Chapter Four:The Retake
1406 Words
By Tuesday morning, I had almost convinced myself that Toby Hayes couldn't possibly get any more annoying.
Almost.
Then I walked into Communication and Media Studies and found him sitting in the seat I had been planning to take.
I stopped at the entrance.
He looked up.
That stupid grin appeared.
“Morning, rival.”
I stared at him.
“You're in my seat.”
He glanced around the nearly empty classroom.
“Your name isn't on it.”
“It was supposed to be.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
I dropped my bag onto the chair beside him.
“Move.”
“There's another seat.”
“I want this one.”
“Why?”
“Because I do.”
He leaned back.
“Very convincing argument.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Toby.”
“Zikora.”
“Move.”
“No.”
I stared at him for another second before dropping into the seat beside him.
“Fine.”
His grin widened.
“See? That wasn't so hard.”
“I hate you.”
“That's becoming a theme.”
Before I could respond, our professor walked into the classroom.
Everyone settled down.
He placed his books on the desk and looked around.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Professor,” the class replied.
He opened his attendance sheet.
“We have a few students taking this course for the first time and a few returning students.”
My pen paused.
“Returning students?”
He continued down the list.
“Toby Hayes.”
Toby raised his hand.
“Here.”
The professor looked over his glasses.
“Welcome back, Mr. Hayes.”
A few students laughed.
Toby sighed.
“Thank you, sir.”
I turned toward him.
“Welcome back?”
He glanced at me.
“Don't.”
“You've taken this class before?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
He looked away.
“I didn't pass.”
I blinked.
“You failed?”
He gave me a look.
“Do you have to sound so happy about it?”
“I don't sound happy.”
“You absolutely do.”
I tried to hide my smile.
“So the great Toby Hayes failed a class?”
“Technically, yes.”
“That's hilarious.”
“I'm glad my academic struggles bring you joy.”
I laughed.
He shook his head.
“Enjoy it while you can.”
The professor began explaining the semester requirements.
I took notes.
Toby didn't.
I glanced at his empty notebook.
“You aren't writing anything.”
“I'll remember it.”
“You failed this class.”
He looked at me.
“Okay, maybe I'll write.”
He picked up his pen.
I smiled.
For the next thirty minutes, I tried to focus on the lecture.
Toby kept tapping his pen against the desk.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
I looked at him.
“Stop.”
Tap.
Tap.
“Toby.”
He stopped.
“Sorry.”
Two seconds later.
Tap.
I kicked his shoe under the desk.
He looked at me, surprised.
“Violence?”
“Motivation.”
He smiled.
“You're cute when you're angry.”
My pen froze.
“What?”
He immediately looked back at his notebook.
“Nothing.”
I stared at him.
Did he just—
No.
I must have heard him wrong.
Absolutely.
After class, the professor stopped Toby.
“Mr. Hayes, stay behind for a moment.”
Toby sighed.
I waited outside.
A few minutes later, he walked out.
“What did he want?”
“Nothing.”
“You're lying.”
He adjusted his backpack.
“He wants me to take the class seriously.”
“Because you failed?”
He gave me a look.
“Do you ever let anything go?”
“No.”
“I've noticed.”
We started walking across campus.
“So why did you fail?”
He shrugged.
“Baseball.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does if you're playing five days a week.”
“Then why retake it?”
He looked at me.
“Because I need the credit.”
“Obviously.”
“And because my father would probably kill me if I dropped another class.”
I noticed the slight change in his voice.
It was subtle.
But it was there.
“You don't like talking about your dad.”
His expression tightened.
“Not particularly.”
I decided not to push.
We walked in silence for a few seconds.
Then he said,
“You're taking this class for the first time?”
“Yes.”
“Freshman?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“How's it going?”
“Fine.”
“You're lying.”
I looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because you're always carrying about seven books.”
“That's called being prepared.”
“That's called overworking yourself.”
“You're one to talk.”
He laughed.
“Fair.”
We reached the student center.
He stopped.
“Listen.”
“What?”
“I need to pass this class.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Congratulations?”
He rolled his eyes.
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
“I mean it.”
His expression had changed.
No teasing.
No smile.
“I can't fail it again.”
I studied him.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I'll help you.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You will?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I shrugged.
“Because I'm going to pass, and I don't want my grade dragged down by someone who can't keep up.”
He laughed.
“There she is.”
“Who?”
“My favorite rival.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Don't make me regret offering.”
“I won't.”
“You promise?”
He held out his hand.
“Deal?”
I stared at it.
Then shook it.
“Deal.”
His hand was warm.
Neither of us let go immediately.
We looked at each other.
For a second, the noise around us seemed to fade.
Then Toby cleared his throat and released my hand.
“Library?”
“Today?”
“Yeah.”
“You don't waste time.”
“I failed this class once. I'm not doing it twice.”
I smiled.
“Good.”
He started walking.
Then turned around.
“Four o'clock?”
“Four.”
“And, Zikora?”
“Yes?”
He smiled.
“Thanks.”
I nodded.
“Don't make me regret it.”
He laughed.
“I'll try.”
At four o'clock, Toby actually showed up on time.
I was almost impressed.
We sat across from each other in the library with our laptops open.
For the first twenty minutes, he was surprisingly focused.
Then he groaned.
I looked up.
“What?”
“I don't understand this.”
I leaned across the table.
“Which part?”
He turned his laptop toward me.
“This.”
I read through the question.
“You do understand it.”
“No, I don't.”
“You do. You're just overthinking it.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
He frowned at the screen.
I explained it again.
This time, he nodded slowly.
“Oh.”
I smiled.
“See?”
“Don't look so proud.”
“You finally understood something.”
“I understand plenty.”
“Name three things.”
He looked at me.
“You're annoying.”
“That's one.”
“You talk too much.”
“Two.”
“And you're terrible at hiding when you're smiling.”
I stopped.
He was smiling.
I looked down.
“Focus on your assignment.”
He chuckled.
“Yes, ma'am.”
I shook my head.
But I was smiling too.
And that was the problem.
Somewhere between tutoring Toby Hayes and arguing with him over every little thing, I was beginning to realize that he wasn't quite the person I'd assumed he was.
He was still arrogant.
Still irritating.
Still far too confident.
But beneath all of that was someone who was genuinely trying.
And for the first time, I wanted him to succeed.
Not because he was my rival.
Not because I wanted to beat him.
Just because I did.
I wasn't sure when that had happened.
And I definitely wasn't ready to think about what it meant.
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