Sarah: Can we talk?
I messed up. I knew I messed up. Jake accused me of having sex with Jesse, which was ludicrous, but I hadn't denied it. Hours later, I was seen coming out of Scott's room in the darkness of night.
Finally – finally – I understood what that must look like to Kyle.
But if I could just EXPLAIN.
He hadn't answered my previous two phone calls, nor had he opened his door when I tried knocking on it this morning.
I walked back and forth from my room to the kitchen to the bathroom to the window in the living room and back again.
My phone buzzed, making my heart jump.
Kyle: Not today. Lets get through finals first.
I blanched. We were only halfway through the semester. He didn't want to speak to me for the next two months?
Sarah: Do you mean midterms?
No answer.
A tiny, polite part of me wanted to respect his wishes. To remove myself from his life and cause him less distress.
The landslide majority of my consciousness wanted to beat him over the head until he understood that I loved him, that I would never betray him, and that he had to believe me.
Don't walk away, I told myself. Don't give up.
I typed furiously at the tiny keypad on my phone:
"Kyle, please. You're the only person I've ever been with. I know Jake told you I went to see Scott last night, but I only went to ask him about Jesse..."
No, that sounded horrible. I deleted it.
"Kyle, I..." What was I trying to say?
"I'm sorry." No, that made it sound like I was guilty.
I stared at his text. "Not today." Anger bubbled up through my chest.
Sarah: You're going to listen to what Jake has to say without even giving me a chance to explain? I didn't do anything wrong, I'm sorry if you think I did. I thought you knew me better than that.
My heart pounded as I glared at the screen, daring him to reply.
Kyle: We'll talk Tuesday, OK? I need to study.
I resisted the urge to throw my phone. And to swear at him. And to cry. I contented myself with a curt acknowledgement.
Sarah: Fine.
At least I didn't have to wait two months. He must want to get this over with too. But did he want to dump me, or forgive me?
I debated the most probable outcome with myself over the next four days and changed my mind approximately one thousand one hundred and fifty two times.
In the meantime, I tried to keep busy.
***
"Professor?"
"Come in."
Professor Stiles was pale, pot-bellied, and ill tempered. He had a moustache like the fur of a weasel – coarse, brown, and prickly. It jutted outwards under his nose and jumped up and down when he talked as though there were a real weasel balancing on his face.
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Novela JuvenilThe University of Kelvin offers the Hardest Program Known To Man, so naturally Sarah Christensen enrolled. The 17-year-old idealist was prepared to prove herself in a male-dominated faculty. She was not prepared for late-night treasure hunts, tennis...