Page 31 of The Romance Rivalry

Fifteen miscommunication trope

“So...”

Jeannette and Charles share a glance before Charles continues whatever it is he wants to say.

The four of us are huddled around a small table in a very crowded new matcha café just off campus. Without planning or agreement,

we somehow made it a weekly thing to meet up on Thursday afternoons as a group and try out some place new. Just like our lunches

together on Mondays.

And today is a bit of a celebration. Last night’s Live was more successful than I could have imagined. I was shocked to see the number of people online with us. It was the first meaningful jump in my follower count I’ve had in a long time. And though we had Jeannette and Charles online to help moderate the comments, we really didn’t need it. People were genuinely happy that Aiden and I were “dating,” and the topics quickly switched over from our personal life to exactly where we wanted them to... books.

Aiden was right.

And I guess I was right to trust him.

“So?” Aiden raises a brow and looks first at Charles, then at Jeannette, and then at me.

I hold up my hands and lean back, not taking any of the responsibility. “Don’t look at me, I have no idea what unspoken message

is happening right now.”

I pull my head to the side, trying to stretch out my neck. Aiden takes the opportunity to gently knead and massage the kink.

“You’re carrying a lot of stress here,” he says.

“School,” I say without any additional explanation. My friends don’t know all the details about how poorly I’m doing, and

I prefer to keep it that way. I still have a few weeks left to get all my work done and then cram for finals. I can pull this

off. I’ve been told that freshmen all handle the newness of college differently. I, apparently, handle it by putting off all

studying until the very last minute.

I won’t fail. I have a lot of people believing in me. I don’t want to disappoint them.

“Well, Charles and I were just wondering if we’re laying the contest to rest,” Jeannette says.

I furrow my brow. I haven’t actually thought about the contest in days. My big college plan to fall in love that consumed my every thought early on has now been replaced with thoughts of the guy next to me. Aiden’s leg is touching mine from hip to knee as we sit. It feels warm and settling. Almost as warm as the way the arm laid across the back of my chair, hand resting on my shoulder, still massaging, makes me feel.

“You know, now that things have”—Charles waves his hand between Aiden and me—“progressed.”

I straighten my back. “What do you mean, ‘progressed’?” I don’t know who I’m trying to fool. Do I have feelings of the warm

and gooey variety for Aiden? Yes. Am I still terrified to broach this topic with him for fear he might not be feeling these

same things as deeply as I am? Absolutely.

It could be that he’s still thinking we’re fake dating and is just enjoying reaping all the benefits of that. I know he’s

told me otherwise. He’s advised me to believe his words. He’s borderline begged me to trust him.

Nothing about last night felt fake. It was all incredibly real. Maybe it’s time for me to stop second-guessing everyone. Like

Jeannette said, just believe that I’m worthy of affection and love from people, too.

“I mean, progressed in the sneaking-out-of-Aiden’s-room-with-bedhead sort of way,” Charles says.

“Or the using-up-all-your-concealer-to-hide-that-hickey type of escalation,” Jeannette adds.

My jaw drops. I sputter. “I wasn’t, I didn’t, I haven’t...”

“The competition is on hold until Irene and I can have a real conversation of the she-finally-realizes-how-she-feels-about-me

variety,” Aiden says, dimples all out and proud.

“First, why are you all talking like that? About me? When I’m right here? And second, I think I’m in the lead in this competition,

so maybe I get a say in if it’s on hold or not. And THIRD”—I put extra stress on this one as I turn and look at Aiden—“maybe

we need to discuss how YOU feel about ME first!” I close my mouth with a satisfied grunt.

“You’re supposed to do the hyphenated-description thing that the rest of us were doing, Irene,” Aiden says with a sparkle

in his eyes. His free hand boops my nose like I’m the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

Whatever. None of this should be a conversation for public consumption, anyways. I narrow my eyes at him, making it clear

that we will be having words privately later.

The side of his mouth raises in that cocky, knowing half smile of his, and my face heats immediately.

He looks as if he has other plans for us privately later.

Gulp.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I reach to see the new message just as I notice Aiden doing the same. Awww, even our phones

have synced. Romantic. Nope, I’m really starting to lose it. Get a grip.

There’s a new text from Dr. Kingston. Odd. I’ve never received a text from any teacher or professor before. Shouldn’t my phone be a safe space, free from worry about school shit? Rude.

I lift my head, about to complain about this to my friends, but I notice Aiden, head down reading his phone message, brow

furrowed, looking... irritated. His head slowly rises and his face turns to meet mine. He nods toward my phone and dread

wraps its hands around my lungs, making it suddenly hard to get air. The last thing I want to do is read whatever message

is waiting for me.

“What is it?” Jeannette asks, noticing the tension.

I open the text.

