My Notes Aren't Yours Alone Anymore

I took my notebook back from Yale Lawson's desk.

Every page was packed with detailed solutions, common mistakes to watch for, and the concepts each problem was testing.

My deskmate, Jade Lewis, had flipped through it once and stared at me in disbelief.

"Zoe, these notes are insane. You're already number one in our grade. Do you really need to write down this much?"

I'd hidden my flushed face and said, "It makes studying easier."

That wasn't the real reason.

I'd made those notes specifically for Yale. I was afraid he wouldn't understand otherwise.

Yale was good-looking, but he wasn't easy to approach. He never wore his school uniform properly, and his black backpack always hung carelessly from one shoulder. In class, he was either asleep or staring into space.

Whenever a teacher called on him, he would get to his feet with his eyes lowered, stand there in silence for what felt like forever, and finally say, "I don't know."

The teacher would slam a hand against the lectern in frustration, and Yale wouldn't so much as flinch.

He was like a rock. No matter how hard anyone tried, they could never get a reaction out of him.

Normally, someone like that was exactly the kind of person I should have stayed far away from.

Then, not long after freshman year started, a few students from another school cornered me by the back gate and demanded money.

Yale came down the alley carrying a half-finished bottle of ice water. He stepped in front of me and looked at them.

"Move."

One of them didn't take kindly to that and swore at him.

Yale glanced his way.

That one look was enough to make him shut his mouth.

A few moments later, they were gone.

Yale crouched down and picked up the books scattered across the ground, one by one. He dusted them off before putting them back in my arms.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He didn't even look at me.

"What a pain."

That was the day I fell for him.

And after that, I liked him with a kind of hopeless devotion that left me no dignity at all.

If he skipped study hall, I marked all the important material the teacher had assigned so he wouldn't miss anything. If he slept through class, I rewrote every example the teacher had gone over. Whenever he kicked the back of my chair, I knew what he wanted and passed him my notebook.

Sometimes he would mutter, "Thanks."

Most of the time, he said nothing.

I never minded. Everyone at school knew Yale wasn't much of a talker.

Somewhere along the way, I even convinced myself that the fact he borrowed my notes meant I was at least a little different to him.

Then last night, I came across a post on the school forum.

[Did Yale Lawson suddenly start studying because he's trying to get Xandra Xane, the prettiest girl in school?]

[Obviously. Xandra just said she wants to go to Southern University, and now Yale's checking their admissions scores. The school bad boy hitting the books for love? I'm obsessed.]

[But hasn't he been asking Zoe Shaw, the top student in our grade, for her notes every day lately?]

[So what? Yale's just trying to get his grades up so he can go to the same college as Xandra. Zoe's basically just his study mule.]

"Study mule."

I stared at those two words until a chill spread through my hands and feet.