Page 22 of Forging Chaos

She rolls her eyes at me like I’m the biggest idiot in Pittsburgh. “Duh. It’s been sold out for months. I wanted to go with Fern as a sort of farewell adventure.”

My heart sinks, knowing I’m going to offer her both tickets and knowing I won’t get to see her in the dress again or spend that time with her. I chalk it up to just one more thing I’ve lost this spring, but I tell her, “Well, I’m about to make your day, I guess.” I pull the tickets from my pocket. “VIP seating and all.”

Thora blinks at me, speechless. And then she tackles me into the wall with a hug that sends my scooter flying. Propped on one foot, I lean against the wall as Thora pumps her arms around me like she’s giving me the Heimlich. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, you big, sexy hero. How do you have this? Are you made of magic?”

When she finally releases me and sees my scooter all tipped over, me perching like a flamingo to keep my boot off the ground, she starts laughing, and I join her because what else is there to do?

CHAPTER 17

THORA

Odin keeps textingme to ask when we can finalize everything for our presentation, and I don’t know why I’m avoiding his messages. The man got me tickets to meet my favorite author, and I’m leaving him on read.

It’s kind of a lie. I’m avoiding him because I’m starting to think of him as more than just my research partner, and that’s the sort of thinking that gets a girl in trouble. Nobody needs to explain to me that I’m balanced on a razor blade. Yes, I’ve been chosen as a Rhodes Scholar. However, the distance between acceptance and showing up in the United Kingdom is nearly insurmountable. I’m one missed bar shift away from not being able to afford all the details I need to get my ass abroad.

Speaking of, I need to see if someone will switch shifts with me so I can actually attend the event with Fern this week. Odin’s face was interesting when he gave me the tickets. Like he didn’t really want to hand them over or something. I figured out that his mom is on the panel of speakers, so I’m guessing he’s anxious about me spending time with her. I will try to compose myself when I apologize to herabout being a dick about this school project in his hospital room when he was coming to terms with his injury.

“Thora!” Fern snaps her fingers in my face across the table at lunch. “I’ve been talking to you for like five minutes.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I slide my phone under my notebook and fork a bite of soggy quinoa from the healthy station in the cafeteria. “I’m ready now.”

She shakes her head and forks her own mushy grains. “I was saying, Friday is my last recitation, and then I’m done. With college. Forever.” She beams, actual rays of light shining out of her cheeks.

“It’s definitely a weird feeling,” I agree, tapping my fingers on my notes for my own math class, where I have definitely not been chosen as the TA like Fern. “It’s going to take me a while to shake off the desperation.”

“What do you mean?”

I shrug. “We’re desperate to get out of here, you and me. Everyone knows it. And it’s affected everything about us.” She squints, considering, and I lean forward. “I don’t own a robe, Fern. That’s how little I know how to relax. Do you honestly think we’re going to pop off on hikes or watch birds or whatever people do to chill in the U.K.?”

She laughs. “No, but I think we will probably meet up at some soccer matches, right? You’ll sit with me to cheer on Wyatt?”

My chest shakes as I try to hold in a laugh. “I’ve never watched a sporting event in my life, except for what I can see from where I’ve been working for all of them at the bar or sports arenas.” I tap my chin. “Maybe I’ll get myself a job tending bar by Wyatt’s soccer stadium just to feel normal.”

Fern chokes down a final bite of her grain bowl. “I think they call it a football pitch over there. Or something.” She pats my hand. “And you won’tneeda job as a bartender. You’re going to be financially secure for once.”

I nod. “Well, that’s what I’m saying. It’s going to take adjusting.”

We’re quiet for a bit until I remember that I haven’t told her about the tickets. Her face lights up when I tell her about the bookstore event. “It doesn’t go too late,” I assure her. “You’ll be able to get home in time to get your beauty rest before the final session as, Professor Fern.”

“We can sleep when we’re old,” she says, gesturing for her ticket. “It will be so great to just go do something fun together. We never splurge on this kind of thing.”

“Again,” I say, tapping the table with my index finger for emphasis. “Adjustment. We are not normal, but we are working on it.”

I never respond to Odin’s texts before the presentation, but I do send him a detailed email and tell him to wear something nice for class on Tuesday. This makes me feel bad because I realize there’s no way he can get dress pants on over his cast. At least, I don’t think he can. I put on the dress and literally run out of the house Tuesday morning, so nobody can exhale a single puff of smoke on my new favorite material possession.

I arrive outside the class extra early and gasp when I see Odin in a shirt and tie. I had no idea he’d look like…thisall dressed up, like a bulky GQ model with his broody blue eyes and perfectly styled hair. Even his earrings look classy, and I let my eyes trail down his body, halting when I get to the usual athletic shorts. A laugh explodes out of me, and he joins in.

He grins. “You said to dress nice.”

“Oh my god, Odin, you’re killing me.” He spins in a circle on his scooter, wagging his butt and making me cry withlaughter. “I can’t believe you put a shirt and jacket on with mesh shorts.”

He leans down and puts his mouth an inch from my ear, making me squirm and cling tightly to my bag when he says, “Make up your mind, Janssen. How do you want me?” And then he draws his head back and winks just as Professor Ferda arrives to open the classroom.

“Hey, you two,” our instructor says. “Nice and early. Ready to rock?”

Odin has his notes typed on index cards. Not just written but typed and printed. I suddenly feel ill-prepared and sloppy next to him, and I never, ever feel that way about schoolwork. Like I told Fern, I worked my entire life toward this 4.0 undergraduate transcript, but I’m about to be shown up by a guy from the football team who, to my best estimate, only started showing up for class once he got hurt. I realize I’m being unfair because from what he’s said and what I’ve seen, the athletes are pulled in a lot of directions, and they’re helpless to go against what their coaches say if they want to keep their scholarships.

I zone out, focusing on his lips moving as I stand next to him, fidgeting in my cute shoes and designer dress. I realize the pattern on his tie matches the black and white houndstooth on my dress buttons and know he must have done that on purpose, based on what he remembered of the dress he only saw me in briefly. I know he is starting to think about me as more than a research partner, too, and that scares me even more. There’s a reason I’ve avoided relationships. I can’t afford one. Not yet. I still have too much to achieve.

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