“I can’t help it. It’s just too perfect,” he said as we walked. “I can say whatever I want to you—get you to laugh out loud—and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Yeah, and that’s no fair.” I casually linked my arm through his once we stepped out of the building.
“But it’s such a beautiful thing to see your face turn pink as you smile at your notebook,” he said, shoving me playfully. “And that laugh, oh my God, I could never get sick of your laugh. That was too perfect. You have to admit that was so perfect.”
I tried my hardest to hold in a smile to match his. “You enjoy torturing me, don’t you?”
“I really do,” he said, pulling me into a side hug. “Speaking of torturing you…” He pulled his backpack off one shoulder and spun it around his body.
“Speaking of torturing me?” I asked, eyeing him as people passed us in a rush to their next class. I watched as he dug around in his bag.
“I got you something,” he said as his hand stilled in his bag. “Close your eyes.”
“I’m not closing my eyes,” I said. I crossed my arms, jutting out my hip.
“Close your eyes, Edie,” he warned, squinting at me.
I sighed deeply, rolling my eyes at him before closing them.
“Keep them shut,” he said. “I mean it.”
“Okay, okay, I—” I started, but stopped as I felt Hudson pull a hat onto my head. My hands immediately went to the hat to pull it off, knowing it was going to ruin my hair more than I already had by pulling it into a ponytail.
“Don’t you dare take that off,” he said, his hands over mine.
I dropped my hands slowly in surrender. “Can I open my eyes now?”
“Yeah,” he said.
I opened my eyes to see Hudson’s phone in selfie mode, his smiling face watching my reaction. “I got you one, too,” he said as I looked at myself on the screen.
I touched the beanie as I pulled my bottom lip through my teeth to keep my face from splitting in two. He’d gotten me his exact beanie but in a soft pink, close enough to rose quartz to make me wonder if he’d actually listened to me ramble on about the color at the volleyball game.
“You like it?” he asked, bouncing on his toes, the phone moving with him.
I looked from him to my own face and then back. I pulled at my hair, adjusting my ponytail to lie over my left shoulder. I checked the phone once more before pushing his hand out of the way and pulling him into me.
“This is adorable,” I whispered, my lips touching his neck as I spoke. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Let’s go back to your room and hang out.”
“Can’t,” I said with a pout as I released him. “You know I have Media Econ.”
“After?” he asked.
I touched the hat again, touched my hair. “You mean when you have German Lit?”
He shrugged his backpack strap onto his shoulder. “I don’t need that class,” he said, reaching for my hand.
I shook my head. “No, I’ll see you tonight for tutoring. We need to study for the midterm,” I said, watching the smile spread across his face.
“Sure, we can study for the midterm.” He let go of my hand as we backed away in different directions. “But listen, I think we should study in your room, or mine, doesn’t matter.”
I put a hand on my hip and listed my head. “Nice try.”
“No, really,” he said, taking a step toward me. “I did some research about quiet rooms, and did you know that Microsoft has the quietest room on earth? It’s in Guinness World Records. And people have had hallucinations and stuff. Felt panicky just like you did.”
“Oh-kay,” I said calmly, though my pulse was starting to race just thinking about being in that quiet room again.
“What I’m saying is, let’s be proactive in avoiding hallucinations of any kind and steer clear of the quiet room. Which leaves my room or your room as the next best thing.” He reached forward and touched my hair, twisting my ponytail around his finger twice.
I looked at him, searching his face for any sign of teasing. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah, totally. I guess the longest anyone has ever stayed in this room was forty-five minutes. People couldn’t stand to be in there, literally—if you are going to go inside, you have to sit. For whatever reason it really throws off people’s equilibrium, too.”
“Okay,” I said after a moment. “We can study in my room…” I grasped his hand, pulling it away from my hair before dropping it. A big smile spread across his face. “After your German Lit class!”
“Sure, after class,” he said, taking a step backward.
“I mean it!” I said.
He took another step away, his thumbs hooked on the straps of his backpack. “I know you do,” he called, still walking backward. “But studying you is way more important than German Lit will ever be.” He raised his arms over his head.
“Oh my God, stop it!” I said, hiding my face in my hands. We were standing in one of the busiest places on campus, between two of the busiest class times. If my makeup wasn’t perfect, I would have pulled the hat down over my face.
“Not a chance!” he said, arms still in the air as he turned and walked toward his next class.
24
It’s How I Know You’re … Uh … Awesome
“So for every correct flash card, I’ll take off an article of clothing,” Hudson said as we sat at opposite ends of my bed, needing as much space between us as possible.
“No deal.” I shook my head. He was right, studying in my room was way more relaxing than the quiet room had ever been. It was a good idea, but suggesting he remove an article of clothing for every correct answer? That was a terrible idea that would end with little to no studying.
“Okay, so then I’ll just take my clothes off now.” He moved to pull his shirt over his head.
“Stop, Hudson, I seriously need to study,” I whined.
He dropped the hem of his shirt with a pout, but pulled his beanie off instead. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it.
“Less pouting, more helping.”
