Page 48 of Follows with Intent

Nico kept speaking, but Jadon quickly lost the thread of the ideas. Nico had done a good job of explaining his argument the night before, but now, hearing it couched in the technical jargon of academia, Jadon found himself unable to follow. Names, terms, references—he tried, at first, looking them up discreetly on his phone, but there were too many, and by the time he’d read a paragraph about Hegel, he realized he was missing Nico’s paper. So, he settled back in his seat and listened, enjoying the sound of Nico’s voice, the rise and fall of it. A radiator glugged and gurgled behind him, and the air began to warm. Outside, bare branches moved in the breeze. They cast dancing shadows through the leaded-glass windows. It felt like the whole room was moving.

Jadon might have made it if he’d had his coffee. Sleep didn’t come all at once. He caught himself the first time his head dipped. He forced himself to sit up straight, to open his eyes. It helped, for a few minutes. But there had been so many sleepless nights. And Jadon couldn’t move, couldn’t get up and leave, couldn’t do anything without interrupting Nico’s paper. All he could do was sit there.

The next time he blinked himself awake, it was because the silence woke him. He wiped his mouth—no drool, thank God—and raised his head. Nico still stood at the lectern. A slight hint of color showed in his cheeks, and he was clutching the pages he’d been reading from. Most of the grad students were still facing forward, with the exception of Clark. He had trained his camera on Jadon and was smirking as he recorded him. Sleeping, Jadon thought muzzily. The little shit caught me while I was asleep. The professor in the baggy robe-dress was watching Jadon too, her face unreadable. Nico was so intently not looking at Jadon that Jadon knew, immediately, that Nico had seen him.

Only then did Jadon realize the professor with the trendy haircut was speaking, his voice well-modulated and calm, his gaze moving from his notes to Nico as he added, “—be happy to help you find some of those articles I mentioned, of course, if you’d like to follow up with me after the seminar.”

Nico’s hands tightened around his papers. “Thank you, Dr. Meza. That’s helpful. I didn’t know—” He stopped and after a long beat managed, “I didn’t know about that body of work.”

Meza—the professor with the stylish hair—sat back, nodding.

“We’ll open the discussion now to the seminar,” the man with the cotton-candy hair said. “But first, I’d like to point out several inconsistencies in how you use the term subjectivity.”

After that, it was a bloodbath. Everyone was polite, of course. But Jadon knew what was happening. Long criticisms only barely disguised as questions. Or the questions that were flat-out interrogations. Or not even an attempt at questions—the Harry Potter kid went on for almost fifteen minutes, and from what Jadon could tell, he was reading from his own research.

Nico bore up pretty well under all of it. He answered questions. He took notes. He nodded and said, “Thank you.” That look of intense focus had faded, and in its place was a perfectly polished mask. He even smiled when someone made a joke. Jadon imagined this was the Nico who had posed for photoshoots. The blank, unexpressive perfection of his face. Like the real Nico had gone away somewhere.

And then, somehow, it was over. The cotton-candy professor made some final remarks, and then people were gathering up their stuff, exchanging goodbyes. The Harry Potter type rushed the professors, talking rapidly, hand outstretched. Maya hugged the other girl. Clark slipped out of his seat and headed for the doors. He paused when he reached Nico and said something too low for Nico to hear. Nico gave a one-shouldered shrug, and Clark said something else. Then he kept going, and a moment later, he was gone. The professors filed out, trailed by a few of the more persistent grad students. Maya lingered for a moment, looking at Nico and then at Jadon. She left too. And then it was the two of them, and Jadon’s steps sounded loud as he made his way down the tiers.

Nico was packing up when Jadon reached him. He looked up and offered a too-bright smile. “Sorry about that. It must have been super boring.”

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I did that.”

Nico slid his laptop into his bag.

“I’m sorry, Nico. That was so rude, and—God, I’m so mad at myself. I was so excited you invited me, and I screwed this up.”

“It’s okay,” Nico said, and he gave a little laugh. “You were tired. You’ve been working so hard.”

“It’s not okay. I am so sorry.”

“Jay, stop. It’s fine.”

Jadon watched Nico sling the backpack over one shoulder. He was still smiling. His eyes were bright.

“How did it go?” Jadon asked. “I’m not an expert on these things, but—”

“Great,” Nico said and walked out of the room.

When Jadon caught up with him, he finally came up with “It sounded like people had a lot of good feedback.”

“Sure, that’s how it always goes.”

Nico shouldered open the door and stepped out of Eldridge. The fresh air was good; Jadon felt too hot, a vague nausea rising with his redoubled headache, and the cool day was like a fever breaking. It had rained, and the brick pathways were dark and wet, but the sun was out again, and drops of water glistened on the edges of branches. Nico took off at a fast walk, and Jadon practically had to jog to keep up.

“I know you’re upset with me,” Jadon said as Nico turned toward Harlow, “and you should be upset, but I want you to know how sorry I am—”

“Stop apologizing.” A moment later, Nico rubbed his mouth and let out a breath. In a normal voice, he said, “It’s fine, Jay. Dr. Meza said he’d publish the paper with a few revisions. I’m going to meet up with him in a couple of weeks; he’s got this vacation home in Vermont, and he said I could finish the paper there.”

Jadon thought about how the professor had smiled. About how he’d said, I’m the lucky guy.

Nico met Jadon’s gaze, coal-fire eyes burning, and somehow, Jadon managed not to say anything.

They walked the rest of the way to Harlow in a silence that wasn’t a silence at all. The wet leaves made sticking noises under Jadon’s soles. The breeze whistled between the buildings. A crow landed heavily on a branch, and it creaked as it rocked under the bird’s weight. Their steps rang out in the dorm’s tiny stairwell. Nico kept one hand on the rail, and it made a soft ringing noise under his touch. He’s got this vacation home in Vermont. That smile. He said I could finish the paper there. That fucking smile. I’m the lucky guy.

There had to be rules about that kind of thing. Professional ethics. There had to be laws. He couldn’t ask him like that, invite him to the middle of nowhere in Vermont, and—what? A kaleidoscope of images: Meza passing Nico a glass of wine; a fire flickering on the hearth, throwing shadows in the hollow of Nico’s throat; the way Nico’s cheeks reddened in the cold; the professor’s mouth on Nico’s neck.

Jadon was so caught up in the torture of thoughts that he didn’t notice Nico had stopped walking until he collided with him. Nico rocked forward under the impact, but he didn’t cry out. He’s mad, Jadon thought. He’s angry because you fell asleep and, now you have to show him—

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