Definitely, Maybe in Love

you’d be some wheels-off psycho demon chick and not a smokin’ hot super-class super-babe.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, trying not to smile. “Regardless, I think I kind of overreacted about the Lilah thing. You’re well aware of some of the road kills I’ve paired with in the past, without so much as an iota of feeling, so I can hardly get bent out of shape about Henry hooking up with Lilah. I actually feel sorrier for her.”

“Okay, so the Lilah thing is vile but forgivable,” Mel stated. “Let’s move on. What about Alex?”

I didn’t speak for a moment, taking the time to properly hate myself. “I fell for everything he told me hook, line and sinker. I didn’t think twice. And what if everything he told me—told everyone—isn’t true? I still don’t know what happened between them. Henry didn’t tell me.” I bit my lip. “Well, I guess I didn’t give him a chance to explain. But you know what, Mel? I told him neither of those things mattered: what he did with Lilah”—I shuddered again—“and what I thought he’d done to Alex. I told him I didn’t care, because…I…” I exhaled slowly, pressing my palms against my burning cheeks. “But what he did to Julia, I just can’t…”

“Yeah.” Mel groaned. “That’s tough to swallow. When you called him on it, he didn’t sound remorseful?”

“No. Because he isn’t. He thinks he did the right thing butting in like that. I have no idea why. What could possibly justify that?” I pounded my fist on the table. “I can’t be with someone who treats people that way. He says he loves me, but then he does that to one of my closest friends.” My throat felt tight, tears stung my eyes. “I don’t know how to forgive him for it,” I whispered.

Mel didn’t say anything. She probably sensed that I couldn’t talk about it anymore. I leaned an elbow on the table and planted my face in my hand. “So much drama,” I said. “A year ago, I was free and focused. I was happy.”

“Were you?” Mel asked skeptically.

“Well, I was cynical and hardcore and full of crap, too, but at least I had a plan.” I twirled a braid around my finger. “Now I don’t know what I am.”

Chapter 28

Masen didn’t even wait for the first person to stand up after he’d ended class. “Spring,” he said. “Come see me.”

Lilah’s eyes shot my way but I didn’t react, not giving her the satisfaction. Today in class was the first time I’d seen her since I found out—

Well, anyway.

“Where’s the rest of it?” my professor asked when I got to his desk. He held out the twelve-page outline of my thesis. The third draft.

I was about to ask him what he meant, but why hedge?

“That’s all of it. I believe I’ve touched on the points we talked about last time,” I said, trying to sound like the expert I claimed to be, but my legs were shaking.

“Section nine,” he said, flipping to the end page. “You alluded to the point but it’s completely vague.” He took off his glasses. “This is the crux here, you see?” He pointed at it. “The whole argument of your theory funnels down to this: In the long run, over, say, a decade, is land development detrimental or beneficial? And why? You’ve posed this question along the way, but here you have to answer. Section nine is where your new angle should really come into play.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m still tweaking that part.”

He lifted his bushy brows. “Still? I thought you had most of the body written. Your final deadline is three weeks before the end of semester. In two months.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” I said, my turtleneck feeling hot and strangly. I didn’t have the guts to tell him that my research was done. My notes were typed up. What he held in his hand was all I had. Foolishly, I thought I’d get away with it. For the last few months, I hadn’t been as into my research as I’d been in the fall, and I’m sure that showed.

“We talked about this before the break,” he said. “You promised me you were getting back on track.”

“I know.” I nodded vigorously. “I was—I am.”

“I’ll give you one more chance to finish a complete outline before I approve the topic with the committee,” Masen said. My stomach hit the floor. I thought he’d gotten the thesis committee’s stamp of approval months ago. “Otherwise”—he passed me my paper, the top page stained with a coffee ring—“I’m afraid I’ll have to give you a fail.”

My mouth fell open. Wasn’t it only back in September that we’d talked publication? A few months later, he’d said what an excellent job I’d been doing on the new version of my thesis.

And now I was on the brink of the first fail in my life.

I assured Masen with everything in me that I would fix it, truly this time, whatever it took, and that I’d have the new outline—the final draft!—on his desk Monday morning. That was in five days.

Before I’d exited the classroom, I was visualizing that last section, moving the different parts around in my head. There was a lot of great information there, but there were holes, pretty significant ones that I couldn’t fill myself. I knew only one person who could help.

I walked outside and sat on a bench, other students rushing past on their way to class, oblivious to my internal struggle. The bells of Hoover Tower chimed out the noon hour.

I didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, I could not get an F on my sustainable living research paper, not while there was a breath left in my body. On the other hand, I couldn’t do it, couldn’t imagine the scenario of picking up the phone and…

My mind was whirling, thinking up any and every possible solution, but I slowly realized I had no other choice. It was either that or fail. Zombie-like, I pulled out my cell and scrolled to the last time he’d called me back in December.

It rang once before rolling to voicemail. Actually, it was one of those half-rings, meaning his phone was off or he was on another call. My mouth went dry when I heard his voice asking me to leave a message. I closed my eyes and began to speak.

He didn’t call back or confirm in any way, but I knew he would show, because I knew he was free tonight. I knew this because we’d already made plans to meet. After I rushed up the stairs, I nearly fainted when my phone pinged, reminding me of our originally scheduled meeting on the top floor of the Meyer Library. The room behind the stacks. The one he told me had a lock on the door. I was fifteen minutes early.

Henry was already there.

He sat at the table, head bowed, just finishing writing on a piece of yellow notebook paper. He tore that page off the pad and placed it on top of a stack of other printouts beside his laptop. He must have heard me, because he looked up.

“Hi,” I said, not quite able to meet his eyes. “Thank you for coming.”

“I figured you must be pretty desperate to call me,” he said, speaking down at the table. His tone wasn’t completely chilly. “And you’re welcome.” He pulled out the chair beside him. I walked around the table and sat.

“Looks like you’ve been here a while,” I observed conversationally. “I hope you didn’t skip a class.”

“I don’t really have to sit in on my classes this semester,” Henry said. “They’re all recorded and archived online. I’d rather be there in person, but it’s not necessary. A few weeks ago, I considered doing the rest of the semester remotely.”

“From a castle in Switzerland?” I couldn’t help saying, hoping to lighten the mood. I was relieved when he smiled.

“Maybe.” He turned to face me. “But then I decided to stay around here.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer, but he kept his eyes steadily on mine. “Anyway,” he finally said, “this is probably what you’ll need.” He slid the stack of loose papers toward to me. “You can read over those and if you have any questions, we can talk about it.”

“Thanks,” I said. But I didn’t want to sit there and read to myself. I wanted to get into one of our classic