Trouble - Devon McCormack Page 0,33

what he said about Ben’s last serious relationship pissed me the hell off—in no small part because of how it mirrored some of the disrespect and humiliation I’d experienced at the hands of my wife.

But something else in what Kyle had said caught my attention. We approached the stack of plywood, and I went around to the far side, the way I had the past few times, replying, “I never said it was an emotional breakup.”

“That I’ve heard so little about those five years tells me all I need to know.”

“Perceptive, Mr. Forsythe.”

“I should get some extra credit on that Hamlet test. What do you think?”

“I think you’re reminding me why it’s a terrible idea to volunteer with one of my students.”

We enjoyed the laugh as we made our way to the stack in the back.

I didn’t mean it. If I had anything to look forward to during my week, it was knowing I’d get to see him at the end of it.

“Speaking of extra credit,” he said, “I notice you don’t keep posting shit to the board.”

“I got the hint that no one’s really interested.”

“You should do more.”

“Will you actually come if I assign something? I don’t know that I need to be flying solo every event.”

“I’ll come to the next one. Promise.”

I didn’t doubt him, but it did raise a question that had been on my mind for some time, something I hadn’t pushed too hard about the night of my attempted mugging, primarily because we’d had so many other more important things to discuss.

“I have to admit I’m curious,” I said as we set the sheet down on the second stack. “Why didn’t you come in that first night? When you were across the street?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t do extra credit.”

A very suspicious non-answer, but perfectly befitting Kyle.

“There’s a guest author coming to speak at the bookstore downtown next Wednesday. Talking about gender and fiction. I can put it on the board on Monday. We’ll see who jumps at the chance. Who knows? Maybe people will actually start sweating their grade since midterms are coming up.”

“Yeah, I figure some will be like that.”

“You never really talk about grades or school. I assume you’re doing as well in everyone else’s classes?”

“I do just fine. It’s a slick sort of way of skating by, doing the bare minimum. Tests have never been hard for me. It’s the busy homework that usually cuts my grade down.”

I narrowed my eyes. “A little prodigy, aren’t you?”

“Shh. You’re gonna kill my bad-boy image.”

I embraced the laugh, but regardless of the facade he put on, I knew there was far more to him than that. “I have to say, as your teacher, I can tell by your homework you actually care about the assignments.”

“You don’t know. Maybe I just google stuff and put it in my answers.”

I shook my head. “I don’t believe that. I didn’t ask you to swing by because you were plagiarizing. Besides, I can hear you when I read them.”

“You don’t know me,” he said, and it was clearly a joke, but there was truth to it as well.

Too much truth.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you’re not as bad as you like to be seen.”

“That’s where you got it wrong, Big Man. I don’t want to be seen.”

He turned to me as we were about to pick up the next sheet of plywood, and again, there was too much truth in his words. I could tell by the seriousness of his expression…and something dark that always seemed to linger behind those blue eyes.

13

Kyle

“Sorry. Looks like a no-show,” the bookstore café cashier told James, who turned back to me. “Not batting well with these events in Wyachet, am I?”

“I guess even the speakers know we’re not the best town for cultural experiences. Maybe his agent gave him the scoop.” I winked, hoping he wouldn’t think I was genuinely disappointed about the event not taking place when the whole thing was a ruse to enjoy more time with him. “We can at least discuss Hamlet over caffeine. I have a few thoughts about your BS comments on my last assignment anyway.”

“I’m not changing your grade over this, just so you know.”

“That’s fine. I’m packing in some extra-credit points to buffer it.”

He shook his head, his smile widening.

I ordered a latte with whipped cream. “Oh, and two apple crullers.” I turned to James. “Go ahead.”

He asked for a black coffee, then reached for his wallet.

“I got it,” I said,

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