Page 106 of From Now On

Eve doesn’t see me coming. She’s focused on her laptop, lips moving silently as she scans the screen open in front of her. She’s wearing glasses, which I’ve never seen her wear before.

Every time I see Eve, I notice something different about her appearance. Even after this past week, when I got to steal a lot of looks. Today, in addition to the glasses, it’s the green ribbon tying together the end of her braid.

She still doesn’t glance up when I reach the table, so I tap the chair across from her.

Eve jumps, her elbow nearly spilling her water bottle all over the keyboard.

“Sorry,” I say.

I’m apologizing for more than startling her.

This time, she doesn’t tell me not to.

“Hi.” Eve sits up straight. Her tongue swipes her lower lip, wetting it nervously. She lifts one hand and tugs on the end of the ribbon in her hair. It flutters to the table.

She says nothing else.

My grip on the chair back tightens. “Hey. Can I sit with you?”

Eve glances at the sea of empty tables surrounding us. “There are lots of other options.”

The tightness in her tone is new. Eve sounds…angry. Angry atme. I’ve never even heard Eve annoyed before.

Absurdly, it makes me want to smile. Because Eve and I haven’t spoken since spring break. So, if she’s mad at me, she’s bothered by that.

I rest my elbows on the back of the chair, leaning a little closer. “I don’t want other options, Eve.”

She blushes. And fuck, if I haven’t missed that sight. Her cheeks weren’t pink when she was getting coffee with Ben.

“You can sit. But I have a lot to get done.”

I pull the chair out. “I have a lot to get done too.”

She watches me get settled, opening my laptop and plugging in the charger.

“Cute glasses,” I comment, pulling out the folder that has my notes.

Eve reaches up and fiddles with them. “They’re for blue light,” she explains. “I get headaches after looking at screens. Although…” She glances at the computer. “I think it might be the work giving me a headache, not the screen.”

“What are you working on?”

“An essay for my Poetics of Narrative class. My advisor wouldn’t let me take only art classes, and it sounded interesting. Interpretive.”

“Is it?”

Her nose wrinkles, lifting her glasses a little. “I guess? The discussions are interesting, but this was the prompt for our first paper, and it’s worthhalfof our final grade.” She shoves a sheet toward me, sounding stressed.

“‘Analyze the significance of a pivotal turning point in a story and compare it in three different literary works, exploring its impact in contrasting narrative forms,’” I read aloud. “What the fuck doescontrasting narrative formsmean?”

“I don’t know. I met with the professor, but left more confused. And ifyoucan’t figure it out, then I’m really screwed.”

I smile. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’resmart, Mr. I Got In To Every School I Applied To.”

“You’re smart, Eve. And you’re the one who’s actually taking the class.”

“If only that was helpful.” She takes the paper back. “What are you working on?”

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