Page 31 of Captured Heart

“Because...because they didn’t get a reaction!” She waits to hear even the slightest titter out of me, but I give her nothing. “Get it? No chemistry?”

The fact that she’s still getting no reaction from me makes it harder to contain herself.

“That. Was. Awful,” I say when she settles down enough for me to get a sentence in.

“Aah...you had to be there, I guess.”

“I’mrighthere!”

She erupts again, her giggles turning into outright laughter. It’s not even the joke. It can’t be. It must be me that’s setting her off like that. In the last few days, I’ve seen a lot of different sides to Katie. Her nerdy side is always on full display, but I’ve also seen her hardworking and determined side. I’ve seen her feisty, no-nonsense side. There was a glimpse of her vulnerable, insecure side. But after having experienced these various sides, I can now conclude that this one is my favorite.

This goofy side that can laugh at herself so easily. This chick is in hysterics, and it hits me how much I like that sound. It’s bright, carefree, real.

“Fuck, I really like your laugh.”

I want to kick myself the second the words tumble involuntarily out of my mouth. I keep messing up like that and blurting out stupid shit that makes the moment sort of awkward. Thirty minutes ago, I thought there’d be no harm in calling her, no threat to the job, but somehow, she gets me to lower my guard. Every. Single. Time. These kinds of slip-upsarea major threat to the job. I need to get my head right.

“Listen, I’mma...I’mma let you get back to your mitochondrial thingies.” I clear my throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the movie.”

“Okay,” she says, her tone light, though there’s a hint of something unspoken lingering there.

I hang up, staring at the phone in my hand for a long time. That was a colossal mistake. And I need to figure out how to stop making it.

6. Katelyn

Iinhale the familiar scent of Café Al Mada. The smell of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon waft through the air. It’s virtually empty, as it usually is on a Sunday morning. We’ve claimed a small table by the window, and Karmani is currently sprawled in her chair, her denim jacket hanging off one shoulder, stirring her latte with more aggression than the task deserves.

“I’m stating this emphatically,” she huffs, “if one more professor assigns a group project, I’m going to gouge someone’s fucking eye out. What is the point of individual grades if we’re constantly forced to work with morons?”

Karmani continues to bitch about the new project that was given out on Friday. Zayn was assigned as her partner, and she is livid about it. Corey and I listen quietly while she commandeers the conversation like she’s hosting her own podcast.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, growing more irritable, “group projects were designed by sadists. They know they’re setting us up for failure. It’s like,‘Hey, let’s put overachievers with literal Neanderthals and see what happens.’”

“He’s not that bad,” I say before sipping my iced coffee. “And let’s not pretend your work ethic is stellar, Kar. You procrastinate everything until the last minute.”

“I work well under pressure,” she counters, tossing her sleek black hair over her shoulder.

“Youarethe pressure,” Corey mutters, but she ignores him. “Anyway, I got Akbar, so—”

My mouth drops open. “You got Akbar? Oh, my God! I’m so jealous. I’ve been wanting to work with him since last semester. The guy’s a genius.”

“I’m a genius, too, and I’ve never seen you so excited to work with me.”

“Of course, I am. I just hide it better,” I tease, playfully nudging him with my elbow. “But for real. Let’s swap. You can have Yunis. You like Yunis, right?”

“As much as I like being constipated. Besides, we’re not allowed to swap. Professor Chayefsky said we’re stuck with whoever we got, whether we like it or not.”

“Ugh! Kill. Me. Now!” Karmani lets out an exaggerated groan as she rubs her temples. “Can we please talk aboutanythingelse? Just knowing that I’m stuck with that asshole is making me more depressed.”

“Okay, let’s talk about oxidative phosphorylation and ATP synthesis.”

She rolls her eyes and gives me a disinterested snort. “Let’s not.” And then her eyes light up. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you spill the tea on that guy who had you swooning on the phone on Thursday?”

“I wasnotswooning.”

“Who is she talking about?” Corey asks.

“Alex...I mean John.” It feels so weird saying his real name because it just doesn’t suit him.

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