Page 22 of Mostly My Boss
He huffed. “I failed my last English lit test.”
“You what?” I had three classes with Ethan. I’d never seen him get less than perfection on any test. It was super annoying.
“I know. I’ve never failed a test in my life,” he said ominously. “And the ridiculous part is how unchallenging it would have been. I just didn’t…I couldn’t…it was there in front of me and I couldn’t make myself look at it.”
He was taking this too hard. Almost like it was a defeat.
Ethan Moss didn’t do defeat. “It’s one test, Ethan.”
“Yeah. One test. Because you’renotin my nineteenth-century literature class.”
This had my eyebrows lifting off my head. “I know you’re not blaming this on me.”
“No, no,” he said, then took another swig of whatever was in his thermos. “I’m simply stating a fact. You were the only one who was nice to me that first day. The only one who understood me and what I needed.”
I squirmed as I recalled thinking how weird he was.
“I wasn’t exactly nice to you,” I reminded him.
“You moved your seat. You agreed to sell me your notes. Everyone else I asked the same thing told me to fuck myself and shove it up my ass. No matter how early I get to lit class, this fucker is always sitting in my seat. First-hand-up-for-every-question kind of fucker. It’s like he knows sitting in my seat has power over me.”
I tugged on his arm as he began to drink more of whatever cocktail he’d mixed up in that thermos. “Ethan, tell me what you’re mixing?”
“I took some Adderall. I can’t fail. Not a test, not a class, not any of it. You don’t have a brain like mine and fail. Beyond that, I can’t give them an excuse to think that college isn’t working out for me.”
I pulled the thermos out of his hand. “If you’re on medication, then you know you can’t drink.”
“Fuck that,” he said, taking it back. It was strange because this was the first time he’d used his strength to override me. He simply took back the thermos and I had no choice but to let him have it because he was stronger than I was. “Don’t you ever get sick of not breaking a single fucking rule?”
Again, we were back to me. But I knew this drill. I’d been around enough drunk people in my life to see it coming a mile away. When John, my oldest brother, was drunk, I was his favorite target. His brainy little sister.
Because no, I didn’t break rules. Instead, I made sure I did the right thing every single fucking time.
Because someone had to!
The anger and fury were nearly overpowering but I did what I always did and swallowed them.
“I’m going to go,” I said. I didn’t need to take his drunk bullshit. This wasn’t going to be fun anymore. I started to unzip the side of the sleeping bag he’d brought for me because I didn’t have my own.
It was standard Julia Whitford operating procedure. Leaving was always my default move.
“Jules, don’t. No. I’m sorry,” he said, sliding his hand along my arm as if trying to pat me into place. Like a stuffed animal that had gotten out of position. “I won’t drink any more. We can just watch the movie.”
The opening credits were rolling. It was starting. If I got up and made a scene, it would disturb people who were watching the movie behind me. I folded my hands on my lap and tried to focus on the large screen at the end of the Quad.
We sat together in silence. I didn’t say anything, and he didn’t drink any more. Ten minutes later, Nicki, who obviously didn’t care about disturbing people, managed to find us. I’d texted her we were on the left side looking at the screen about ten feet in front of the last bench.
“Hey, guys!”
“Hey, Nicki,” Ethan said with a sloppy grin. “Your hair looks really nice.”
She smoothed out the curls over her shoulder. Her wool cap fitted perfectly over her forehead. Well done by her. I’d worn earmuffs because knit caps made me claustrophobic.
“Thank you, Ethan. You look good, too. New hat?”
“No. Drink?” he offered her.
“Sure.” She took a sip then coughed. “Oh my gosh, that’s strong!”
