THE BOY BEHIND THE ANGER

Chapter Three — The Assignment

Professor Anderson announced the semester project on a gray Friday afternoon, his voice carrying the particular gravity of someone delivering news he expected to be unpopular.

It would count heavily toward their final grade, he said, tapping the syllabus for emphasis. Students immediately began turning in their seats, scanning the room for partners, a low murmur of negotiation rising around Ethan like weather he had no interest in.

He wasn't interested in any of it.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, while Ryan twisted around searching the room for a partner of his own.

"Who are you working with?" Ryan asked.

"Nobody."

"You have to work with someone."

"I'll work alone."

Professor Anderson, who had clearly developed excellent hearing where Ethan Carter was concerned, didn't even look up from his list. "No, you won't."

Ethan sat forward slightly. "Excuse me?"

"You'll work with the partner I assign." The professor lifted a sheet of paper, scanning down it with the unhurried satisfaction of a man who knew exactly what reaction he was about to provoke. "Claire Bennett and Ethan Carter."

Claire's head lifted sharply from her notebook.

Ethan looked over at her.

She looked back, and for a moment neither of their expressions suggested anything close to enthusiasm.

After class, Claire crossed the room to where he was gathering his things, arms folded, already bracing for an argument she assumed was coming.

"We need to talk about the project."

"Okay."

"I want us to actually work on it. Both of us."

"We will."

"And I don't want to end up doing everything myself while you show up twenty minutes late to hand in your name."

Ethan almost smiled at that. "I said we'll work."

She studied him for a moment, clearly unconvinced. "Are you always this difficult?"

"Only with people who expect me to be easy."

Claire sighed, though something in the set of her shoulders had softened slightly. "Fine. Library. Tomorrow afternoon."

"Fine."

They arranged the details — time, table number, which sources to bring — with the brisk efficiency of two people determined not to let this turn into anything more complicated than it needed to be.

Claire arrived early the next day, notebook and laptop already arranged neatly on the table by the time Ethan strolled in, ten minutes late, dropping into the chair across from her without any particular hurry.

She glanced pointedly at the clock on the library wall. "You're late."

"By ten minutes."

"That's still late."

He sat back, studying her with open curiosity now. "You're going to be difficult about this, aren't you?"

"I'm organized."

"Same thing."

Despite herself, Claire felt the corner of her mouth twitch upward. "Let's just start."

They began working, and within the first half hour, Claire discovered something she hadn't expected. Ethan Carter was intelligent — not just intelligent enough to scrape by, which was the most she'd allowed herself to hope for, but genuinely, surprisingly sharp. He understood the material in a way that suggested he'd actually done the reading, not skimmed it the night before. He offered angles on their topic that she hadn't considered, and pulled up supporting research faster than she could type the search terms herself.

"You actually prepared for this," Claire said, unable to fully hide her surprise.

Ethan looked almost offended. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know."

"You expected me to be useless."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

Claire smiled slightly, caught. "Maybe a little."

He laughed — a real laugh, low and unguarded, nothing like the sharp edge she'd braced herself for. For the first time, sitting across a library table cluttered with open books and half-filled notebooks, she saw a different Ethan entirely. Not the angry boy from the cafeteria, tense and coiled and ready to strike. Not the person half the campus had warned her about in hushed, cautionary tones.

Just a college student, sleeves pushed up, making dry jokes while they worked, occasionally reaching over to correct something in her notes with an ease that suggested he'd stopped thinking of this as an obligation and started, somewhere in the last hour, actually enjoying himself.

Their session stretched on nearly three hours, the library slowly emptying around them as afternoon light shifted into early evening. When Claire finally began packing her things, she realized — with a small, private jolt of surprise — that she had stopped being nervous around him.

Not completely.

But enough that it mattered.