Dr. Kingston: I’d like to see the two of you in my office, today if possible. It’s important. Let me know if 3pm works.

I try to swallow at the same time bile wants to release itself from my throat, making me cough instead. Aiden hands me one

of the small paper cups of water we have on the table and I nod appreciatively as I down its meager contents, then reach for

another and do the same.

“Our lit professor wants to see us in his office today,” Aiden says, voice steady.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Charles asks.

Aiden shrugs a shoulder but I can feel the tension radiating off his body. He most certainly thinks this is not good.

And I can’t think of one reason to disagree with him.

“Well, good luck, you guys. I hope it’s nothing,” Charles says.

Aiden nods.

Jeannette reaches under the table and squeezes my knee. I look up with worried eyes and meet her own. She gives me a reassuring

smile, but it does little to calm my panic. I got away with faking it, skating by, not doing the work, flailing, all semester.

And now I have to face the music.

Aiden barely said a word to me on the walk over to our professor’s office. Which made the ride up in the tiny, cursed elevator

very awkward.

I grab his wrist before we turn the corner and head in to our doom. I should do a big confession of how deep my love runs

for him. I should promise to wait for him on the other side. I should announce that no matter what life throws our way, I

WILL FIND YOU.

He looks over his shoulder and down where my hand holds his wrist, but he doesn’t turn around. He raises a brow in question.

I clear my throat.

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing I can think to say.

“Don’t worry,” he says back. But it lacks the confidence usually attached to those words when they come from his mouth.

My shoulders deflate. But before I fall and give up all hope, he takes my limp, vacant hand and fills it with his, interlacing our fingers, rubbing his thumb over mine. His hand engulfs mine, and the feeling of warmth and safety radiates throughout my entire body.

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, okay?” he says. Still no smile, but I want so badly to believe his words. I have to.

He gives my hand one last squeeze and then lets go. I immediately miss the steadying effect his contact gives me.

Dr. Kingston’s door is open, but he’s not at his desk. He’s instead sitting on the couch, book in hand. I recognize the cover

immediately.

When I recorded and sent him the short video he requested at our last meeting, I tried to include a list of very “safe” forced-proximity

books he might like to try. Books I thought he would enjoy and not be too shocked by. I did, however, totally by accident,

slip in a mention of a much-beloved vampire book as well. I was going to rerecord it, but figured there was no way he’d even

pick up on it.

The thought of my L I T E R A T U R E professor reading about a vampire named Zsadist and all that comes along with this story

has me shifting in my sneakers. I have no words.

He looks up and sees Aiden’s easy smile and my clearly stricken expression standing in his doorway.

“Irene, Aiden, come in, come in...”

He points to the two chairs across from his desk and moves to sit in his own on the other side, setting Lover Awakened down in front of him. My eyes track the movement.

A smile spreads across his face and heat consumes my own.

“Most excellent recommendation, Irene. I am, however, curious why this one in particular is your favorite of the series. But

maybe I’ll understand better as I make my way through them all. I’m quite consumed at this point.”

Aiden chuckles beside me.

I do the fish-out-of-water mouth thing that has become my go-to expression, apparently, when I don’t know what to say.

“But this is not why I’ve asked you both here so suddenly,” Dr. Kingston continues, saving me from having to say anything

at all.

He lets out a heavy sigh and pulls off his wire-framed glasses, rubbing his eyes.

“I’ve been looking through the journal assignments and participation points in class, and well, though your outline and pitch

for your team project is quite impressive, I’m concerned it won’t be enough to get you passing scores. Possibly for you, Aiden.

But likely not for Irene. And truthfully, I’m flummoxed by this. You both are so talented and clearly have a passion for books.

But even in the few I have received from you, specifically, Irene, it feels like you’re struggling with writing and editing

that passion into the assignments.”

Silence hangs in the air, and I’m uncertain who will be the first to break it. I knew I was fucking up, but I didn’t realize it was this bad. And I definitely didn’t know that I was putting Aiden at risk as well. I just figured we’d pull it out in the end.

“Professor Kingston, I don’t understand,” Aiden says.

Professor Kingston looks directly to me and gives me a sad smile.

“I’ve...” I start, but the words don’t all come out. I clear my throat. “Well, I’ve been struggling a little in my classes

and managing the workload with school. So I’ve missed a lot of the due dates for the assignments.” I muster the courage to

turn to look at Aiden, whose eyes are squarely on me, willing me to continue. “I didn’t realize that it would impact you negatively.

And I fully intend to catch up and bring my scores up.”

“It’s a team assignment, Irene,” Aiden says. He tucks his lips between his teeth, likely trying to hold back anything else

he might say that he could regret.

I want to plead my case, beg for forgiveness, make him and Dr. Kingston certain that I can make up for it. But my lips don’t

move. I’m frozen in silence.

