Off Track

Part 4: Elliot

It took me the better part of two days, four cans of energy drinks and Led Zeppelin's entire discography to finish the essay. I'd been in the Kirk Library for thirteen hours straight writing the six-thousand-word report due tomorrow afternoon. I would have forgotten about the report if Honor hadn't casually reminded me three nights ago as we headed to the bar to meet the guys. I froze mid-step and cursed under my breath. She had laughed and given me that patented look of hers that said I was an idiot.

"Dude," she'd paused too, thrown me a grin and said, "How did you make it into college?"

"Oh my Fairy Godmother really needed me to make a third wish so she could go bet on horses." I answered.

The evening cold bit into my cheeks. Honor pulled her coat tighter around her as a sharp gust of wind blew past. She'd been standing underneath a streetlamp, its orange light fell gently on her face, casting her in a warm glow you could only find this late into spring. She laughed again and the next gust of wind carried it into the darkness behind us.

"Elliot, it's due in three days," she said, a corner of her mouth lifted into a smile sharpened by light and shadow. "Do you know how hard it was for me to justify epistemic norms? Professor Wallis wants us to do it without appealing to what he calls –" she paused to do perform air quotation marks with her fingers, "– pragmatic considerations."

The class was based around a research project on the epistemic utility theory. It was half the reason I'd come to study at Eastside for the semester, the other half of the reason was waiting at the bar for Honor and I.

I pushed a hand through my hair and sighed. "Damn it. I – I forgot."

"What have you been doing?" she asked, "Wallis announced it like a month ago."

I shrugged, "I don't know, I've had other things on my mind."

She cocked an eyebrow, "Like?"

"Like–" I rolled my shoulders back, "like sleep, gigs–" dead fathers I couldn't get out of my head "–movie nights with Kamal. I've got priorities Honor."

She laughed and this time the wind didn't take it, this time the sound rang out like a song in the empty street. "I can't believe you."

"Have you finished?" I asked her, although I already knew the answer. Honor had a strong need for success that could only be rivalled by a certain wild-haired girl back in England.

She shook her head, "No, I have another three thousand words to go. I'm going to the bar 'cause I need a break or my head is going to fall off. You should really go home and start on the report."

It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening and I was too tired to write anything. I just wanted to head to the bar, have a couple of drinks with the boys and beat Miguel at pool. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket and started walking again.

"I can do it later," I said, "I have three days, right?"

Honor stared after me for a few seconds before she chuckled and fell into step beside me.

She said, "You can't run away from everything, Elliot Fintry."

I looked at her then, her grey eyes looked black, almost darker than the night. I smirked, "No but I can hide."

I hadn't realised it was six-thousand-words until two days later, when I'd looked at the mass email Professor Wallis had to sent to everyone in the class months ago. There was a split-second moment of panic that kicked my heart and another kick, harder this time that widened my eyes when I saw the report was worth eighty-percent of the project's final grade.