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“Studying,” they say. “Like you, I assume. We both have classes at this university, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Why are you studyinghere?” I say.
Maybe that’s rude, but I don’t care. My heart is beating way too fast. My shoulders are hunched like I can disappear into them like a turtle retreating into his shell. I’m barely looking at them, and even that is enough to coat my hands in sweat.
It’s only partially fear. I wish it was more than partially fear.
The patter in my chest is undeniable, as tangible as the heat pooling in my belly. My brain might be screaming red alert, but my body has a very different opinion of being this close to Avery again.
“I’m studying here,” Avery says coolly, “because you have half the books I need.”
I blink at the books scattered across the table. A lot of them are relevant to my graduate studies … which means they’re probably relevant to Avery’s undergraduate studies. I was just bemoaning how small that section of this library is, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that Avery is looking for a lot of the same things I am. That doesn’t make me like it any better, though.
“You could use other books,” I say. “Or the internet or something.”
“I could, but I want those books,” Avery says.
They infuse extra meaning into every word, speaking in that silky, lilting way of theirs, that way that suggests so much more than whatever their words mean on the surface. I can’tnothear it, not with the way they smile at me as they speak.
“Avery, please,” I say.
“Relax,” they say. “I’m here to work. Same as you. It’s not like I knew you’d be here. How would I?”
“Then switch to another table and use other books.”
“I can’t. I really do need some of these.”
“Avery, come on. There must be other books.”
“I’m not sure if you noticed, but the ‘incredibly gay history’ section isn’t exactly overflowing.”
I have noticed, but that doesn’t stop me from dislodging my glasses to pinch the bridge of my nose as I huff out a sigh. My body wars between assailing me with a headache and flushing head to toe. Closing my eyes barely holds off either reaction, but it’s like sandbags trying to hold back a hurricane. The defenses will crumble eventually.
I’m desperate to prevent that from happening. I can’t keep giving into this. It doesn’t matter if things would be different in different circumstances.Theseare our circumstances. I’m their TA; they’re my student. We don’t have the luxury of any other circumstances.
“We could work together,” Avery says.
“I’m working on my graduate degree. You’re still an undergrad.”
“That’s true. And yet…”
They don’t have to finish the thought. Some piece of me knows they’re right. In a field this small, there’s ample overlap.
They sigh, exhausted with my reasonable refusals, and reach past me for one of the textbooks. They skim it swiftly, flipping back and forth between a few pages.
“I was using that,” I protest.
“I saved your page. Relax.”
They find a section near the back and stick a sticky tab on the page, then flip back to where I was reading.
“There,” Avery says. “See? Right back to your spot. But when you’re done, I need that later section.”
I concede, and Avery seems satisfied at last. We both go back to our own tasks, and within a few minutes some of the tension melts out of my shoulders. I fall back into my work without realizing it, and my outline swells into something usable. I have a separate document full of quotes and citations. All I have to do now is weave it all together by writing the paper itself. I close the textbook, then remember that tab Avery placed in it.
“Oh. Right.”
I slide the book over to Avery. Is it an accident that their hand brushes mine when they accept it, or did they orchestrate that flutter of fingers? They’re so clever, so intelligent, so determined. If they wanted to touch me, even in the middle of the library, they would find a way.
