Page 38 of Let It Be Me

I don’t know.

I just know we’re not ready.

FIFTEEN

ruby

Monday morning,I read Lorenzo’s text asking if I can bring a pack of batteries when I come over and sigh, hurrying on to class so I don’t get called out by Professor Wythe again.

The only thing that makes it okay that I crawled into bed with my best friend—and kissed him—is that my best friend is Lorenzo. While I’ve spent the days since my transgression stewing in regret and trying hopelessly to pretend like it never happened, Lorenzo has actually succeeded at pretending it never happened—to the point it makes me wonder how many friends he’s kissed and quickly bounced back from. I wonder whether he believes my lie that I was drunk. I take the steps into the building and vow I’ll never lose control and kiss him again. Ever. We can’t come back from that messiness a second time.

I get to class early but still don’t manage to beat Bree there. Before I sit down, I glance around the lecture hall for Alli. I haven’t seen her since the day she witnessed my humiliating scolding, which makes sense—there’s no reason for her to be taking a nutrition class. But why else would she want to speak to our professor? There’s no sign of her today.

“Hey,” Bree says when I sit down. “So how’d you do?”

“With what?”

She blinks in disbelief. “The paper!”

“Oh. Wythe graded it already?”

“Ruby!” She gives a shocked laugh. “I got my grade yesterday afternoon. Didn’t you?”

I vaguely remember getting a notification on my phone about an updated assignment, but I forgot to check it. “I guess I did.”

“Whatever you’re on, can I have some? You are so fucking chill.”

“It’s called mediocrity. Side effects may include shame, poverty, and loss of self-respect.” I pull out my phone and check the app where our grades are posted. “Okay, I got a seventy-four percent.”

I shrug, but Bree makes a sad face. “Sorry.”

“All I need to do is pass the class. So what’d you get?” I ask even though it’s probably a 98 percent and I don’t really want to hear about it.

“A ninety-nine,” she says with a shiny smile.

“Nice. Wythe must have such a hard-on for you.”

“I hope so. I’m probably going to ask her for a letter of recommendation for grad school.” She turns to me. “You’re applying, right?”

“To grad school?” I snort. “Have we met?”

“Really? Even if I didn’t want to, my parents would make me. Aren’t your parents professionals? They didn’t do grad school?”

“My dad did.” I shrug. “I don’t need it. I’m fine with a lowly undergrad degree and whatever job it gets me.”

“And your parents?”

“They don’t care,” I lie.

“They sound cool. Mine insist on a master’s at the bare minimum but are pushing for a PhD.”

“What do you want to do again?”

“R and D director is basically my dream job. Beverage sector, if I had my way, but any of them would make me happy.” Shegives a little squeal and launches into a passionate retelling of last summer’s internship experience. Her dream job does sound pretty cool. I’ve never considered something that ambitious. “Anyway, hopefully it’ll be worth the nightmare of graduate education. Makes me want to follow you.” She pauses and looks at me. “Although, I gotta be honest with you, Ruby. I’ve heard being a QA tech is kind of a nightmare. Long hours, mind-numbing, shitty work-life balance, shittier pay.”

I chew on the inside of my lip. “Yeah, I don’t mind. The money thing will suck, but I can survive.” Still, a tiny knot forms in my stomach. What if I can’t survive?

A knowing smile spreads over her face. “I guess you don’t have to worry about money. You can always marry Lorenzo and be an NFL wife.”

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