Page 4 of Untruly With You

“You pushed me into school before I had any idea what I wanted to do. It’s no wonder I had to change my major.”

“Fine. Butmoststudents don’t switch majors four times.”

My instinct tells me to wait to knock so I don’t interrupt, but the accidental eavesdropping seems almost worse. Before I have the chance to back away from the door, I hear Ms. Carr’s voice again, louder than before—loud enough to be directed at me, hiding behind the semi-private glass.

“Yes?”

Even though I know Ms. Carr already saw me, I knock.

“Come in,” she says with a sigh.

I try—really try—to make my eyes land on Ms. Carr when I open the door. But Laine is like a bright-pink billboard I can’t tear my eyes away from. She’s perched on the arm of the chair opposite Ms. Carr’s desk. The second I peek my head in, her wide smile is back, giving no indication of the argument she was in seconds ago.

“If it isn’t Sutton,” Laine exhales, her cheeks reddening a touch. She quirks a questioning eyebrow up. “Please tell me you came to say there’s a tutoring appointment open.”

“You know Mr. Davis?” Ms. Carr asks, her eyes narrowed. She always calls her graduate students by their last names.

“He’s the TA of mynewelective. He’s the one that willensure I do, in fact, get my degree this semester. Right, Sutton?”

“As long as you can show up to class on time,” I say.

Laine’s smile pinches. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Laine, Mr. Davis and I have an appointment to talk about his thesis.” Ms. Carr flicks her eyes to the open door behind me.

When I look back at Laine, she is staring up at me through her eyelashes, a mischievous lift at the corner of her lip. “Sure, sure. I was just going to ask my mom about Miranda inThe Tempest. And…”—Laine pauses to look down at her notes from class, rereading a copied slide word for word in a monotone voice—“what Miranda can teach us about feminism both in the seventeenth century and today.”

“Are you trying to turn this into a tutoring session, Miss Rodriguez?” I ask.

“No, no.” Laine waves her hand. “I’m just trying to make casual, organic conversation. What do you think, Sutton?”

I fight the urge to give in to Laine’s playful personality.You don’t have time for this, I remind myself. “I think you should read the play,” I tell her.

“You’re such a brilliant tutor. I can see why you’re booked solid.”

“I thought this wasn’t a tutoring session?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Not with that kind of attitude it isn’t.”

“Laine,” Ms. Carr prods, impatience hardening her voice again.

3

LAINE

I pulltwo armfuls of hangers from my tiny closet. “What does one wear to a date auction?”

“That depends on if you’re the bidder or the one being auctioned,” Macy says, leaning over her stack of homework.

“Does Paul know you’re going to a date auction?” Jeanie asks.

Paul?I rack my brain, and Jeanie must be able to read the confusion written across my face. “Paul…Paul, your boyfriend,” she says flatly.

Oops.“Of course I remember Paul!”Barely. We dated for two months, but we tired of each other quickly. He hated that I couldn’t make up my mind on anything, and I hated that he insisted we always have a plan for every little thing. He actually started drafting a three-month schedule of the movies we should watch together. When I suggested we watchLittle Womenrather thanThe Godfatheron December fifth, as was his plan, I knew by the look in his eyes that we were doomed. Soon after, we had the whole your-life-is-a-rollercoaster-that-I’m-not-tall-enough-to-ridetalk. “It didn’twork out,” I say. “Didn’t I tell you about that? I’m taking a break from dating. Alongbreak.”

Jeanie’s disappointed expression isn’t because she actually likes Paul. She barely knew him. Rather, her downturned lips are the result of her belief that most of my relationships are surface level.

Maybe she’s right. After almost six years at NYU, I can’t go be out near the university for more than a couple of hours without seeing someone I know. It’s always a simple connection: Sadie who took me to my first karaoke bar, Mike who dragged me to the school’s abysmal baseball opener last year, Carrie who modeled for me during my brief stint as a photography major. I know dozens—no,hundreds—of other students. I’ve made countless memories.

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