“But if that’s the way you want it. Let’s go for it. I know firsthand that you’re a pain in the ass and even in the worst Hollywood-style post-apocalyptic dystopian future where we were left alone on the planet I wouldn’t work with you. Fuck this!”
I open my mouth to blister him and he starts to stand up, but in a moment Marjorie hovers over us.
“Stop it! You’re acting like children,” she snaps, surprising us both. “Now, get over yourselves and do the assignment. Exchange what you wrote this week and then talk about how to move forward. By next week you need a plan in place to address what you figured out.” She leaves before we can respond.
Matt and I look at each other and something passes between us. It’s the same thing I felt That Night, when we first started talking at The Party, before The Incident. It’s like a crackle, a spark, a flash. It scares the heck out of me. Without a word I pass my journal over to him and he passes his to me. We’re careful not to touch even a finger.
I’m done reading first and I watch him absorb what I wrote, while I squirm a little. I’m embarrassed. I wrote about sitting alone in the cafeteria, wondering what was happening at other tables. I described conversations and analyzed what I should have said. I tracked the books I read (I read a lot), the phone calls with my family, the little flare-ups with my roommate.
“What does that say,” he asks, pointing to some scrawled comment in the margin. I lean over, careful to keep my long hair from sweeping forward.
“Oh. That’s ‘screw you’ in Russian.”
“Was that directed at me?” He might be teasing, but again I can’t tell.
“No, not that time,” I answer slowly. “That was directed at the guy in my Contemporary Crises class who asked if I was interested in a pity fuck…. I think that’s the phrase. Or is it a pity lay? I get lay and fuck confused.”
He looks taken aback, then mutters, “douchebag.” I’m taken aback. “You may be mean, but he shouldn’t insult you.”
I can’t entirely suppress my smile. “Only you get to do that, huh, Matt?”
“Yeah. Exactly,”
He smiles tentatively too and we eye each other, wondering who will break this uneasy truce first.
Turns out it’s me.
“Well, your writing is bullshit. As usual.” I fold my arms across my chest defiantly, as if daring him to contradict me. He just raises an eyebrow. “You fill the pages with excuses for why your cheating was okay.”
He just shrugs. “I don’t think it was particularly wrong. As I say…here.” He leans over and flips a few pages to the right part, then points. I push back into my chair to avoid him but he’s still too close.
“It’s clearly wrong! And you signed the college’s ethics code so even if you don’t personally see anything wrong with it you’re obliged to follow its code of conduct.” I let this sink in. “I’m amazed you didn’t get in much more trouble for this. You could have been suspended, Matt.”
“Doubtful.”
“Why? Because mommy and daddy wouldn’t let anything happen to their golden boy? Because mommy’s a senator and daddy’s a judge?”
I found this out afterwards. We talked about all kinds of things that night, including politics, but he never mentioned it.
“Yep.” He shrugs again.
I stare at him in disbelief. He’s playing me again.
“I don’t believe you. You’re bullshitting again. I wonder if you buy your own act.”
“What are you talking about?” His eyes slide away.
I study him some more. “We’re supposed to ‘diagnose’ each other’s problem, right? Well, here’s my best guess. You’re lazy. You’re not used to making an effort. But you care-- about some stuff at least. I remember….” I stop abruptly. Why am I going there?
He leans forward again, his eyes piercing me. “What do you remember?”
“Nothing. Never mind!” I want to back right out of the room. Matt opens his mouth but seems to think the better of it too, slumping back with a sigh.
“At least I tried to apologize….” His voice is low and I’m not sure I heard right. “Which is more than you did.” He raises his head and his expression is hard to read.
“What?” I squawk. “What do I have to apologize for?”
His jaw drops. “Are you kidding me? You told everyone I…” His voice lowers and he clears his throat awkwardly. “Took your virginity and dropped you.”
Now it’s my jaw that drops. “You told them that!” I hiss.
He rears back. “What? Why would I do that?”
“Why would I do that?”
We stare at each other, frozen. I’m vaguely aware of other people in the room but all my attention is on Matt.
“And you told everyone I gave you an STD!”
I flush. Yeah, I did do that. But he deserved it.
“On Facebook.” He’s glowering.
I shake my head. “I am not doing this here. Now. At all.”
Our gazes hold in another uncomfortable stalemate. He cracks first.
“So what about you? You never did write what you’re in here for.”
