Page 37

Thirty-Five

I grind my teeth, tremors running over my skin and throughout my body. I stand across from Professor Ellington’s large wooden desk, though she has asked me to sit no less than three times.

“But a C?”

“A C was generous. A C was for the extensive experiments you completed, and your writing was proficient.”

“Yes, extensive experiments. I proved that?—”

“You proved your body has chemical reactions to the opposite sex, Miss Fairchild. We’ve known that for years. That wasn’t a new discovery.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “No, I proved that those scenarios, that the romcom remakes I set up, created those sensations and reactions.”

“You’re saying that what you’ve proved is that there is a formula for love.”

“Yes!” I point at her.

“No. There is not. And if anything, you’ve proved there isn’t.” She sits back in her leather office chair, arms folded .

I shake my head. “That’s not true. I proved that all of those movies and the situations in them bring people closer together. They give people feelings that, like seeds, will grow into more.”

Professor Ellington tilts her head. “So, after all of this”—she holds up my double-spaced, twelve-point font, fourteen-page paper—“you are in love?”

I swallow. “I know a lot more about love than before I began.”

“But are you in love?”

My brain wraps around kissing Callum, late-night talks, laughing over stories, sharing myself, getting to know his team, and learning about soccer. I want to say yes—so, so badly.

But as if Professor Ellington can read my mind, she says, “And does he love you back? Because I don’t think you wrote about unrequited love in this paper. Did you?”

I shake my head. “No, professor. I didn’t. And I’m not in love.” My heart thumps, disagreeing with me. But then we’re—my heart and me—still figuring out what love is. “But I do believe in the love story.”

She sets my paper down and leans into her desk.

“That’s clear. My father-in-law believes there are little green men living on the moon.

That doesn’t make it so. The problem with this paper is that you’ve proved nothing, Fran.

You’ve proved that love and rejection exist. Forgive me, but I think the world was already aware of that.

The only thing this paper told me is that your understanding of love is that of a fairytale and nothing real. ”

Nothing real? Nothing real. How can she say that? Everything I wrote, everything I experienced was authentic. Everything .

“Are you telling me she wanted you to discover some brand-new concept? Does Ellington want her class to cure cancer for an A?” Rosalie paces in front of the couch I lay on.

“I thought I could change her.” I cover my eyes with my hand. “Was I foolish?”

“No,” Rosalie barks. “You are not foolish. Believing in love is not?—”

“But all this time, Rose, I believed I could show her and do enough to change Ellington’s mind.

” I swallow and peek through my fingers at the ceiling of our apartment.

“Am I just a fool who thinks she can change other’s minds?

” I say. Is Callum never going to believe?

Is he going to take the idea of love not being for him to his grave?

“People can change. I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to date again after Robert broke my heart. But you changed my mind, Fran.” She pulls my hand from my eyes, sitting on the couch next to me.

“I did?”

“You did,” she says earnestly.

“She said my remakes proved nothing. She asked what use they had.” My throat constricts. “Is my theory ridiculous?”

“Of course not!” I love her enthusiasm, but I wish she weren’t scowling. “It’s not a crime to believe in love. Or to seek it out. You’re brave, Fran. I hid away afraid after Robert left, but not you—you just keep trying.”

“But I’ve never had my heart broken like that.” I lift my head, locking eyes with my friend.

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it? Ellington asked if I’d found someone to love and someone who would love me back. She wanted to know if I even knew what love was.” I let my head fall back to the armrest of this couch.

“Fran, just because you haven’t found your person doesn’t mean Ellington is right. It doesn’t mean you don’t understand love or relationships.”

“But in some ways, she’s right. I don’t know anything firsthand.”

Rosalie scoots herself closer to me, smacking my arm.

“Stop it. You’ve witnessed it plenty. That’s how this whole thing got started.

Maybe not in your home, but in mine. In the Hunters.

You’ve seen that real love exists. And looking for it in creative and proactive ways isn’t pointless, Fran.

You have proved that when you want something, you don’t wait for it to fall into your lap.

You work for it. That love is possible for anyone willing to work for it.

And you’ve proved that Fran Fairchild does not give up on love. ”

I don’t think I could if I wanted to—even after that awful C on the top of my paper. “I didn’t start all this for a grade or to change Ellington’s mind.”

“That’s right. Keep going. You’ll find your person. Eventually.” She heaves out a sigh as if she’s just finished a heavy workout. Muttering to herself, she adds, “It may not be the hot, overgrown soccer player you’re spending a whole lot of time with, but you’ll find him.”

“Hey,” I bark, pushing up on my elbows. “What does that mean? When did Callum enter this conversation?”

“I just mean that while yes, I believe in your quest for love—I really do. I don’t doubt it. But to find your person, Fran, they need to be looking for love too.”