POV: Eli HayesThe pen hits the desk, and I look up.She is already looking at me.There is a quality to this moment that differs from all the other moments we have accumulated in seminar rooms and coffee shops and libraries and rinks and cobblestone courtyards since September. It is different because neither of us looks away. It is different because something in the air has finally stopped pretending to be casual.I have been in this room with Silver Preston for two hours, managing the distance the same way I manage everything difficult: with focus and precision and the careful application of attention to the task directly in front of me rather than the larger situation surrounding it. It is a system I trust. It has worked for years. Tonight, I can feel it fraying at the edges.The literary analysis is genuinely interesting. That is not performance. Victorian poetry is something I came to during the eight months of my shoulder recovery, when I had nothing but time and needed somethin
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