I grasp eagerly at the new subject. “Some sorority girls claimed I threatened them, threw rocks through their windows, wrote nasty things on their door. But I didn’t! Why would anyone lie like that?”
He rolls his eyes. “Annika,” he says impatiently. “They’re jealous of you.”
“Of me?” I squeak. They’re the ones who belong, who fit in!
“Come on! You’re gorgeous! Tall and blond and hot as hell with that sexy accent! You’re a glamorous foreigner who speaks, like, three languages….” He stops himself as if embarrassed by what he’s admitted. “You make them feel plain and boring. Of course they hate you!”
I flush and whisper, “four.” He raises his eyebrows. “I speak four languages well, and a little French and Spanish too.”
He takes a deep breath. “Who was it?”
“What?” I still feel unsettled. My shields are slipping.
“Who were the girls who made those accusations against you?”
“Oh. Valerie Abrams and some of her friends.”
His expression changes.
“What?” I frown. Then I start connecting the dots.
“I know Valerie. I’ll ask her about this,” he says easily. Because that’s how he is. Smooth. My eyes narrow. And I can’t even help it, I feel that twinge of hurt again.
“Do you mean know in the Biblical sense?”
“I know her from high school,” he answers quickly. Too quickly. His eyes are all innocent but I’m not taken in. This time.
“That’s not an answer. So help me God, Matt, if you brought this down on me through one of your.…” I switch to Russian for the term I need. “You will be very, very sorry!”
“I have no further comment at this time.”
Really?? He makes a pile of his books and shoves them into his bag. I glance around and see everyone is packing up. And all the other partner pairs appear to be functional. One pair, Kyle and Lani, I think, are still deep in conversation. Across the room a redheaded girl packs her bag and puts on her coat, gesturing wildly and talking nonstop to her partner, a guy with glasses who seems dumbstruck. Then I realize we never even got to Marjorie’s assignment. Shit.
“We’re out of time and we’re still supposed to identify our problems and come up with solutions….” I shove my arms into my parka. I’m tingling with frustration, resentment, nerves. Dealing with Matt is challenging, infuriating, stimulating.
He makes an exasperated sound and stands. I’m tall but he’s taller still and we’re almost eye to eye. “Okay! You write something about my problem and plan something and I’ll do the same for you. We’ll email them. We won’t have to meet. Or talk.”
“Fine!”
We exchange numbers and email addresses reluctantly, then walk out of the room together. In the hallway there are a few stragglers and we linger, trading snide remarks.
�
�Okay then! But don’t you dare call me!” I sniff.
“Why would I? When I’ve got a whole week off from your charming repartee?”
My chin goes up. “I’ll have plenty of time to come up with more insults by our next class. I’ve hardly gotten started.”
He almost smiles and I’m almost charmed, though we do sound like children. He wheels around, walking backward away from me, and raises an eyebrow. I watch helplessly.
I point a threatening finger. “This isn’t funny!”
I can’t read his expression from this distance, but I can sense his amusement. With a cheeky salute he disappears into the stairwell. Damn him!
Acknowledgments
This book (and the series!) wouldn’t exist without the help of many people— especially Karen Dale Harris, who was a huge help with editing and encouragement, Katherine Locke, my very first reader, and Cassie Leigh and Maggie Dallen, awesome authors themselves as well as amazing beta readers. I’m also grateful to Marianne Nowicki for the beautiful covers.
And huge THANK YOUs to those of you reading it now! I hope you’ll check out the other stories in the series and enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them.
Please leave reviews and comments on Goodreads and Amazon! They make a big difference for new authors and they give you a chance to influence future works! Your honest opinion is always appreciated.
About the Author
Charlotte Penn Clark is a lifelong reader of historical romances and a writer of contemporary and new adult romances. She puts smart women and sexy men in complicated situations while trying to keep them away from Awful Misunderstandings. Her Carmichael series interweaves the lives and loves of five privileged sisters in a political family. Her next series, Extra Credit, tells the stories of three unlikely couples thrown together on a college campus. She's a diehard New Yorker.
I’d love to hear from you!
@charpennclark
CharlottePennClark
www.charlottepennclark.com
Also by Charlotte Penn Clark
Corinne (The Carmichaels, Book 1)
Daisy (The Carmichaels, Book 2)
Valerie (The Carmichaels, Book 3)
Marie (The Carmichaels, Book 4)
Samantha (The Carmichaels, Book 5)
For updates on new releases and blog posts sign up for her newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/b4VXN1
The Partnership (Extra Credit Book 1) Page 16