Page 2

Chapter 2

Darcy

I ’m at my wit’s end.

No. I really mean that.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Caleb would focus. He never does, though. He’s perpetually late, which is a waste of my time. And a waste of his too, really. “Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath and trying to rein in my irritation. “Let’s try again. Walk me through the reasons for the French Revolution.”

Instead of answering me, he taps his pencil in an incessant rhythm on the table. I have to clasp my hands in my lap for fear that if he doesn’t stop, I’ll rip it out of his hands and throw it across the library. “Caleb.”

“Huh? Oh. Sorry. What was the question?”

This is about to be my thirteenth reason.

I take a deep breath. “Can you walk me through the reasons for the French Revolution?”

He clears his throat a couple of times, his eyes darting around. The tap, tap, tap of his pencil is driving me freaking insane. “People were mad.”

I blink at him. People… were… mad…

People were mad.

I’m not getting paid enough for this.

I smile. “Right. About what?”

The tapping stops. Finally. “Uh—taxes?”

“Good. That’s good. The common people were overtaxed, but the nobility and clergy weren’t taxed at all. This caused problems.”

He nods, twirling his pencil around his fingers. It falls, clattering to the floor, and he picks it up. And back to the tapping we go. It’s fine. Really. He’s probably not doing it on purpose. Hopefully. “Okay. And what else?” I prompt.

“Food,” he says, though it comes out as more of a question. Hey, we’re getting somewhere, though. Bonus.

“Right. Bread, especially. It was a staple for many common people, so when the prices rose, they couldn’t afford it anymore. Okay, look at it like this. Gas.”

He cocks his head sideways. “Gas?”

“Yeah. It’s something that we all need, right? To get around, to work, to get goods from place to place.”

He nods, sitting up a little straighter. “I’m following.”

“So a major part of our economy is our gas prices. If they are too high for people to get to work, for trucks to deliver basic supplies, and for kids to get to school, how do you think people would react?”

“They’d be pissed. ”

“Exactly,” I say, smiling at him. “Now imagine the people are complaining to the government and the government does nothing. People would start demanding change. It’s like that. Only instead of gas, it’s bread. And instead of being mad, it’s a revolution.”

He nods, scribbling something in his notebook. I look over and see he’s written gas equals bread. “Okay. I think I get it.”

“It was more than just bread, though. It was about survival. Is this making sense?”

He nods, a massive grin lighting up his face. “Yeah, I think it is. Like they were messing with people’s basic needs. That’s enough to make anyone crazy.”

Hallelujah. “Yes. Exactly. So now that you’ve got the principle, let’s go back and fill in the details.”

He groans, slumping in his seat. “More details?”

I can’t help but laugh. “That’s history, I fear. A long list of details.” I glance at my phone. “We only have fifteen more minutes. Do you think you can hang in there that long?”

He rolls his eyes, but it’s playful. “Yeah, I guess.”

I look out the window of the coffee shop, waiting for Parker to show up. They’re always a little late, and, unlike when I’m tutoring, I don’t mind. I think I’d be a little sad if they weren’t coming in somewhere late, paint smeared across their face .

Like my thoughts alone summon them, the door swings open and Park comes barrelling in. I grin when I realize I was right. Paint everywhere. “Hey! Sorry I’m late. I know you hate that.”

I shake my head with a laugh. “It’s fine. You know you’re the exception to my rule.”

They slump in the seat across from me. “God, this has been a day.”

I can tell. On closer inspection, there’s pink and red paint splattered through their hair, some on their lashes, and on the tip of their nose. “So,” I say through a laugh. “What’s… all this?” I wave my hand around like it can somehow encompass all the crazy Parker is covered in.

“A new project,” they say with a smug expression.

“Wow, really. I never would have guessed.”

They roll their eyes and sit down. “Have you ordered your gross tea yet?”

“Not nice. And also, not yet. I was waiting for you.” A flash of guilt passes over their face and I smile. “Don’t stress yourself out, Park. It’s not a big deal, yeah? You’re the only person who gets a pass.”

