“Good for you. See you guys tonight— I’m making vegetarian tacos, if you want.” Gwen chugs my orange juice, grabs her bag, and leaves.
“I should get going too,” I tell Waverly. “But let me help you with this stuff first.” I start to clear the table, but she practically slaps the plates out of my hands.
“Quit. I’m free ‘till second period. I’ll get it.”
“Thanks.” I toss my leather tote over my shoulder. “And… thanks. For everything. I really appreciate it.”
“I know.” I’ve gotten to know her smile well since I arrived in Miami: half shy smile, half smirk. Genuine enough to let you know that she cares; slick enough to keep you on your toes. “Now get the hell out.”
Luke’s hunched next to my door when I get to my classroom, a move that shocks me into momentary silence. Even more surprising than his audacity is his appearance: hair matted to one side of his head, eyes puffy, clothes wrinkled. Like he hasn’t slept at all. That makes two of us.
“I have class,” I snap, shoving past him to unlock the door. “And I need to prep.” I jam the electronic key into the door. It bleats in protest. I try at least three more times before he has to do it for me.
“Elle, I have to talk to you. Please.” Luke opens the door and holds it for me, following close behind. “I need five minutes. Just do me this one favor, and hear me out.”
“You need five minutes?” I ditch my tote and busy myself at my desk, shuffling papers that don’t need to be shuffled. I can’t look at him. He has the nerve to look destroyed. Between the two of us, I’m the only one who has the right to look that way. “Why the hell would I do you a favor, Luke?” Even saying his name out loud is painful.
“I know. I don’t deserve it. But if you would only let me explain about Ashley—”
“I don’t need an explanation about Ashley.” I spit the name at him. “I got plenty of explanation yesterday.”
I can feel him moving toward me, and I bristle. Even when we’re fighting, there’s electricity between us. “You don’t understand. Just give me five minutes at lunch. Let me explain, and then if you still hate me, well…” He exhales slowly. “then you hate me. And I won’t bother you again. I swear.”
“I don’t want to talk about this at LUNCH, Luke!” My outburst surprises even me. Luke takes a step back, toward the door. “In front of my colleagues? Where my roommates can see? Don’t you think you’ve humiliated me enough?”
“Okay. No cafeteria. Then meet me off campus,” he pleads. “At the place where we had lunch on your first day.”
“That’ll take more than five minutes.”
“It doesn’t have to. You can leave at the five minute mark, if you want.”
“Morning, Ms. Sloane! Just wondering if you could go over last night’s reading with—” Vi Miller prances in, looking disgustingly chipper. “Oh. Hey…Mr. Poulos.” She glances back and forth between us. “Am I, like, interrupting something?”
Luke shakes his head. “Nope. I was just confirming a lunch meeting with Ms. Sloane. So… we’re all set?” He locks eyes with me. His are pained. Desperate. I recognize that kind of desperation. It’s what I felt yesterday. What he made me feel yesterday. I just want him to leave, and I know there’s only one way to make that happen.
“Sure. I’ll be there.”
It’s my first guiltless lie.
For the rest of the morning, I teach like my life depends on it. I manage to pack my drama with Luke deep beneath my consciousness, and I pour everything I have into my work. I’m funny, and sharp, and relaxed, and the students are engaged in discussion like I’ve never seen them before. Josh Marville raises his hand six times, and not once does he mention how good I look in my dress. Which I count as a victory. Hayden Santiago stays silent, as usual. I’m not a miracle worker.
When the bell rings, I wait for the classroom to empty, then grab my tote and head for the door. I decide to go home for lunch. I have no intention of meeting Luke.
I step into the hall, moving with the tide of kids and noise and laughter. I even get a few Hey! Miss Sloane!s, which feels good. I don’t need Luke to make Miami work for me. I can do this on my own. My confidence and my smile dissolve when I see him, shoving through the crowd to get to my side of the hall.
“What are you doing here?” I keep walking, barely glancing in his direction. “I thought we were meeting for lunch.”
“Do you really think I’m that gullible? I knew you wouldn’t come, unless I came to pick you up. Call me a gentleman.” He whips around and falls into step next to me. “I can think of plenty of things to call you at the moment. Gentleman doesn’t happen to be one of them.”