Page 9 of The Surprise Play
He frowns again, his pen resuming a fast tap on the table as he studies me with an expression that I’d describe as mildly pissed off and desperately thoughtful. He’s trying to figure me out, find the perfect words to win me over, but it won’t work.
Thanks to guys like Peyton Feldman, I’ve learned my lesson. And I won’t be used again so this lazy ass can fly through his college courses and come out with a degree while I’m working my butt off onhisassignment work, not to mention my own.
It’s not going to happen.
“I can pay you.” His tone is deep, assertive. “I’ll give you $100 more an hour on top of whatever you’re already getting.”
A hundred bucks? Holy crap! Does this guy sleep on a mattress of Benjamin Franklins or something?
Aw, man, that is so tempting, but…
I close my laptop and start packing my things away.
“What? You don’t want the money?”
Irritation sizzles through me, but I keep my expression impassive. I’m not about to escalate this growing tension.
With a calm, soft tone, I reply, “I wouldn’t be doing either of us any favors. I’m not letting you pass off my work as yours. How does that help you? And besides, it’s a form of cheating.”
“It’s not cheating, and it helps me by giving me a degree.” His voice takes on a snappy edge.
My insides bunch, my skin starting to crawl in earnest as I drag my laptop off the table and slip it into my bag.
I should just get up and go. That’s the best way to deal with these kinds of people, right?
But for some stupid reason, I look across at him and feel compelled to argue back. “It’d be a degree you haven’t earned. It’s a waste of your time handing in work that isn’t yours. You’re not learning anything.”
“Well, maybe I’m not smart enough to learn anything!” His voice rises, and the person sitting behind us slaps his book closed with a huff, throwing us a hot glare before stalking away from his table and muttering something about how libraries being a place of peace and quiet is complete horseshit.
I wince over my shoulder and mumble a soft apology that he doesn’t hear. Turning back to Wily, who now has his arms crossed and is quietly fuming, I softly murmur, “Everyone is smart enough to learn something. You’re just being lazy paying someone else to do your work.”
His eyebrows dip into a sharp V, like I’ve highly offended him.
I swallow, glancing away and scratching my itchystomach. “Look, I’m sorry, but if you want that setup, you’ll just have to find someone else.” I stand from the table, but he snatches my wrist before I can take off.
“But I can’t find anyone else.” His voice spikes with obvious desperation. “Please. I have an assignment due on Monday, and I’ve already been given a huge extension. I won’t get another one. If I don’t get at least a C, I’m gonna fail that course, and then I can’t graduate. I’m hanging by a thread here. Just help me out with this one thing; then you can quit, and I’ll find someone else to get me through the rest of the semester.”
I glance down at his hand still clutching my wrist, then take in his crumpled, pleading expression.
Huh, looks like he really does want a college degree after all.
Guilt swirls inside me, and I end up muttering a soft “Okay, fine.”
What? No. It’s not fine. Walk away now!
But I don’t. I sit my butt back in my chair and point at his pile of papers. “What have you got so far?”
He shuffles through the pages and eventually unearths a crinkled assignment sheet. I give him a baleful stare, and his sheepish smile is… okay, it’s mildly cute.
Snapping my gaze away from it, I skim through the instructions. He has to analyze a key character fromMoby Dickand discuss how the lessons learned through that character’s journey can be applied in today’s modern society. He also needs to include personal, relatable stories to really show the human connection and that he fully understands what motivated the character to behave the way he did.
Easy. I’m pretty sure I did an assignment just like thisin high school. I can’t believe this is something for a college senior, but I guess he’s been selecting the easiest courses he can.
“Okay.” I bob my head, then look at the rest of the pages he’s leaning his forearm on. “So, what have you done so far?”
“Nothing.”
I whip my head back, blinking at him. “Nothing?”
