward the wall, sinking under the covers. He couldn’t. There was no way.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to call Libby and tell her you don’t want to go.” Dean had changed tactics. “Maybe I should tell her you’ve been in bed all week. Val must’ve really worn you out…”
Henry stiffened, turning back toward his roommate, a sinking feeling in his belly. “You’re not supposed to talk about that.”
“Right.” Dean shrugged, reaching into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone and flipping it open. He glanced up when Henry pushed by him. “Where are you going?”
“To take a shower.”
“Now that was everything a vampire movie is supposed to be,” Libby crowed happily as they walked out of the theater. “Not even a hint of glitter.”
Henry stole a glance over at her, walking next to Dean. He’d resented the fact that she wasn’t sitting next to him during the scary parts. She’d practically climbed into Dean’s lap a few times.
Instead, he’d had Elaine screaming in his ear and hiding her face against his jacket. Okay, so she was nice enough, and definitely a hottie-Dean hadn’t lied about that-a pretty, petite blonde with an angelic face and big blue eyes. But she wasn’t Libby. And she kept proving that every time she opened her mouth.
Elaine fell into step next to Henry, taking his hand and swinging it. “Hey, now, no dissing Twilight.”
Of course she was a Twilight fan. He tried to be magnanimous. “Are you Team Edward or Team Jacob?”
Libby interrupted Elaine’s response, rolling her eyes and saying, “Real men don’t sparkle.”
“Wait. Twilight? Isn’t that the movie about the girl who can’t choose between necrophilia and bestiality?” Dean howled when Elaine punched him in the arm as he pushed the unlock button on his keys. Freshmen weren’t supposed to have cars on campus, but Dean had a black 2008 Mustang he parked at the frat house.
“Meanie.” Elaine stuck her tongue out at Dean as Henry ushered her into the backseat. It was close quarters and cramped back there, but it meant Libby was close, even in the passenger seat, and she half-turned so she could talk to them as Dean drove through campus back to the frat house. The whole way, Elaine’s hand kept finding its way into Henry’s lap, squeezing and petting his thigh. She’d been flirty all night and had made it pretty clear she liked him. By the time Dean parked, Elaine’s hand was practically in his crotch.