They give me a bright smile and brush their hair back. “Okay. I’m gonna go grab coffee and your nasty tea. It’s the least I can do after I kept you waiting.”

I roll my eyes, but I won’t complain.

A few minutes later, I’m holding a mug of steaming peppermint tea, blatantly ignoring Parker’s judgmental stare. I glance up at them over the rim of my cup. “You don’t see me judging your sugary milk dirt water, Park.”

Parker barks out a laugh. “Fair. But peppermint, Darce? It’s like…” They shudder, not even finishing their sentence.

I narrow my eyes. “I thought you artistic types were supposed to be free spirits. ”

Park bites at their lower lip. “If we’re going with stereotypes, then I’m not sure how I ended up with a tortured academic as a best friend.”

My jaw drops open. “I’m hardly a tortured academic.”

“You tutor. In your spare time. For fun.”

“Yeah,” I say, shrugging. “I enjoy it. Plus, it’s not like it won’t be my future. On a larger scale, of course.”

“You are so weird.”

I take another sip of my tea. “I fear that says more about you than it does me, Park.” Before they have a chance to say anything or give me a snarky eye roll, I press on. “What’s the project?”

Parker looks down at their paint-streaked skin. “Abstract work.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s a project based on emotions. It’s going to be a series of works.”

I stare at them, waiting for more. I don’t know why they get so shifty about their art. “And?”

Parker smirks, but their cheeks flush pink, completely negating the attempt at being cocky. “So, today was love.”

“This is riveting,” I say, deadpan.

Parker laughs. “Oh, hush. You know I’m weird about my art.”

“I do know. I also don’t know why because it’s honestly transcendent.”

Park turns red from their neck to their hairline. “Stop, Darce. You’re embarrassing me.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “You shouldn’t feel embarrassed, Park. You have a gift.”

Parker ducks their head and looks down. “I know.”

“Okay, so tell me more,” I prompt.

Finally, they look up at me. “I hate you. Anyway, today was love. So it’s this kind of messy but vibrant blend of reds and pinks. I used some gold too. I wanted it to feel… overwhelming. But soft too. You know… like actual love. I’m not sure if I hit the mark, but I was happy enough with the way it turned out.”

I lean forward, completely intrigued. “That sounds beautiful.”

Parker shrugs. “It’s abstract, so it’s like… meant to be up to interpretation. I tried to capture how it feels, though.”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure. But when I’m done with the whole series. I think it’ll be better that way. To see the full range of emotions that I’m trying to get across.”

I nod. “What other emotions do you want to tackle?”

“I’m thinking I’ll start with anger. Then maybe fear. Or loneliness. I’ll just have to see where the muse takes me.”

“Anger.” I can’t picture Parker being angry about anything. They’re incredibly difficult to rattle. “How would you convey that? Lots of bold, sharp lines?”

Park side-eyes me. “Do you want to paint it for me, Professor Sinclair?”

I narrow my eyes. “First off, don’t call me that. Second off, absolutely not. I could never make my mind work like yours. I’m just awed by your process, that’s all.”

And the blush is spreading again. “I could say the same for yours.”

I almost laugh at that. “Nah, Park. There’s nothing impressive about my mind. I’m just a nerd for history. You create things. I could never.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket with an incoming call, so I pull it out and see that it’s my dad. “Hey, Dad,” I say, holding a finger up to Parker.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m going to be giving your email to a student today. Weston Hale. He’s bright. But he’s just not grasping the concepts. I’m hoping you can work your magic.”

My heart swells. I love this. That he trusts me. That I can even help people to begin with. It makes me happy to see the realization in someone’s eyes when they get it for the first time. “Yeah, for sure. Weston Hale? The football guy.”

Dad laughs. “Yeah, kid. The football guy. I promise he’s not a meathead. There’s an intellect there. I can feel it.”

