That’s What We Call a Win-Win-Win-Win Situation
Clément’s office gave me the same sinking feeling in my stomach as it had the day I first set foot in there, the day I reached out for help and had my hand slapped away. Now I waited for him to tell me that I failed the midterm. That I would need a ninety-nine or something on the final to pass, which would never mathematically happen. It didn’t help that the girl who’d been in his office before me left crying, either.
I wore my new beanie. I felt safe in it. I felt more like myself in it. It was the perfect pick for me. I had no idea how he pulled that off, but he had. I needed the courage to face Clément, and the beanie gave me that because I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to tell him that this was his fault. That I wouldn’t have failed the midterm had he just allowed me the few accommodations I needed from the beginning.
“You passed,” Dr. Clément said, interrupting my quickly mounting doubt. “But only just.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, briefly wondering if I should have said excusez-moi instead.
“You passed,” he repeated, slowly and louder.
Okay, well, that was fair. He probably thought I didn’t understand him.
“You earned a seventy-two on the midterm. You hold a sixty-six in the class,” he said, turning my test toward me as it lay on his desk. “And if you get at least a sixty-five on the final, you will pass the course.”
“Wow,” I said, reaching for the corrected exam. A seventy-two wasn’t only just passing in my opinion. A seventy-two was awesome! A seventy-two was amazing! A seventy-two was … not a grade I thought I would ever celebrate, but still!
“Can I keep this?” I asked.
“No.” He took the test from my hands. “I do not allow students to retain their tests.”
“It would be a really good study tool for me and—”
“No,” he repeated. “But if you would like to look at it, you may do so during office hours.”
“Oh, so I can come in and look it over, I just can’t bring it home?”
He slid my test back into an overfilled file folder. “Oui.”
“Okay, great. Well, thank you for letting me know,” I said, beginning to gather my things, cursing myself for assuming the worst. My hard work was paying off.
“Wait, this is only half the reason I asked for this meeting,” he said, waving me to sit back down. “I wanted you to know that I believe you are working as hard as you can. I believe you want to pass and that this is, indeed, very difficult for you.”
Whoa. Dr. Clément acknowledging my hard work? Was there a hidden camera in here somewhere? Besides the few teachers in high school who really knew me, I only ever heard that from my mom.
“Merci,” I breathed.
* * *
“I passed the midterm, and Clément said I could look at my test when I’m with you,” I said, rushing through my words as I slid into the chair across from Hudson. “Well, actually, he said I could see the test during office hours, but whatever.”
Hudson was in the library for his normal two-hours-every-Monday-Wednesday study session in which he would have his books open, notebooks out, but spend the entire time talking to the people around him … whether he knew them or not.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” He leaned back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head.
I eyed him. “You knew I passed and didn’t tell me? Très impoli.” I reached into my bag and pulled out my notebook and flash cards. “So rude.”
“Très bien,” he said, his eyes smiling. “When did you learn that phrase?”
“A while ago,” I said with a smug one-shoulder shrug. “Figured I would need to use it against you at some point.”
He beamed at me, shaking his head slowly.
“You’re wearing your beanie,” he said, tapping his pen against the notebook that sat untouched, but opened, in front of him.
“Clearly. Don’t change the subject,” I warned, pointing a finger in his direction. Trying to stay serious around him was impossible.
“It looks good on you.”
I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest as I leaned back in the chair. I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Okay, sorry for not telling you that you passed the midterm,” he said with a sigh, only saying the words because he had to, despite the way he looked at me.
“So, give me my test right now to make up for your rudeness,” I said, diffusing all the butterflies in my stomach from the gleam in his eyes.
“I don’t have it.” He released his chair and clunked forward, his elbows landing softly on the table.
“What? Why not? You knew we would be studying together at some point.” I gestured at him with my stack of index cards.
“Whoa, calm down,” he said, a smile creeping across his face. He was laughing at me. It made me want to punch him. It also made me want to kiss him.
“I will jot down what you need to study based off the midterm, and we will study from that, okay?”
“I mean, yeah, I guess that would work, but I still would want to see my test, you know, just to see what exactly I did wrong and—”
“You wanna go on a date?” he asked.
I paused. “A date, as in, do something other than snuggle, and study sometimes?” I feigned surprise.
He clasped his hands together behind his head again. “Yup.”
“With you?” I asked.
“No, with that guy.” He unclasped his hands to motion toward a scraggly haired older man sitting two tables away.
I smiled as I flipped through my flash cards again. “You’re an idiot.”
“An idiot who you’ll go on a third date with?”
“Third date? When did we even have a first date?” I argued, listing my head as I ran my fingers through my hair.
“The volleyball game,” he said, “was date number one, and the party was date number two.”
“First of all, the volleyball game was not a date, I was just being nice,” I said, trying to brush off the fact that it probably … definitely … could have been a date. “And second, Scott and Michael’s party was a party.”
“No.” He smiled, listing his head to match mine. “I knew you would be there, and I asked you to meet me there. I mean, you thought I was asking you to meet me in outer space, but really, I was asking you to meet me at Scott and Michael’s. Plus, I asked Michael to ask Serena to ask you if you were coming just to make sure.”
I pressed my fingertips to my mouth as a slow smile spread across my face. Okay, well, that explained a hell of a lot of things. “You knew I had no clue what you said that day, though.”
“Right, but does it matter anymore?”
I ran my tongue across my bottom lip, trying to think of a comeback.
“So yeah, third date,” he said when I didn’t respond.
I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “Touché.”
“Bravo!” he responded. “So, will you go on a date with me?”
I shook my head slowly, my eyes glued to his. “Maybe,” I said as I thumbed the edge of my stack of index cards again. “Just get me that midterm, and then we’ll talk.”
His smile crept slowly. “I get you the test, and you’ll go on a date with me?”
“Peut-être.” I shrugged, playing indifferent.
His eyebrow quirked. “Can I pick the date?”
“No, I already have something in mind.” I twisted the rubber band around my index cards and then dropped them with a light thud onto my textbook.
“Wait, you were already thinking of asking me on a date?” He grabbed my index cards and thumbed the edges like I had just done.
I shrugged. “Yeah, kind of.”
“You were going to ask me on an already-planned date whether I got you the midterm or not?” He continued to thumb the index cards as he watched my mouth.
“Oui.” I nodded. “But now I get the midterm, too, so it’s a win-win for me.”
“And I get a date with you?” he asked.
“Of course.” I snatched the index cards from his hands before he bent the edges.
“Well, then, that’s a win-win for me, too.”