Page 87 of Take Care, Taylor
“I promise.”
“It’s really sentimental, so you have to double promise.”
“Okay.” I smiled for the first time all week. “I double promise, Emma. I’ll only open mine.”
She eyed me suspiciously for several seconds, then scribbled something on a Post-it and tucked it inside Audrey’s bag. To make sure I wouldn’t snoop, she stapled it shut before handing it over.
“Thank you, Mr. Taylor!” she said brightly. “Have a good break!”
“You too, Emma.”
I waited for her to leave before collecting the last essays into a folder.
Audrey’s silent treatment would have to end this weekend, whether she liked it or not. I was breaking down her door and making her talk to me the second I got home.
“Oh, there you are, Taylor!” Dean Worthington stepped into the doorway before I could leave. “How are you doing today?”
“Good, sir. You?”
“Wonderful.” He smiled. “I know this is short notice, but the team’s agreed to give you an extra week to complete your thesis, since you’ve been handling final classroom duties alone this week.”
“I already finished my thesis.”
“Really?” He blinked. “Well, good for you! I guess you and Miss Parker are both set to overachiever mode. Anyway, with her being gone, I assumed you might need?—”
“What do you meanshe’s gone?”
“She withdrew from the program on Friday.” He tilted his head. “Didn’t she tell you?”
“No.” My jaw tightened. “She didn’t.”
“Well, whatever’s going on with her, it sounded serious, so don’t take it too personally.” He patted my shoulder. “If you don’t mind, could you check the apartment and box up any personal items she left behind? We’d like to mail them this weekend.”
I said nothing.
“I’ll send someone to pick it up Friday,” he added. “And that extra week is still yours if you want it.”
He left before I could respond.
I immediately pulled out my phone and called Audrey.
“Sorry! The user of this number has blocked your call from going through.”
She’s out of her fucking mind…
I sat back at my desk, staring at the two red gift bags Emma had left behind.
My name was scrawled across one. Audrey’s across the other—her name written in the same looping cursive Emma used for her essays.
I knew I wasn’t supposed to open Audrey’s but I couldn’t help it.
Inside was a framed photo—me and Audrey, laughing in class. The kind of picture that made it impossible to remember we’d ever hated each other.
A yellow Post-it was stuck to the corner:
I took this picture of you two this week.
If I can’t have Mr. Wolff, I GUESS you can…
