“Mr. Thorne,” said Professor Gosnel, suddenly hovering between him and Kate, “this is literature class. Perhaps you could use your time to discuss literature.”
He tilted his head back to meet her gaze. “Oh, we are discussing literature, Professor.” Clearing his throat, he tapped the screen, pulling up Kimbrough’s thirty-ninth published work, Marooned in the Asteroid Labyrinth. “As you can see, dramatist Joel Kimbrough often played on themes of loneliness and abandonment, in which the protagonist is forced to overcome not only external obstacles like space monsters and malfunctioning spaceship engines, but also the internal devastation that comes with complete solitude. His works often employ the vast emptiness of space as a symbol of loneliness and the battles each of us face against our own personal demons. In the end, his protagonists overcome their feelings of insecurity only after they accept the help of an unlikely assistant, such as an android or an alien or”—his mouth quirked to one side—“a pretty girl who happens to be a skilled marksman when she’s handed a high-powered ray gun.”
A wave of tittering rolled through the class, confirming Carswell’s suspicions that he now had an audience.
“So, you see,” he said, gesturing again at the screen, “I was just telling Miss Fallow that the themes in Kimbrough’s works relate to my own personal struggles with math homework. I so often feel lost, confused, completely hopeless … but, by joining forces with a pretty girl who understands the problems I currently have to work through, I may yet overcome the obstacles laid out before me and achieve my ultimate goal. Namely, high marks in math class.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug and added, for good measure, “And literature class, naturally.”
Professor Gosnel stared down at him with her lips pursed and he could tell that she was still annoyed, although simultaneously trying to hide a twinge of amusement. She sighed. “Just try to stay on task, Mr. Thorne.”
“Yes, Professor Gosnel.” He glanced at Kate, and though she wouldn’t meet his eyes, she was nibbling at her bottom lip and almost smiling.
The rest of the class was still chuckling as Professor Gosnel turned back to her own screen and began listing some of the literary terms students should be using to discuss their assignments—words like themes, obstacles, and symbolism. Carswell smirked.
Then a voice broke out of the mild chatter, loud enough to reach Carswell, but quiet enough to make it seem like it wasn’t intentional. “If it’s a pretty girl that he needs to help with his ‘problems,’ he’s out of luck if Kate Fallow is the best he can find.”
Someone else guffawed. A few girls giggled before putting their hands over their mouths.
Carswell glanced back to see Ryan Doughty smirking at him—a friend of Jules’s. He shot him a glare before turning back to Kate. Her smile had vanished, her eyes filling with mortification.
Carswell curled his hand into a tight fist, having the sudden, unexpected urge to punch Ryan Doughty in the mouth. But instead, as the class quieted down, he ignored the feeling and once again scooted his chair closer to Kate’s.
“So, like I was saying before,” he said, teetering on the line between casual and nervous, “maybe we could eat lunch together today, out in the courtyard.” He would have to cancel the afternoon’s card game, which would put him behind schedule, but if he could submit today’s homework during math—complete and on time—it would be the fastest way to start turning around his marks. And he only had a week to show his dad that things were improving before mid-July break started. “What do you say?”
Kate’s jaw was hanging again, her blush having returned full force.
“Carswell?”
Sighing, he didn’t hide his glare as he turned back to Blakely. “Yes, Blakely?”
Her glower put his to shame. “I thought you and I were going to be partners today.”
“Uh—I’m not sure, Blakely. I’m afraid I already asked Kate, but…” He grinned shyly in Kate’s direction. “I guess she hasn’t given me an answer yet.”
Blakely harrumphed. “Well then, maybe we should call off our date to the dance too. Then you two can go fight obstacles and achieve goals together.”
He sat up straighter. “Huh?”
“Last week,” Blakely said, curling her fingers around the edge of her desk, “I asked if you were going to the Peace Dance and you said I’d be the girl you asked if you did. I’ve been planning on it ever since.”
“Oh, right.” Carswell was losing track of how many girls he’d said some version of this line to, which was probably bad planning on his part, but at the time Blakely had asked, he’d been hoping to get her to invest in his Send Carswell to Space Camp fund.
“Unfortunately,” he said, “it’s looking like I may be babysitting my neighbors’ toddlers that day. Two-year-old triplets.” He shook his head. “They’re a handful, but so blasted cute, it’s impossible not to love them.”
Blakely’s anger fizzled into warm adoration. “Oh.”