TWENTY-EIGHT: Hired By The English Department

Waiting to see Harlan again is like holding my breath for five straight days, complete with the feeling of impending death.

It shouldn't have been this hard, I try to remind myself. Harlan and I, whatever we are, have a connection. We have some sort of link. But that doesn't mean that I'm defined in whatever we are. I'm not his girlfriend; I can't just text and ask him if he is okay, not without the risk of him telling me to back off, that I have no place to be checking in on him like we're dating. I never know when I'll cross an emotional line with Harlan, and it keeps me on my toes and constantly afraid of "overstepping."

I'm not his girlfriend. But I'm something. Figuring out what exactly that is... that is the challenge.

I'm dying to know why he'd left town on such short notice. Why he'd seemed so exasperated in the voicemail he'd left me.

Christ, I must have listened to that message upwards of a hundred times over the course of the weekend, lying face-up on my bed with my feet up against the wall, exasperated, exhausted, trying to make sense of the tiny threads of emotion in his voice. I've gotten spoiled, I suppose, and I've gotten my hopes up. Getting to spend time with him at his house, getting to sleep in his bed. Holding him while he sleeps. I've been looking so forward to getting to do it again that having the option ripped away from me for the entire weekend is giving me a major case of something akin to FOMO, but way more depressing.

At least the email he'd sent to the class gives me some answers, even if just barely. He'd written it briefly, and given the timeline, likely while he is at the airport.

Good evening, class. I'm writing to inform you that regrettably, due to a family emergency, I will have to miss class on Friday. Your classmate Eden has been hired by the English Department as my TA for next semester and has agreed to lead a review session on Friday. I assure you all that you will be in good hands for the final exam essay, which take place on Tuesday as scheduled. However, I will take into account my absence while grading, and will also extend office hours on Monday and Tuesday. Thank you all for your understanding.

"Hired by the English Department..." Smart. Keeping them off my scent if anything seems awry, I figure. Letting them think that he hadn't hand-picked me. But he did. And that knowledge is safe with me. And it makes me light up from the inside.

He'd chosen me. And only me.

But as far as the "family emergency" goes... well, it makes me feel guilty for being so peeved at him for not texting back, that’s for sure. All I know is that Harlan isn't generally on speaking terms with his family, and hasn't been for years. That is the extent of his opening up to me in regards to his past. And my own stalker-homework has revealed that his parents are world-famous philanthropists from whom he'd been estranged since teen-dom.

And that he walked away from that life forever.

I furrow my brow as I consider this. Not even the death of his father was enough to make him move back home, or enough to make his mother move to Boston to be with him. And now he’s randomly jetting off to attend to this "family emergency."

If the death of a parent isn't enough to make him budge before, then what could possibly be bad enough to make him hop on a plane at a moment's notice?

I shudder at the thought.

I can't help fearing for the worse, but figure at the same time that it is best that he’s there, even if it wouldn't be easy for him.

When I finally do get to see Harlan again, it’s hardly the moment I've been waiting for.

We're all gathered for the final exam on Tuesday morning.

On one hand, I'm incredibly nervous; I have three hours to write a perfectly polished eight-page paper. And on the other hand, I'll be seeing Harlan for the first time in over a week.

I sit in my usual seat, staring at the door, all the oxygen in my body stuck to the back of my throat as I wait for him to walk through it.

And he finally does.

If I'd been breathing before, I would have stopped then.

Seeing him makes my whole body clench and flutter. As he steps through the door, his eyes instantly snap to mine, and it makes me feel like I could shatter completely under the weight of his gaze. And then, after just a moment of bliss, his eyes tear away from me, regarding the rest of the class, maintaining his composure.

He doesn't so much as look at me when I shut off my laptop, but sends me a very professional email not ten minutes after I leave to come help him grade exactly at five-o-clock. It’s enough time for me to grab an early dinner before doing a 180 and heading back to Holdo Hall, this time to his all-too familiar office on the top floor.

"Okay, so, which one's mine, though?" I prod for the umpteenth time.

Harlan ignores me, narrowed amber-coloured eyes glued to Derek Klivian's essay. He'd read it three times already, and has already marked it to hell with his red pen.

"Quiet," he murmurs flatly, eyes not budging from the paper. "Yours is next."

Derek's paper is only five pages. It’s supposed to be eight.

And mine is ten.