“Less helping, more kissing?” he suggested.
“Some tutor you are,” I said, throwing a pillow at him. “Good thing I’m your only toot-tee; I’d feel bad for anyone else who had to endure this kind of treatment just to learn something.”
“Come here so I can learn you a thing or two.” He opened his arms to me like he had when we were on the couch at the party.
“About French?” I asked.
“Yes, definitely about French.”
I groaned as I flopped onto my back. “I’m gonna fail this midterm, and it’s going to be all your fault.”
“Awww,” he said as he crawled over everything scattered across my bed. He propped himself up over me on his forearms, his hands on either side of my head, holding my face. “You aren’t going to fail the midterm.”
“I am, though.” I covered my face with both hands.
“You know way more than you are giving yourself credit for, you know that, right?” He nosed at my hands.
I pulled my hands from my face. “I really don’t, though.”
“That’s better,” he said as he looked into my eyes.
“Wes?”
“Yes?” He hummed as he ran his thumb over my bottom lip. His eyes on my mouth.
“If you don’t get off me and help me study like a good TA, you are never, ever touching my Ts or A again.”
“Well, now that certainly is something.” He listed his head as he brushed my hair away from my face and behind my ear.
“It certainly is.”
“Can we talk about the whole ‘figuring things out later’ thing?” I asked. Every minute I spent with Hudson I felt like I was slipping further and further into the relationship zone.
Hudson shifted, rolling onto his side, his back pressed into the wall. “Sure,” he said, folding my pillow in half under his head. “It’s all fig
ured out.”
“Oh-kay…,” I said, holding out the word. “Do you mind elaborating on that?”
He skimmed his thumb against my forehead, smoothing out the lines. “Can we just agree to keep things as they are at the moment?”
“And how are things at the moment?”
“This. Us.”
I nodded. Us. “Okay.”
“Okay?” He smiled.
I nodded again. “Want to meet me at the shop on Friday? I can show you what I’ve been working on.”
“I’m going home on Friday,” he said.
“You’re going to be gone for a whole weekend?”
“I’ll be back on Sunday.”
“But—”
“It’ll be all right.” He lifted his arm, and I scooted into him. “And then you can show me all the things you’ve ever worked on.”
I laughed. “Be careful what you wish for.” I traced the letters on his shirt with my fingertip: I’M NOT YELLING, I’M GERMAN. “And thanks for caring.”
“Pas de problème!”
“No problem,” I translated as I continued to trace the letters.
“Je vais te manquer ce week-end?” he asked.
“Te manquer. Te manquer.” I repeated the word I didn’t know, my eyes on his shirt. I got the I will and weekend, but not the rest. “C’est quoi, ‘te manquer’?” I asked, looking up at him.
Hudson’s chest moved as he laughed lightly.
“C’est quoi, ‘te manquer’?” he repeated. “Tu vas me manquer is how I feel every time we’re apart.…” He paused for a moment.
I bit at my bottom lip as I waited for him to continue trying to decode his words, pulling from all the French I could remember.
“It’s how I know you’re … awesome.”
“Awww, you think I’m awesome?” I asked, poking him in the side. “Thank you so, so much.”
He pushed himself to sitting to avoid another poke, retreating to the end of the bed.
“It’s true, I do think you’re awesome,” he said with a shrug.
I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest. “Oh, well, then, tell me more,” I teased.
He pulled a small stack of index cards from his bag and waved them at me. “First, I made these especially for you.”
“Special index cards? That’s so … awesome of you.” I put my arms up to protect myself from a pillow sailing toward my head. “You’re so awesome at throwing pillows. I can’t wait to see these awesome new flash cards.”
“Génial,” Hudson said, tapping the stack of index cards against his palm. “Awesome.”
“Génial,” I repeated. “Great, now you can tell me how awesome I am in two languages.”
He pointed the index cards at me, an eyebrow quirked as a smirk played across his lips. He cleared his throat as he sat up straight, tapping the stack against his palm again. I sat up straight, mirroring him.
He held up the first card. Avant-garde.
I clapped my hands, dropping my knees and crossing my legs. I leaned my elbows onto my thighs. “Avant-garde: when one introduces an unusual idea or something experimental in fashion or the arts.”
“Très bien.” He flipped to the next card. Boutique.
I listed my head with a sigh. “A shop or store.” That was an easy one.
Chartreuse.
“A shade of green. Yellowish green.” I scrunched my nose. “Not a favorite of mine.”
Minaudière.
“An adorable clutch,” I said, watching Hudson’s eyebrow quirk. “A clutch, you know, like a little handbag you would bring to a fancy party.”
He smiled and flipped to the next card. Ombré.
“Oh my God,” I sighed as I shook my head. “When one color fades into another.”
“What?” he asked, turning the card to face him.
“Ombré is just so overdone right now. Everything is ombré. Or chevron. If the next card says chevron, I’m leaving,” I warned.
“This is your room.” He laughed.
“So?” I said as he flipped to the next card.
Une jupe.
I squinted at the card as if looking at it harder might help. I didn’t know it. I shrugged. “Can you say it out loud?”
