She’s fiery and pissed. I find it much more delightful than I should.
Because when I lost my hearing, daily life took on a severe, two-dimensional flatness, which I haven’t quite recovered from. A lot of what I loved was lost to me—playing music, competitive soccer, rowdy nights out with friends. I’m bored. My social life’s truncated to a few buddies who stuck around and my family, my free time spent working out compulsively, spending time in nature, and doing schoolwork. Not a particularly riveting existence.
Meaning, Willa Sutter is a welcome distraction, and she’s shockingly easy to provoke. I’m the smack-dab middle child in a brood of seven, so I know a thing or two about provoking. It’s my area of expertise, actually.
I stare at her, making sure to add a touch of smirk to my expression. Just enough to piss her off.
If the curl of her lip is any indication, she growls at me as she drops into her seat and slaps her notebook on the desk. Then she whips back the cover and slams her pen on its surface, too. I hear only some of it, but I feel the intensity in all her movements.
I almost feel bad that she’s frustrated, until I remind myself she didn’t give either Aiden or me a chance the other night to set the record straight, not that I really would have been able to.
Not that she knows that.
If I were Willa, as desperate for those notes as Aiden told me she is, I would have calmed down enough to hear out my professor. I’d have been sensible enough to realize that was the only way I could get to the bottom of what was going on, and get what I needed. But I’m a practical, level-headed person. Willa Sutter clearly is not. If her hotheaded temper keeps her making shitty assumptions and seeing the worst in a person, that’s her problem, not mine.
My empathy for her went far enough that when we parted ways in the parking lot after dinner, I told Aiden he needed to explain the situation to Willa. He’s the one who created this confusion in the first place. His guilt did not extend that far.
“You have a voice, Ryder,” he said. “Use it.”
Asshole.
I steal a glance at Willa, who seems to have buckled down, her eyes flicking repeatedly from the board to her notebook. Halfway through class, she raises her hand, looking both defiant and like it’s the last thing she wants to do. I can’t hear what she says, since she’s seated to my left, her mouth facing Aiden, but his response makes it easy to figure out.
“The answer to that question is a formula that I broke down in class two weeks ago, Willa. I suggest taking notes when you’re here so you can refer back to them.”
Which of course puts Willa’s focus once again on me, gifted recipient of the notes. I’m going to murder my brother-in-law. Freya might miss Aiden for a while, but she’ll get over him.
Slowly, Willa’s eyes drift toward me. I can’t help but glance up and meet them. If looks could kill, hers would. Flames burst in her irises. Her cheeks are blotched with pink. She’s the portrait of pissed. I, on the other hand, am as placid as a lake. Calm, cool, still. I hold her gaze as long as she holds mine. For the second time, she blinks away first, then turns to the front of the room.
The first strike happens five minutes later, when a pointy elbow nails my ribs. Wind rushes out of me as I spin instinctively toward her. Willa’s composed, eyes on her notebook, jotting down Aiden’s words furiously.
Ohhh, Sutter. Two can play this game.
I feign stretching my legs and kick her foot, flipping her leg off from being crossed over the other. She tips sideways, nearly thrown off her chair from the impact. When I feel her livid gaze on me, I’m scouring my notes, eyes down.
Suddenly an arm comes toward me and smacks my ball cap clean away. I reach behind my seat immediately and scoop it up. Raking back my hair, I tug my hat low over my eyes. Ball cap back in place, I turn toward her and give her an icy stare.
“Oops,” she says with those damn bee-stung lips. Her arms lower from her feigned stretching position. “My bad.”
I’m done pretending I’m not giving her hell right back. Leaning slowly her way, I watch her eyes widen, those pouty lips pop open in surprise. Closer, closer until our noses are only a few inches apart. While I have her eyes, I reach up, find a nice thick chunk of that wild hair and give it a hefty tug.
“Ouch!” her mouth says, but I catch a faint din of noise. Considering how fucked my ears are, that means she had to have screeched.
Aiden whips around, eyes darting between both of us. I’m an experienced middle child. I know how to get away with way worse than this, so I’m already innocently jotting something down in the margins of my class notes.
My eyes cheat a glance from underneath the brim of my ball cap, as I watch Aiden say, “Miss Sutter, everything all right?”
Willa’s sputtering, her hand still clasping her hair, but it seems she’s speechless.
“All right, then.” Aiden returns his focus to the class. “We’ll stop there. Now, time to talk about the final. Two things. Anyone who did their homework before they registered for my class read in the course description that this final is unique. It’s actually what I’m most proud of in this class. Successful businesses are inherently collaborative. They require teamwork, compromise, and unity of message and purpose. So, this class final involves working with your partner both to create a comprehensive business model and budget plan, as well as to test jointly—”
A massive groan interrupts him.
Aiden unleashes his sinister grin. The man takes way too much delight in torturing students. “That’ll teach you not to skip the course description again. And don’t try to get out of it. Legally, it’s water-tight. You signed up and in doing so consented to this class’s terms.”
Willa scrubs her face, leading me to think she might be one of those unlucky ducks who did not read the course description.
“Your partner takes a written test. You take a complimentary other half. Together, you two complete your final.” Aiden’s eyes dance around the room. “I’ve heard from past students that they were pleasantly surprised by the natural byproduct of this pairing. It incentivized them to work better together and study extensively, both for the midterm and the final tests. So, without further ado, I have collaborative pairs assigned, which I’ll put on the projector in just a second.” Leaning, Aiden presses a button on his laptop, changing the image to a tidy row chart with names in two columns. Immediately, my eyes begin scouring it, as dread fills my stomach.
He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare.
Hands in pockets, Aiden smiles out at the sea of students. “Good luck, everyone!”
Finally, I find it. Ryder Bergman. In the adjacent column, Willa Sutter.
Mother. Fucker.
Willa
Playlist: “Written In The Water,” Gin Wigmore
In middle school, I broke my ankle during a game and managed to play straight through overtime. Obviously, I have a high pain threshold, a tolerance for suffering. This, however, is pushing it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
There we are, Ryder and I, paired up for the final. Not only do we have to collaborate for the remainder of the semester, but we also have to agree on a project idea, work together, and test cumulatively well enough to ensure I pass. Impossible is the understatement of the century.