chapter 6
685 Words
Eleanor pov
Eleanor tried not to let her irritation show, but it crept in the way it always did—tight in her jaw, clipped in her words. She knew she wasn’t exactly warm when it came to group projects, but Zack Dalton had waltzed in eight minutes late, cocky smirk in place, like he was doing her a favor by showing up at all.
She had met his type before. Smooth talkers. Overconfident. Tall. Charming. The kind that coasted on natural charisma and late-night cramming. And based on the way nearly every girl she overheard this week had talked about him—with flushed cheeks and hushed tones—Zack didn’t just know his effect on people, he counted on it.
Not that she cared.
Still, there was something about how relaxed he looked in that chair, legs spread, tapping his pen against the table like he was waiting for her to do all the work. Which, frankly, she already had.
She cleared her throat and turned the laptop toward him. “Here’s what I outlined so far. It’s just a starting point.”
Zack leaned forward, his eyes scanning the document lazily. “You don’t waste time.”
“I don’t like wasting it,” she said simply. “Especially when half the grade depends on both people pulling their weight.”
He smiled, not smugly this time. “Duly noted.”
She hated that her eyes lingered on him too long when he wasn’t looking—when his hair fell across his brow or when he chewed the inside of his cheek while thinking. There was a softness there, buried deep under the cocky exterior. But she didn’t trust softness. Especially not when it came wrapped in a reputation.
Zack leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “So, what’s your angle for this? You’ve got a strong thesis here about how the author uses isolation to represent internalized grief. But we’re supposed to relate it back to the broader theme of perception versus reality too.”
“I have a few ideas for that section,” Eleanor replied. “But I figured if you wanted to take one part—maybe the research or contextual breakdown—we could split it evenly.”
He paused, giving her a long look. “You’re serious about this, huh?”
“Yes,” she said, a little more sharply than she intended.
He held up his hands, grin returning. “Alright, alright. I’m not trying to slack off. I’ll take the contextual section.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, I probably would’ve waited until the weekend, but since you’re clearly about a week ahead of the rest of the campus already…”
She gave him a flat look. “Do you ever turn that off?”
Zack laughed. “The charm? No. But I’m open to feedback.”
Eleanor shook her head and turned her attention back to the screen. “We’ll meet again Sunday to pull everything together.”
“Sunday’s good,” he agreed. “Afternoon?”
“Two?”
“Done.”
There was a pause. Not awkward, but thoughtful. Eleanor realized she was holding her breath and exhaled slowly, brushing a stray curl from her cheek.
Zack looked at her again, more curious than flirty this time. “Jones, right?”
She glanced up. “Yes. Eleanor Jones.”
He repeated it softly, like he was testing how it felt in his mouth. “Eleanor.”
She wasn’t sure why the sound of her name in his voice gave her pause.
“I’ll text you Sunday morning to confirm the time,” she said, trying to re-anchor the moment in productivity.
“Looking forward to it.” He gave her a little two-fingered salute as he stood, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
Eleanor watched him leave, the door swinging shut behind him.
She stared at the empty chair across from her for a long moment before shaking her head and reopening her laptop.
Whatever he thought this was, she had a GPA to protect.
- Writer
