How To Woo Sky Walker

1

Harvey Ryerson is a man of science.

He is a man of science and he's double-majoring in it, how much more science-y can he get?

But, apparently, he needs one more class to complete his general education credit requirements. According to his academic advisor, choosing a class in the humanities or social sciences again would be ideal so he can "branch out" and "establish a strong intellectual foundation for all majors or specializations" outside of his specific field.

Harvey doesn't want to branch out. He did that last semester and the only thing he got out of it was kicks for flirting with the TA and an embarrassing amount of shameful rejections from said TA.

But as he's scrolling past the classes to enlist in, Harvey almost chokes on his soda, and actually brings his face closer to the laptop screen—as if that would make the name fade away if he stared at it long enough.

But there it is. Written in clear, shining letters in Arial. TA: Sky Walker—right underneath the professor's name.

Harvey puts down his soda can and calls Abe.

His friend picks up on the third ring, and he's panting. Not unusual. "What, I'm in the middle of getting fucked, what is it?"

The sad thing is—he's probably telling the truth. Also not unusual.

"'Sup, Harvey," Jax says.

"He's literally right in the middle, please be quick," Landon adds.

Harvey doesn't care. "I need one more gen-ed class this semester and I'm enlisting in history because why not and because the TA is fucking Sky Walker. Remember her?"

"The one you popped a boner for, got blue balls for during the entirety of a semester and the one who hates you," Abe says. "Yeah, I remember her."

"I'm going to take her class again."

"She literally rejected you more times than your fingers and toes and armpit hairs combined—Jax, holy shit, oh my God—"

"I am not going to be rejected this time," Harvey says, already pushing down on his mouse pad to click on ENLIST.

"That's the spirit, Harvey," Landon says, breathless. "We have faith in you. But bye."

"Bye, Harvey," Jax adds, and then they hang up.

Useless.

Harvey sits back on the couch, tucking his arms behind his head and lifting his feet on the coffee table.

He looks at his course schedule, staring at the name underneath the professor's—and grins.

First of all, the boner incident wasn't his fault.

Harvey sleeps through his gen-ed classes because they're fucking boring and who needs a literature course when his major is literally science? (He enlisted in it, anyway, because deep down, he found it cool: AH244, Greek Mythology). And he admits, the class was fine, interesting, but it didn't stop him from getting a few more hours of sleep—and Harvey didn't care for his TA. Sure, she was gorgeous (although looked scary as hell), she had a cool name, and every Friday, she conducted the lecture and she actually knew what she was talking about—but that was just it. Harvey didn't care.

But then she finished her third lecture of the semester and looked at the students and smiled. "Alright, I don't appreciate lazy asses in this class, but I really don't care as long as you know your shit. Any questions or clarifications on the lecture?"

Harvey's mouth twitched—feeling targeted. He knew she was talking about him. Amused, he sat up, ran a hand through his messy hair and leaned back, crossing his arms against his chest.

Someone raised their hand. "Are you free tonight?"

Harvey remembers waiting for her reaction.

Unfazed, Sky answered, "I'm actually a million dollars tonight, but prices may be down never. Next."

Harvey's mouth curled up into a smile. He tilted his head at her, pushing his tongue against his cheek.

"Are you single?" another asked.

"One more of that and I will harvest your toes. Next. Greek Myth, guys, come on—"

"When will consultation hours be? And will we be alone?"

The smile on her face is frozen—sickly sweet and deadly. "I'll be contacting you guys about that. And yes, we will be. Any more personal and disrespectful questions?"

Without thinking, Harvey raised his hand. "Do you like Star Wars?"

Sky ran her gaze over him for a total of two seconds and faced the board again. "Don't forget your homework. You guys can leave now."

Harvey—for some unknown, bizarre, God-knows-what reason, felt his pants grow tighter.

She just ignored him and here he was—popping a boner! For what? For what?

Since then, Harvey didn't sleep on Sky's lecture days. But the moment he realized he didn't just want to aggressively hook up with her in the student lounge but, rather, wanted to wife her up, was after her lecture on The Iliad, just because of how passionate she was about it and how her curly hair fell in her face when she was leaning down to look at the textbook, how she bit her lip in concentration in the middle of a sentence, to think about a better term for a word that she was going to use, and how she showed up in class in hoodies and big shirts with FEMINIST written in giant, black letters in front and white-washed jeans and caps and no makeup one day, and a cropped top and skirt and hoop earrings with amazing makeup the next.

And how her glasses fell down her nose and she pushed it back up her face with a little nose scrunch.

So Harvey blasted through the class by sleeping in it (when it wasn't Friday), getting over-the-top grades, and pissing Sky off whenever he passed his exam sheet and one, asked her out, and two, asked if she liked Star Wars.

Sky's response had always been variations of, "I will squeeze your kneecaps if you ask me that again," and "I will pour cement in your ears, get out," and "Get out of my way, you troublesome, inconvenient fire drill."

Harvey asked, "Will you go out with me this weekend?"

And Sky answered, "Sorry, I have a headache this weekend."

So, yes, he did get rejected—every day during the last semester, actually.

But Harvey has a plan this time.

He calls Abe again.

"What do you want—"

"Get off your boyfriends and fucking watch Star Wars with me."

*

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