Well, I’ll definitely take him at his word. He’s never wrong about people. Not like that. “Okay. I’ll be waiting for his email.”

“Thanks, Darce. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

We hang up, and I shove my phone into my pocket. “Sorry about that, Park.”

They wave me off. “Not a big deal at all.”

“I’m apparently going to be tutoring Weston Hale.”

Parker’s eyes go wide. “Wow. Really? Have you seen him?”

“Uh, yes? He’s literally the football guy, Park.”

“And that means precisely nothing to you.”

I grin. “Yeah, that’s fair. But yeah, I’ve seen him. In passing and stuff.”

Parker raises their eyebrows. “He’s… nice to look at.”

My face flushes. I mean, I know that. Everyone knows that. But… “Doesn’t matter how nice he is to look at. I’ll treat him like I do everyone else.”

“Sure, sure,” they say with a smirk.

I’m not even going to grace that with a response. Which doesn’t really matter, truthfully, because Parker stands. “I’m gonna head home. This paint is itchy. ”

“Do you want me to walk you home?”

Parker smiles. “Nah, I’m good. Thank you.”

After standing up and hugging, we head out of the coffee shop and walk down the sidewalk in separate directions. I’ve just walked in the front door of my dorm when my phone buzzes and Weston’s email comes in. I respond quickly, not wanting him to think I don’t want to help him. I only barely resist the urge to ask him not to be late.

I glance at the clock again, already frustrated that it seems my newest student won’t be on time. He has two minutes left. I know that most people don’t consider two minutes early late, but ugh, I do.

I’m looking at the clock again when the library doors open, and Weston comes walking in. His eyes dart around nervously, and I give him a little wave. I probably should have told him what I looked like or something. I didn’t even tell him my name in my email. Probably not a good move.

It’s just that types like him usually make fun of it. It’s obvious they have no idea where it’s from, and subsequently assume it’s a girl’s name. I didn’t want to start things off on a bad foot.

His eyes light up when he sees me, and then he’s coming toward me. It really is unfair for one man to be so… I’m not finishing that sentence. First, my job is to help him. And second, he may be unfairly attractive, but he’s not into men. And even if he was… no way he’d be into me. He stops awkwardly at the side of my table. “Hi. I’m West. ”

I almost laugh. As if there’s a person on campus who doesn’t know who he is. “I know.”

“You’re Professor Sinclair’s son, right? I see the resemblance a bit. Damn, I hope you are. Otherwise, this is going to be awkward.”

I do laugh at that. I can’t help it. The rambling is too much. “Yeah, I am,” I say, standing up and holding my hand out for a handshake.

He slips his hand into mine. “Well, thank you so much for agreeing to help me. I’m so in over my head. I’m West.”

I bite my lip against the grin that wants to take over my face as he continues pumping my hand up and down. “Yes, I know. You said that. I’m Darcy.”

His eyes go wide. “Oh, no shit? Like Pride and Prejudice ?”

That stops me in my tracks. No one ever gets it. I can count on one hand the number of people who have, and not a single one of them has been the school’s football star. It’s a little strange, honestly. I wouldn’t have expected it. “You… know Pride and Prejudice ?”

West gives me an easy grin. “Of course.”

I blink at him in surprise. “Have you read it?”

He pulls his hand from mine and shrugs, but I can’t help but notice the flush climbing his cheeks. “Yeah. My freshman year of high school. My English teacher told me it was the most romantic book she’s ever read. Darcy’s kind of a prick at first, but he grows on you. Do you live up to your namesake?”

“My namesake?” I ask, almost to myself.

He laughs. “Yeah. Are you all broody and condescending?”

“I try hard not to be,” I say with a smile. Huh, maybe Dad was right about him. Not that I really had any doubts.

He winks at me. Actually freaking winks. This is not going like I thought it would at all. “Okay.” He takes off his backpack and sits down at the table before looking up at me. “Educate me. I’m ready to learn.”

I hope he means that.