ASHLEY
"Hello, sir! I'm writing regarding my failing marks. Is there any way I can try to add extra credit? I'm just going through something....."
I stare at the tablet screen, my fingers tapping absently on the edge. Beckett's words are not repetitive and I'm sure as hell it's his. I've logged my account into his laptop one time and it includes all my educational email.
I bite my lip, scrolling through the emails he’s sent on my behalf. He’s put in so much effort—proofread assignments, tracked down resources, even reached out to professors I barely know. All while I’ve been too frozen to do much of anything.
It’s pathetic. I should feel grateful, but mostly I just feel worse.
He didn’t even tell me he was doing this. I’m guessing he knew I wouldn’t let him.
There’s another email.
