Page 23 of The Trade

“I think I’ll live.”

“Alright, your loss. But I do have another suggestion for your paper.” She turns away from me now, her gaze laser focused on my laptop. “What if, at least for this one, we talk about the changes, and then I’ll just edit it for you?”

“Isn’t that, like ... academic dishonesty?” I ask, not that I actually give a shit.

I’m certain Jade’s the type of person who would care, though, and I don’t want her to compromise her integrity for something as minor as this.

“No,” she says firmly. “I won’t change anything unless we both agree on it.”

“Yeah, okay then.”

Her smile blossoms, reaching her eyes as she extends her hand for a solid shake. “Then we have a deal.”

We work through the paper for a few more hours, carefully passing my laptop back and forth. Jade explains where to make corrections, and we rework each paragraph together. Somehow, when all is said and done, she’s helped twist my words into something I can be proud of.

“This is actually quite good,” she praises, a hint of admiration in her voice. “It’s solidly in the C+ or B- range.”

As she leans over to retrieve her bag, my gaze instinctively follows her movements. Unfortunately, she’s donned that oversized sweatshirt again. But today, her hair’s casually gathered into this half-up, half-down style, a few curls escaping to frame her face.

Up close, I can spot this tiny spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Plus, a heart-shaped beauty mark right above her top lip. It’s cute, charming, a unique little feature that’s caught my attention.

In a way, it’s almost strange that I didn’t notice it before today.

“Jade,” I say, a certain tentativeness edging into my voice. “Before we head out, can I ask you something?”

She turns her gaze to meet mine, her brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What’s up?”

“Alright, I promise I’m not trying to be a jerk, but why do you always wear that sweatshirt?”

Her laughter fills the room, surprising me with its soft, sweet undertone. She glances down at the faded fabric. “Oh, this old thing? It’s kind of ugly, I know, but it’s also my good-luck charm.”

This piques my interest. “What do you mean?”

She reclines in her chair, her fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the table. There’s a distant look in her eyes, as if she’s recalling some cherished memory. “I wear this sweatshirt when I study and during all my exams,” she says, her voice trailing into a comfortable silence. “It’s a small thing, but it helps me focus.”

“And what makes it so lucky?”

“It’s a hand-me-down from my brother,” she says, her tone laced with affection. “He’s incredibly smart. I always joked that wearing his sweatshirt might somehow make his genius rub off on me or something like that.”

“No shit? I just said the same thing to a friend of mine the other day.” A chuckle bubbles up from my throat, my amusement spilling over. “So, obviously, you think it worked.”

She nods emphatically, a triumphant grin stretching across her face. “I know it did. I wore it for all my freshman exams, and to my surprise, I aced them.”

My laughter grows louder, the absurdity of her belief tickling something in the pit of my stomach. “Don’t you think you’re giving the sweatshirt a little too much credit?”

Her expression turns stern, her conviction evident in her voice. “No, Theo. I know very well that it wasn’t the sweatshirt that aced my exams. But it did give me the confidence I needed. It made me feel like I could conquer anything.”

My grin doesn’t falter. “Alright, that does make sense. But why wear it while you study, too?”

“Do you know about the principle of generalization?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s all it is, basically. If you recreate the conditions in which you studied, it’s easier to recall the material later.”

Her words are met with another bout of teasing laughter. “Sounds a little far-fetched to me.”

“No, Theo. It’sscience.”

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