Page 21 of His to Teach
“Fine,” I turn back to the closet. “I’ll amend my statement. I have nothingsuitableto wear.”
“I thought you just have class today.”
I turn my head away to make sure she can’t see any trace of a blush on my cheeks. There’s obviously no way I can tell her that I’m stressing about the possibility of seeing Nate again on campus. She doesn’t even know that Nate exists.
“I’m meeting with my advisor later,” I tell her, which isn’t even a lie. But it’s also not something that I’m particularly stressed about. And certainly not something worth having a fashion meltdown over.
She looks a little uncertain, like she can tell there’s something I’m not telling her, but she also perches on my bed to help me figure out the clothes situation.
“Those black pencil leg jeans.” She points at a sleeveless blouse I already tried with my skirt and discarded. “And the cream silk.”
“You don’t think sleeveless is too much?”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re a grad student, Harper. Not a nun.” She thrusts the shirt at me. “This looks professional for summer but not dowdy. It’s perfect. Trust me.”
Since she’s rarely steered me wrong in the fashion department, I take the shirt from her and start to change, for the hundredth time that morning.
“Come here,” she says, once I’ve finished. “I’ll do that front braid thing you like.”
I flash her a smile. “You’re the best.”
I join her on the bed and she gets to work French braiding the front section of my hair. “You feeling okay?” she asks, eyes on my hair. “It’s not like you to get so nervous about school stuff.”
I snort. “About everything else though, right?”
She smiles. “I mean, you are kind of a basket case in day-to-day life.”
I flick her knee and she laughs, tugging on my hair a little. “I’m serious, though, Harp. It’s not just this morning. You’ve been…jumpy, lately.” Her eyes flick down from the braid to catch my gaze. She looks concerned and I have a feeling I’m not going to enjoy this conversation. “Ever since Club Wyld.”
I blow out a breath, averting my gaze—she knows me too well.
“It’s given me a lot to think about.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “You didn’t do anything wrong, babe.”
“Sure,” I say, even as that familiar, slightly sick feeling rushes through me.
She tugs on my hair again, harder this time. She’s not buying my shit. She never does. “I mean it, Harper. There’s nothing wrong with wanting what you want?—”
I cut her off with a raised hand. “I don’tknowwhat I want. That’s the problem.”
She watches me for a long moment, that concerned expression still there. Finally, she smiles, a familiar wicked glint coming to her eyes. “Then I guess I need to work on getting us some more passes. So you can dolotsof experimenting.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m so sure that’s the reason you want to go to that club.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind doing some experimenting of my own.”
She finishes my braid and pats the top of my head, her expression now motherly. “My baby’s first day of grad school. I can’t believe it.”
I laugh, pushing her away. “As much as I’ve enjoyed this Hallmark moment, I need to get going or I’ll be late.”
Before I can get up, she wraps her arms around me. “I’m proud of you, Harps,” she whispers in my ear. “I really, really am. And they would be too.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. It’s a question I ask myself every day—would my parents be proud? That question has impacted every decision I’ve made for the last ten years.
And I’m not sure I’m any closer to being able to answer it.
There’s usuallya calm that settles over me when I’m on the campus of Denby University. I like to think it’s the proximity of all those books. It’s been this way since I first stepped foot on the rolling green lawns as a nervous freshman four years ago. All the uncertainty that normally plagues me seems to fade away when I’m here. School makes me feel like I have a purpose. Like there’s a plan. Like my life makes sense.
