Page 33 of Power Play

“I enjoy watching you try to figure shit out.”

“That sounds exhausting for both of us.”

“You’re still reading.”

She looked back at the essay, but the small smile remained.

I let her get through another paragraph before reaching across the table and tapping the syllabus.

“That’s what you’re doing wrong.”

Her smile faded into suspicion. “Reading?”

“Trying to write Klein’s argument before you’ve figured out yours.”

“I don’t know what mine is.”

“You do. You just don’t trust it until somebody with authority agrees.”

Her gaze dropped to the essay.

“This summer course is supposed to teach interpretation. It can’t do that if you keep hunting for whatever answer your father would approve. Klein will smell safe thinking all over you before the first week is over, and once she decides you’re writing to please her instead of challenge her, she’ll make the semester miserable.”

“That sounds like personal commentary.”

“It is.”

“I asked for tutoring.”

“You’re getting premium service.”

“I didn’t pay for premium.”

“You confuse payment with what I’m giving you.”

Her eyes lifted.

The shift between us was immediate and quiet. Cups clinked behind the counter, the espresso machine hissed, and somebody dragged a chair across the floor near the front windows, yet the space around our table suddenly felt smaller.

Charm’s fingers tightened around the edge of the paper.

“You say things like that deliberately.”

“Yeah.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“I usually am.”

“Usually?”

“I lie when the truth is nobody’s business.”

“That’s convenient.”

“It keeps life simple.”

She studied me with the same thoughtful concentration she usually gave clothing, as though she could read construction through seams nobody else noticed.