“Hope is the bird,” I say. “The bird is a metaphor for hope.”
“Nice, but tell me more.” He scans the rows of students. “What does it mean? Come on, give me the good stuff, kids.”
Z stares down at his desk, and something shifts inside me, my anger turning to sadness. He’s in a dark place, and haven’t I always known it?
It’s part of why I was drawn to him…
I still want him.
I overhear Sorority Girl whispering to the girl next to her about Z and how he freaked out at the game. They’re wondering if he’ll be able to take the ice at the next one.
My chest rises.
We are over. We are—but I still want to protect him. I want him to live out his dreams. I want him to have hope.
I get the professor’s attention and he turns to me. “Yes?”
“The central idea of the poem is hope. Everything might be falling apart, but hope never stops. It’s there when you just can’t get calculus or when you didn’t get into law school. It’s there when darkness is inside you.” I stop, my voice verging on cracking, emotion threatening. I swallow. “Hope is there when you can’t figure out the fucking answers.”
Professor Goldberg gives me an approving nod. “Your participation point just went up a letter grade, Miss Ryan. I’ll forgive the profanity.”
I settle back in my seat. My heart feels like a block of cement is sitting on it. Hope for the future is what sustains a person, not guilt or regrets, and I want him to see that. He mentioned that his mom gave him the necklace for hope, but what if he’s lost so much that—
Stop. You can’t help him.
Class ends a few minutes later and I take my time leaving, moving slowly and giving him enough time to get out into the hall and down the steps. I don’t want to come face-to-face with him. I’m not sure what would happen. I might break down, might beg him—
“Hey, I’m sorry about being a dick,” says a male voice behind me, and it’s the guy who was talking about Z. He slides up next to me and sticks his hand out. His hair is a rich brown, his eyes a brilliant blue, and he’s wearing an HU football practice shirt. Another athlete. “I’m Dallas, wide receiver for the Lions. Been sitting in the row with you all semester. I’m a big hockey fan, and maybe that’s why I spoke out of turn. Just want them to go all the way, you know?”
He’s tall with a charming smile that’s open and honest, and it’s hard not to soften. I pause and then finally take his hand. His grip is firm and light, his gaze appreciative as he takes in my skinny jeans, tight black fuzzy sweater, flats, and hair, which is down and around my shoulders. I’m wearing more makeup than usual these days too, covering up the dark circles under my eyes.
“Yeah, I want them to win too.”
He nods. “You guys were a thing before, right? I mean, I saw you on his social media.”
My chest squeezes. “Briefly.” I exhale, my mouth tightening, and he winces and gives me a lopsided grin.
“Yeah. My bad. I heard about his girl-of-the-month thing…”
Ugh. “That’s just rumors,” I say with a polite smile then turn and walk to the exit.
He follows along next to me. “Sorry, I keep putting my foot in my mouth. Can I make it up to you? Coffee, sometime, maybe?” He grimaces. “Not trying to be forward, but well, ah, we’ve been sitting near each other for weeks and you’re not seeing him…”
I don’t even have to think about it. I’m not ready for coffee—or anything with anyone else. “Maybe some other time,” I say, and a small laugh comes from him.
“I should have kept my mouth shut about the hockey star. Can we start all over? Hi, I’m Dallas and I think you’re kinda cool.” He gives me a sheepish look. “I liked your poem analysis. This class is one of my favorites.”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s fun. I just took it as an elective.”
“Looks like we already have something in common,” he says, throwing in a teasing grin.
I let out a breath and look over his shoulder. No Z in the hallway.
He follows my gaze and gives me a smirk. “Just not into me, are you?”
I grin for the first time. “Not really.”
He lifts his shoulders nonchalantly. “I can wear you