Worth the Trouble ✓

20 | duty calls

IT'S COLD AS BALLS AT the Carsonville Academy.

Sure, the old stone campus is super popular with parents of fourteen-year-olds in May, when they're hunting around for a high school that'll stop their kids from getting pregnant and doing drugs. But that's near summer, when temperature doesn't matter. In the dead of winter, the poor insulation and lack of interior heating are fatal flaws.

It gets dark earlier and earlier, too, which just makes school seem colder. Suki and I obstinately tough it out in the library, at least until she has to go home for dinner. Dad could care less what time I get home.

I peer over her left arm, glancing at the words rapidly appearing on her screen. "Whatcha working on?"

Suki is silent, fingers whirring a mile a minute. I catch mentions of Shakespeare and deception. Shakespeare isn't taught in sophomore English, even for the Honours class. I pay enough attention to know that, at least.

"Essay?" I prompt again.

A beat of silence follows, long enough to make me open my mouth to ask again. Suki nods belatedly. "Yup."

"Yours?"

More silence. Then, "Nope."

"How long are you going to keep working for Brittany?"

While Suki types away, deaf to the world, I direct my eyes back to my own science homework. Much as I try, I can't focus on the questions in front of me. After genuinely attempting to study this year, I've discovered that I need loud music blasting in my ears and a solitary room.

"As long as I consider it worth it," she eventually answers. "Shh. I need to concentrate."

I raise my eyebrows, but if she notices me in her periphery, she doesn't respond. Okay, I can get creative. Pushing my chair out with a creak, I stand behind Suki and let my hands trace the curve of her shoulder. I sweep aside the waterfall of her hair, skimming the smooth skin at the nape of her neck. Back when she did ballroom dancing, she had crazy knots in her muscles. Like little steel knuckles of tension.

Even after she's stopped, I can't say the situation has improved. I apply a gentle amount of pressure, working at her shoulders with increasing force. When I dig into a reserve of lactic acid, Suki whines and shuffles away from my hands.

"Baby, I appreciate it, but that's distracting me."

"Okay." I sigh without making a sound. I take my seat again, and redirect my gaze to my workbook.

I can't focus here. I notice too much if I don't have music deafening me. Each tick of the broken clock. The musty smell. The awareness that somewhere in the building, the decrepit librarian is wandering around shelving books. A glance at Suki five minutes later shows no change from when we first started. She's opened up a blank Word document.

This must be one of those spells when she gets into a writing groove. With her pregnancy hormones, that's a rare occurrence of late—at least, according to what Suki tells me. I better let her get the most of this.

I kiss her gently on the cheek after packing all my things away. "Good luck."

It's only now that her hands still, and she turns to face me. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. As if I haven't been meticulously stowing my books and stationery in my bag for the last minute.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. I'll let you get your essay done."

Her plump lips tug into a frown. I kiss her again.

"What about our study date?"

"What about it? We can reschedule."

A flicker of irritation strikes up in Suki's eyes. "I thought we were going to try to spend more time together before winter break starts."