Sweet Nothing(55)

“Pretty good, pretty good,” Gwen nods. “And by the way, we all know you’ll spill the faculty member’s identity after another glass of wine.”

“Who needs wine? It was Dr. Fritz. Weirdo.” Waverly turns to me. “Your turn.”

“Ummm… okay. Today at work….” I rack my brain, trying to come up with something good. But there’s only one thought that keeps surfacing, over and over. Not to be ignored.

Today, I fell just a little bit more for Luke Poulos.





chapter twenty-one



Elle,



I haven’t heard from you since I said I was thinking of visiting Dad. Are you pissed at me or something? You get it, right? He is our dad, in spite of everything. Just like you’re my sister, no matter what. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I think family is bigger than all of this. I want it to be, anyway.



Love you for infinity,



A





“So then, can somebody define opportunity cost for me? What do we mean when we use that term?” I ask in class the next morning. I take an extra long sip of coffee while most of my students offer nothing more than bleary-eyed stares. If I don’t chug my coffee, I’ll just end up answering my own question. I’ve always been uncomfortable with silence. Afraid of what will surface if I’m too still.

Finally, Vi Miller attempts to put me out of my misery. “It’s… the cost of…. an opportunity?” She squints and frowns, as if giving me an answer has been the most physically and emotionally taxing thing she’s done all morning.

“No shit,” somebody grumbles from the back.

“Hey!” I say sharply. “One more remark like that, and I’ll send the guilty one out for the day. With a zero. Have a little more respect for each other in here, okay? Got it?”

Silence. Vi Miller pouts and checks her hair for split ends.

“I said, GOT IT?”

“Got it,” everybody murmurs.

“Good. And yes, Vi. Opportunity cost is the cost of an opportunity. Can somebody elaborate on that, please?”

“It’s like when you have to make a choice,” Martha pipes up. “You have to pick one thing, which means you can’t pick your other choices. And the opportunity cost is what you’re giving up by not making those other choices.”

“Exactly,” I nod. “So for example, before I moved here, I had to decide whether to take this job, or to stay in New York. And I’m really, really glad I took this job, but the opportunity costs are hard, you know? Like leaving friends back home. Or… family.” I clear my throat. Be careful.

The room is quiet.

“Give me an example that’s relevant to your life. A time when you had to make a choice, which meant that you had to give up the benefits of making the other choices.”

“College?” Hayden Santiago mumbles from the back row.

I freeze, not exactly sure I heard correctly. The kid hasn’t said a word all year, except to rat me out to his father. “Say more?” I wipe my glasses on the edge of the hot pink blouse I’d snagged from Waverly’s closet this morning, trying for casual. Trying not to look too excited.

“Like if you have your choice of a bunch of colleges. Ivy Leagues or whatever.” Hayden says to his desk. He fumbles with his tie as he speaks. “And you want to go somewhere different, ‘cause maybe you just think you’d be happier there. But your—I mean, like, some people want you to go to the best college you can get into.”

“Absolutely,” I say softly. “Go on.”

“So the opportunity cost is the stuff you’re giving up by going to an Ivy. Even though you’re getting lots of good stuff too. I guess.”

“Awesome. You’re absolutely right.” The shrill clang of the bell drowns me out, and my view of Hayden is immediately obscured by several rows of students stuffing their laptops and notebooks into their backpacks. “Finish reading the chapter for tomorrow!”

They ignore me as they shuffle into the hall. But I can still feel the warmth of a smile coming. I’d resigned myself to a year full of apathy and silence from Hayden. And now this, out of the blue. Or maybe it wasn’t. All I know is that for the first time, I feel really good about what I’m doing here at Allford. And it has nothing to do with my roommates; nothing to do with Luke. This is mine.

“Thinking about that irresistible photography instructor, I’m guessing.”

My head snaps to see Luke in the doorway of my empty classroom. His hair is still wet, like it usually is in the morning. He’s wearing a bottle-green shirt that makes his eyes burn electric blue. I feel a familiar churning at the sight of him. I can tell myself to be careful around him, but I can’t stop my body from responding. I don’t want to.