Page 15 of Envy

“So, you need help with math,” he states as he pulls out a notebook, pencil, and calculator.

I open my bag slowly and pull out the book and the notebook with the problems I’m having issues solving.

He pauses, watches me for a few seconds, and then asks what I was expecting him to ask, “What happened the other day?”

I haven’t seen or heard from him since John took me, and I didn’t expect him to. He made it clear where his loyalty lies. I’m not his problem, and I’m not his friend. I get it.

“Nothing. You gave me a ride,” I reply, as if it’s perfectly normal.

“I came to your dorm to see if you were alright the next morning, but you didn’t answer,” he says it almost accusingly, as if I did something wrong or let him down.

“I was probably sleeping,” I lie, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me and lets it slide.

Who cares at this point if I don’t tell him the truth? It’s not like he doesn’t think I’m a liar, like everyone else. I don’t feel guilty anymore.

“I was worried and…”

“Why?” I interrupt.

He pauses as if there’s something he wants to say but can’t.

“I just am. I can’t explain why, but I’m here now, and you need help.” He picks up his pencil and takes my assignment.

Time passes quickly as he explains the steps, helping me make sense of the material. I love how easygoing and patient he is when I ask questions. I’m embarrassed to tell him that I struggle with reading the problems.

“There are videos to help you if you get stuck.” I look up from the example he wrote down, trying to think of an excuse but coming up empty. “Online.”

“I don’t have internet on my phone,” I finally admit.

Why lie about it when he's helping me not to fail? I probably should be in remedial classes, but those classes aren’t offered.

“Oh,” he says, surprised. “There’s Wi-Fi. Can’t you connect your phone to it?”

“I don’t know the password, and I’m not sure my phone is capable.”

John gave me a phone when I started school, but it's limited in what it can do. It’s the type you see at Walgreens—plain, with a simple screen. It’s not the fancy kind I’ve seen the kids on campus have. I don’t even have apps or the capability to listen to music.

“I’ll take a look if you don’t mind,” he says gently. My stomach churns at the thought of him seeing the text messages on my phone. “I mean, if you want.”

It feels as though he can read my mind. I want to see if he can help figure it out. I would love to watch videos. Listen to music online but I can't risk it.

“That’s okay,” I deflect. “I’ll figure it out.”

“The password is KCAMPUS.”

I write it down and then slide the book and notebook into my bag. A piece of paper slips out, and he catches it before it falls. I'm about to reach for it but my stomach drops when he reads it. I’m still wondering who would have slipped it under my door.

“Did you write this?”

I almost want to laugh. I can barely spell at a college level. “No.”

He watches me for a few seconds, waiting for me to say more, but I won’t tell him that someone slipped it under my door, and I won’t admit that I don’t understand the meaning behind what it says.

He doesn’t push, and it’s like a weight has lifted from my chest. “Do you mind if I read it aloud?”

I turn around and scan the library to see if anyone is around, but I find it empty. I really want to know what it means, so I face him and nod.

“It’s a sonnet.” He clears his throat and begins.

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