“I wanted to make sure you both understood where you’re at. It will take a perfect score to bring you up to passing, Irene.

And Aiden, I think you will want to make note of this, considering your own situation,” Dr. Kingston adds, eyes squarely on

Aiden.

Aiden’s jaw is tight, and he responds with a small nod.

His situation? Meaning the one where he’s been saddled with a partner who’s dragging his grade down? It seems unfair to put that on him. It’s my fault.

“But be advised, I have never once in my entire career in education given out a perfect score. This is very unlikely.”

My throat has dropped down to the black pit of despair in my gut, along with all hope and happiness. The reality, coming straight

from someone else’s mouth and not just my own thoughts and assumptions, is confirmed. I’ve failed.

“Now, what I do want to do is offer a way out of this predicament.”

Both Aiden and I lift our heads, my back straightening as Aiden leans in, grabbing the arms of his chair, waiting for the

news.

“But before I do, may I ask a possibly difficult question to which I need an honest answer?”

We both nod.

“Did one of you do the bulk of the work for the outline and pitch for the group project?”

I curl into myself. I had been stressed about Parents Day coming up and had had two book videos to edit before posting. Aiden,

in fact, did all the work for our submission. I— I don’t even think I thanked him for doing so. Shit.

“No,” Aiden says.

“Yes,” I say at the same time.

Aiden’s foot gently presses against mine. He doesn’t want to take the credit and get me into further trouble. But I can’t let him lie.

“Aiden did all the work,” I admit, eyes down. I make a mental note to apologize to Aiden later. Where has my head been? Why

have I been such a slacker? What is wrong with me? I can’t look up to see the disappointment in Dr. Kingston’s or Aiden’s

faces.

“Thank you, Irene. And truthfully, it wouldn’t be such an issue if, well, it still felt like an equal distribution of the

work for the project. So here’s what I have to offer. I’d like you two to select a new piece of fiction you have not read

yet. And before you ask, yes, it can be a romance novel.”

I let out a sigh of relief.

“This is still a team project, but Irene, I’d like you to be the one to write up the edit letter. Here’s the catch: This is

not a book review. I’d like you to research what you can find about the author as well. Tell me, from the information about

the author’s life, motivations, inspirations, etc., what you find in this book that reflects these pieces of research. How

has the author put themself into this book? And were they successful, in the eyes of you, the reader, in creating a work that

resonates with you in an intimate way? It’s a comparison, of sorts, between the creator and their art. My hope is that through

this project, you’ll find books to be more than just stories on a page, but reflections of humanity.”

My heart starts to race. I can do this. I love doing this. I love finding the humanity in the books I read. I love seeing the nuggets of themselves that authors leave in stories. So why does this feel like punishment? Why, the moment it becomes an expectation, does something I love doing turn into something I dread?

“Yes, I can do it. I’ll work with Aiden on the research, but I’ll do the write-up,” I say. There is no excitement in my voice.

“It shouldn’t be too hard,” Aiden says to me. “We do this all the time. It’s what you’re great at.”

“I’m sorry we have to do it at all,” I whisper.

“This is not meant to be punishment or a death sentence,” Dr. Kingston says, voice lighter than before. “If I didn’t fully

believe you could do this, and completely want for you both to excel in this class, I wouldn’t have given you this opportunity.

And Irene, we should discuss at some point your path, both here at Brighton and beyond, to becoming an editor. I’ll admit,

I found it surprising when your mother told me how passionately you felt about this career choice. But now that I know, maybe

we can help you in the areas you’re struggling with to start. However”—he draws out the word, ensuring I’m paying attention—“if

that passion is more your mother’s than your own, I’d love to discuss how to channel your love for books into other options

for your future.”

I want to crawl under my chair. Or better yet, hightail it out of the office and never look back. Maybe it’s not too late to change my mind and start all over, with something new, somewhere new. My mom’s and dad’s faces cross my mind, the disappointment painted all over them.

“Sure, sounds great.” It sounds anything but great.

“And Aiden, I don’t have to tell you how particular the scholarship committee can be when reviewing the progress and academic

achievement of their students. As we discussed in our previous meeting, they’ve shown keen interest in you and your talent.

So, as your sponsor, I made sure to report back the massive amount of potential you’ve displayed up to this point. Let’s meet

again after Thanksgiving to discuss what work of writing you’ll submit for review.”

Aiden’s on a scholarship? And Dr. Kingston is his sponsor?

My lack of contribution not only impacts his grade, but also his scholarship?

He didn’t tell me any of this. He carried this burden around himself and didn’t let me know.

We excuse ourselves from the office and head to the elevator.

“You okay?” Aiden asks as we wait for the doors to open. We both face forward, as if doing so will make the elevator move

faster to us and lead us to our escape.

