May Kill Me

Fourteen

"So, I think we should meet up on Wednesday, to go over the slides once again. Any questions?" Travis ran a hand through his hair and put the snapback hat on. 

No one had any questions. 

Travis Collins has appointed himself as the team leader for our Art History final project. This was simultaneously a relief (because he took all the organizational stuff upon himself), and a burden: Travis was a bit too hands-on and high-strung. 

I never met anyone who wanted to meet up as often as he did but since no one else in the group complained or joked about it, I didn't say anything either. 

My goal was to stay under Travis's radar so as to bring our contact to a minimum. 

"Actually, Oceane, do you mind staying for a few minutes?" Travis turned to me. 

I had a feeling what this was about.  

"Sure," I said, forcing a smile. 

The rest of our group shot us glances as they slid their slim laptops into their backpacks. 

I hated the way Travis spoke to me: like I was a student who got in trouble.  

This was probably about the notes I was supposed to revise and bring back today.

Travis made a point of waiting for everyone to pile out of the private study room he had booked for us. 

"Bye, Travis!" Philippa called out, raising her hand in a small wave. Philippa was diminutive, with long light-brown hair, and beady eyes. Something about her made me think of hamsters but in a cute way. 

She didn't say anything to me, instead looking between us suspiciously (suspicion mixed with mild irritation, if I may add), before being pulled away by another girl. 

Don't worry, Philippa, I am absolutely not interested. 

"How's it going?" Travis finally asked when the room cleared. 

"Fine," I offered politely. I wanted to get to the point so I could hurry to the post office and get my yearbook. 

"Good," Travis didn't say anything else, which made the atmosphere quickly get awkward. We both knew what this was about. However, for some odd reason, it was as if he was expecting me to take the lead. He was the teacher, hoping for me - the disappointing student - to put two and two together and acknowledge exactly what I did wrong out loud. 

At that moment, my dislike towards Travis turned into mild hate.

"So, I was hoping you'd have the notes ready for today." He said pointedly. 

"I thought so too, but there was way too much going on with work and other assignments-"

Travis lifted his hand to silence me, and once I clamped my mouth shut in astonishment, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned with his hip against the table.

"I'm trying to be understanding and sympathetic here, I truly do. But we all have things going on. School, work, family, relationships, whatever... I can't go about and make exceptions for one person while expecting everyone else to put in more work so that they pick up the slack. It's simply not fair." 

Pick up the slack? What the hell was he talking about?

"Travis, you sent me those notes at 10 pm, two days ago. I didn't even see the email until morning. I didn't have time, but I'll work on it as soon as I get home." 

"Hm, are you sure you can do it? I'd hate for everyone's grades to suffer because one person wouldn't put in the work." 

"Excuse me, but just because I didn't..." I lower my voice when two girls pass us, shooting bewildered glances at us. 

I'm being too loud. 

"I'm putting in the work! And besides, this presentation is worth only 20% of our final grade. So I really don't see what is there to stress about." I practically hissed at him. 

I wouldn't say I like this side of myself. I wouldn't say I liked getting all defensive with a guy, feeling like I need to get defensive with a guy. It brought back all those times Jonathan and I would argue, that I would try to make a point or defend myself, but he'll refuse to listen. 

"It doesn't matter how much it's worth. What matters," Travis exhaled slowly before continuing, "Is that we have a presentation to do, and we're all putting a lot of work into it. And you can see how it won't be fair if everyone gets graded equally, even when some people are not doing the same amount of work as others." 

"That's not..!" I begin in protest. Even though I didn't care for waspy-looking Travis with his frat-boy vibes and guilt-tripping politics, I didn't want to be perceived as a slacker by him. Because I wasn't a slacker. I wasn't some lazy person trying to pull on a crafty Criss Angel Mindfreak bullshit and make someone else do my work in some stealthy manner. 

I had actual shit to deal with: I, Oceane Becker, had a stalker. Something I bet Travis didn't know the first thing about. 

"I think," Yet again, Travis interrupted me, "It might be for the best if we work on your notes together. That way, we can get it over with faster, and get on with whatever other things we have going on." He shrugged. 

For a moment I wanted to say 'no', just to get a rise out of him: the thought that he believed he could bend my schedule at his will irked me. I could be just as stubborn and insist that my time was just as precious as his and as the rest of the people in the group. However, that might just make things more complicated. Travis would probably keep hounding me with even more of a vengeance until I finally emailed him the fucking revised notes. If I gave him what he wanted, he'll leave me alone, and this will all be nothing short of a long distant memory. 

"Sure, I have time today," I caved in, "But I have to stop at the post office first." 

"Great!" Travis slammed his laptop shut, sounding more cynical than I could care for.