“Une jupe,” he said with enunciation.
I shook my head.
“Skirt,” he said, flipping to the next. Les talons aiguilles.
I shook my head again.
“High heels,” he said. “A stiletto heel.” He ran a hand through his hair, his cheeks turning pink.
“Like the famous constellation La Stiletto?” I said.
“Exactly.” He smiled down at his crossed legs before flipping to the next card.
Les vêtements.
“Clothing!” I laughed, glad to finally know one.
“Okay, last one.” He ran a hand through his hair again, his cheeks deepening to red.
I squinted at him. “I don’t like the look on your face right now.”
He flipped the final card. Ménage à trois.
“You’re an ass,” I said, lofting the pillow back at his head.
He lifted his arms to protect his face, his laugh muffled. I threw another pillow at him, then a stuffed animal.
“Okay, okay! Sorry!” I stopped throwing things at him as he slowly lowered his arms. “I just wanted you to be prepared when you’re in Paris. If I know French men, they’ll definitely be asking—”
“Oh my God, Hudson!” I yelled as a purple stuffed elephant hit him in the face.
25
That’s What We Call a Win-Win-Win-Win Situation
Clément’s office gave me the same sinking feeling in my stomach as it had the day I first set foot in there, the day I reached out for help and had my hand slapped away. Now I waited for him to tell me that I failed the midterm. That I would need a ninety-nine or something on the final to pass, which would never mathematically happen. It didn’t help that the girl who’d been in his office before me left crying, either.
I wore my new beanie. I felt safe in it. I felt more like myself in it. It was the perfect pick for me. I had no idea how he pulled that off, but he had. I needed the courage to face Clément, and the beanie gave me that because I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to tell him that this was his fault. That I wouldn’t have failed the midterm had he just allowed me the few accommodations I needed from the beginning.
“You passed,” Dr. Clément said, interrupting my quickly mounting doubt. “But only just.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, briefly wondering if I should have said excusez-moi instead.
“You passed,” he repeated, slowly and louder.
Okay, well, that was fair. He probably thought I didn’t understand him.
“You earned a seventy-two on the midterm. You hold a sixty-six in the class,” he said, turning my test toward me as it lay on his desk. “And if you get at least a sixty-five on the final, you will pass the course.”
“Wow,” I said, reaching for the corrected exam. A seventy-two wasn’t only just passing in my opinion. A seventy-two was awesome! A seventy-two was amazing! A seventy-two was … not a grade I thought I would ever celebrate, but still!
“Can I keep this?” I asked.
“No.” He took the test from my hands. “I do not allow students to retain their tests.”
“It would be a really good study tool for me and—”
“No,” he repeated. “But if you would like to look at it, you may do so during office hours.”
“Oh, so I can come in and look it over, I just can’t bring it home?”
He slid my test back into an overfilled file folder. “Oui.”
“Okay, great. Well, thank you for letting me know,” I said, beginning to gather my things, cursing myself for assuming the worst. My hard work was paying off.
“Wait, this is only half the reason I asked for this meeting,” he said, waving me to sit back down. “I wanted you to know that I believe you are working as hard as you can. I believe you want to pass an
d that this is, indeed, very difficult for you.”
Whoa. Dr. Clément acknowledging my hard work? Was there a hidden camera in here somewhere? Besides the few teachers in high school who really knew me, I only ever heard that from my mom.
“Merci,” I breathed.
* * *
“I passed the midterm, and Clément said I could look at my test when I’m with you,” I said, rushing through my words as I slid into the chair across from Hudson. “Well, actually, he said I could see the test during office hours, but whatever.”
Hudson was in the library for his normal two-hours-every-Monday-Wednesday study session in which he would have his books open, notebooks out, but spend the entire time talking to the people around him … whether he knew them or not.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” He leaned back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head.
I eyed him. “You knew I passed and didn’t tell me? Très impoli.” I reached into my bag and pulled out my notebook and flash cards. “So rude.”
“Très bien,” he said, his eyes smiling. “When did you learn that phrase?”
“A while ago,” I said with a smug one-shoulder shrug. “Figured I would need to use it against you at some point.”
He beamed at me, shaking his head slowly.
“You’re wearing your beanie,” he said, tapping his pen against the notebook that sat untouched, but opened, in front of him.
“Clearly. Don’t change the subject,” I warned, pointing a finger in his direction. Trying to stay serious around him was impossible.
“It looks good on you.”
I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest as I leaned back in the chair. I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Okay, sorry for not telling you that you passed the midterm,” he said with a sigh, only saying the words because he had to, despite the way he looked at me.
“So, give me my test right now to make up for your rudeness,” I said, diffusing all the butterflies in my stomach from the gleam in his eyes.
“I don’t have it.” He released his chair and clunked forward, his elbows landing softly on the table.
“What? Why not? You knew we would be studying together at some point.” I gestured at him with my stack of index cards.
“Whoa, calm down,” he said, a smile creeping across his face. He was laughing at me. It made me want to punch him. It also made me want to kiss him.
Meet Me in Outer Space Page 12