“I fucked up. I’m fucking up.” I can’t look at him.

“You’re not. You haven’t. Not yet. We have a chance to make it right. He’s not asking for anything too hard from us.” Aiden, ever the hero, making it clear we’re in this together. But it’s not fair for him to take on more work, more burden.

Something’s shifted. Whether it’s me or him. The deep, burning embarrassment and guilt fester inside me, and all I want to

do is escape Aiden, his kindness and understanding masking all the things he’s not saying. His disappointment in me.

Bile rises in my throat and I double over, turning to the trash can by the elevator, certain I’m going to lose the matcha

latte I had earlier and anything else in my stomach.

Aiden’s warm touch rubs my back in gentle circles. The contact burns through my clothes, my skin, adding agony to my shame.

I step away from his touch. “I’m fine,” I say.

“C’mon, let’s forget the elevator and take the stairs. I need to get you outside to some fresh air.” Aiden grabs my hands

and leads me toward the stairwell, then down the stairs, outside, and around the corner, to a private bench under a tree.

I sit there and take in a few deep breaths.

Aiden remains standing, watching me warily like I’m an animal about to bolt.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. I don’t know what else to say.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were failing? I could’ve helped.” His voice has a slight panic to it and it’s the first sign Aiden’s

given that he might be worried.

“I didn’t actually know it was that dire,” I say. And maybe I did suspect, but I had tried to stay blind to the truth. “Like I said upstairs, I’ve been having a hard time keeping my head afloat with everything.”

“Are you failing all your classes?” he asks. His face is stricken like he can’t believe he’s looking at such a loser.

“I don’t think so.” I don’t actually know.

“Irene, look, if we put in some extra hours and focus, we can easily do this extra credit assignment and pass lit. But are

you going to be able to pass your other classes? What’s going on? I had no idea you were struggling this much. What can I

do?” He kneels down in front of me, looking up into my face. But I can’t meet his gaze. My cheeks heat and I feel tears beginning

to build.

Too many questions. He’s asking too much of me.

“I don’t need you to come to my rescue.” I’m on my feet, almost pushing Aiden to the ground as I jump up from the bench. I

don’t know why I’m so angry, so frustrated, so helpless. I don’t know why Aiden’s offer to help offends me. “I’m not a charity

case, Aiden.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m just trying to figure out what it is you need.”

“I don’t know!” I shout. And it’s the most honest thing I’ve said this whole time.

He stares at me but doesn’t say a word. He won’t let me off that easily. I hate him for cornering me.

“Look, I’ll figure it out, okay? Just... let me go so I can figure it out on my own,” I say. I turn to leave, to walk away.

“Sure, Irene, run away.”

I turn and point a finger in Aiden’s face. “You’re not my parents. You’re not even my boyfriend. I don’t owe you any explanation.”

“I’m well aware what I’m not to you. You’re so terrified of failing, of disappointing others. But you don’t seem to worry

at all that how you do in lit directly impacts me. I can’t afford to fail lit. There’s a lot riding on this class for me.

So I just need to know where your head’s at and what I can do to help you, to help us.”

It’s not just about his grade in the class.

“You didn’t tell me you were on scholarship. That Dr. Kingston, of all people, is your sponsor.”

“Yeah, well, obviously there are a lot of things we haven’t told each other,” he says.

“But if I had known...”

“You would have tried harder?”

I wince at the direct hit. The words pierce through all my excuses and reach their target: my ego. I couldn’t admit to anyone

that I was struggling. I didn’t know how to ask for help. And now I can’t just apologize my way out of it. My actions have

real consequences that aren’t just about my parents being disappointed or me being unhappy with my course of study.

I can’t lift my eyes to meet his.

“Look, I’m sorry, I just...” He reaches for my hand, but I pull away.

“I’m gonna email SKCupid and tell them I want out of consideration. I’ll let them know you’re the right choice. You need the money for school,” I say. It’s a first step, and the least I can do.

“I don’t. I told you that already.”

“But you’re on financial aid and a scholarship.”

“Yes, and that’s how a lot of students pay for college. I’m not unique there. The brand deals are good for extra cash, for

some savings, an emergency fund. But I’m not reliant on them. I just want to be taken seriously by people, seen as someone

who’s good at this stuff. Just like you do.”

The problem is, because I cared too much about being taken seriously, I let every other part of my life suffer.

I look back over my shoulder at him and my heart hurts. I wonder what other things we’ve kept from each other. A part of me

doesn’t want to know.

As he watches me, I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look in his eyes, the one that terrifies me the most. I’ve let him down.

And there’s likely nothing attractive about that to someone like Aiden.

I shake my head, no words left to say. So I don’t say anything at all...

... and I walk away.