Page 6 of Changing the Play

I nod. “What other emotions do you want to tackle?”

“I’m thinking I’ll start with anger. Then maybe fear. Or loneliness. I’ll just have to see where the muse takes me.”

“Anger.” I can’t picture Parker being angry about anything. They’re incredibly difficult to rattle. “How would you convey that? Lots of bold, sharp lines?”

Park side-eyes me. “Do you want to paint it for me, Professor Sinclair?”

I narrow my eyes. “First off, don’t call me that. Second off, absolutely not. I could never make my mind work like yours. I’m just awed by your process, that’s all.”

And the blush is spreading again. “I could say the same for yours.”

I almost laugh at that. “Nah, Park. There’s nothing impressive about my mind. I’m just a nerd for history. You create things. I could never.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket with an incoming call, so I pull it out and see that it’s my dad. “Hey, Dad,” I say, holding afinger up to Parker.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m going to be giving your email to a student today. Weston Hale. He’s bright. But he’s just not grasping the concepts. I’m hoping you can work your magic.”

My heart swells. I love this. That he trusts me. That I can even help people to begin with. It makes me happy to see the realization in someone’s eyes when theyget itfor the first time. “Yeah, for sure. Weston Hale? The football guy.”

Dad laughs. “Yeah, kid. The football guy. I promise he’s not a meathead. There’s an intellect there. I can feel it.”

Well, I’ll definitely take him at his word. He’s never wrong about people. Not like that. “Okay. I’ll be waiting for his email.”

“Thanks, Darce. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

We hang up, and I shove my phone into my pocket. “Sorry about that, Park.”

They wave me off. “Not a big deal at all.”

“I’m apparently going to be tutoring Weston Hale.”

Parker’s eyes go wide. “Wow. Really? Have you seen him?”

“Uh, yes? He’s literally the football guy, Park.”

“And that means precisely nothing to you.”

I grin. “Yeah, that’s fair. But yeah, I’ve seen him. In passing and stuff.”

Parker raises their eyebrows. “He’s… nice to look at.”

My face flushes. I mean, I know that. Everyone knows that. But… “Doesn’t matter how nice he is to look at. I’ll treat him like I do everyone else.”

“Sure, sure,” they say with a smirk.

I’m not even going to grace that with a response. Which doesn’t really matter, truthfully, because Parker stands. “I’m gonna head home. This paint is itchy.”

“Do you want me to walk you home?”

Parker smiles. “Nah, I’m good. Thank you.”

After standing up and hugging, we head out of the coffee shop and walk down the sidewalk in separate directions. I’ve just walked in the front door of my dorm when my phone buzzes and Weston’s email comes in. I respond quickly, not wanting him to think I don’t want to help him. I only barely resist the urge to ask him not to be late.

I glance at the clock again, already frustrated that it seems my newest student won’t be on time. He has two minutes left. I know that most people don’t consider two minutes early late, but ugh, I do.

I’m looking at the clock again when the library doors open, and Weston comes walking in. His eyes dart around nervously, and I give him a little wave. I probably should have told him what I looked like or something. I didn’t even tell him my name in my email. Probably not a good move.

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