Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter #2) - Melanie Martins Page 0,28

a bad grade. And I can’t have bad grades. My scholarship depends on it.”

“No one is gonna get bad grades,” I reassure him. “We will work methodically and decompose objectivism first as a philosophy, and then how it applies to different branches of PE…” I stop before saying, Matthew is just being an ass. And looking at the asshole sitting beside me, I say, “For someone studying economics, you should be a bit more open-minded.”

“It’s because I’m open-minded that I don’t like objectivism. I studied it, and I found it very juvenile and shallow.”

“Enough, you two,” Sarah interjects, her loud voice startling everyone. “I’ve never seen you guys like this,” she points out, looking at Matthew and me. “You guys used to be great friends.” As she lets out a sigh, we look at each other, knowing Sarah is right, but not acknowledging it. “I couldn’t care less about objectivism, but I do care about our group.” Then she pauses, thinking something through. “Since you guys are so crazy attached to this philosophy, Matthew will say one good thing about it, and Petra one bad thing.”

After assessing Sarah’s request, Matthew is the first to speak. “Hmm, the fact that objectivism believes hedonists and whim-worshippers are living sub-humanly sounds good to me.”

“And you, Petra?” Sarah asks.

“That’s exactly what I don’t agree with when it comes to objectivism. I think hedonism can be pursued as a sustainable and ethical lifestyle.”

“What the fuck? Ethical hedonists?” Matthew huffs, trying to brush off my opinion. “Sounds like a PC way to describe spoiled brats who have never worked a single day in their lives.”

Squinting my eyes like lasers, I focus them on Matthew like I could zap him. “Just because some people don’t need to work doesn’t mean their lifestyles are less honorable,” I find myself saying, as if the attack was personal.

Mercifully, our heated argument gets interrupted by a knock on the door, and Janine comes in. “Miss Van Gatt? Lunch is served,” she announces.

Glancing at my watch, I realize it’s already midday, the time I told her to have lunch ready. “Thank you, Janine.” As I look at the group, I say, “Um, Janine prepared some food for us all.” I pause for a beat, gauging their reaction. “I thought it’d be great to have lunch together to celebrate the beginning of the new school year.” A smile escapes me, seeing how everyone but Matthew is praising the idea. And as I quickly glance at him standing up, I never thought, not even in a million years, that the sweet Matthew I met last year could become a total dick when discussing philosophy.

“Thanks, girl,” Sarah says, patting me on the arm. “That’s really nice of you.”

I lead them to the terrace where lunch is being served. And we are all caught by surprise at the beautiful setting Janine has prepared. A well-arranged table always makes lunch a bit more special, I remember her saying.

As we start eating, courses and professors quickly monopolize the conversation. And, not unexpectedly, Sarah then asks me, “So you also switched majors?”

“Not really, I’m still doing finance, but I’m taking Public Economics to be with you guys,” I tell her, keeping it short. After all, it’s not usual for students to do that, and I know the dean is making an exception due to the current social distancing rules. Nevertheless, the more we talk about Public Economics, the more they seem to enjoy the idea of the study. Then, as Sarah starts talking about their other courses, I notice Matthew remaining unusually quiet. In fact, he hasn’t said a single word the whole lunch and his gaze remains vacant, starting at nothing, like merely a zombie. Something must be going on with him—something he isn’t telling me. Then I remember the texts he sent me when I was in the coma. And despite our heated argument this morning, I do believe he still cares about me. So, leaning a bit closer to him, I say in a low voice, “My dad introduced me to objectivism.” His eyes widen in surprise, a bit taken aback by the revelation. After all, it’s not usual for me to open up and say something so private. “A first edition of Atlas Shrugged has been on his nightstand since I can remember. I know he’ll be quite proud of this project.” I see a faint smile settling on his lips, but he remains still, carefully listening. “Dad said it was Rand’s philosophy that inspired