"Sir?" I say. "Is there a problem?"
He sets the eraser down and turns around, staring at me through his thick glasses. He doesn't look angry or hostile, like I expect. He looks disappointed. Without speaking, he reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a paper, holding it out to me. I see the red scribble all over it, my name written along the top. My test on Confucius, complete with a big, fat D in the top corner.
I take it from him. "I don't understand. I knew this stuff."
"It's not a matter of knowing it," he says, pulling out his chair and sitting down at his desk. "It's a matter of applying it. You can tell me what the man said, but you can't seem to connect it to the real world. It brings me to your essays... same problem. You can define happiness, but you can't apply it. You tell me what Aristotle and Socrates thought about happiness, but never, in the entire paper, did you tell me what made you happy."
I stare at the test in my hand, dumbfounded. "Not making D's."
"There you go," he says. "I would've given you at least a B for that had you applied it to yourself."
Frowning, I unzip my bag and shove the test inside, on the verge of tears from frustration. There's no way I can turn it around at this point, no way I can pull this grade up unless I completely ace the final exam, and the rate I'm going? Impossible.
"You had an essay due today," he says. "Do you have it for me?"
I begrudgingly pull the paper from my bag, tempted to not turn it in at all. He stares at it when I hold it out and takes it from me, the disappointed look deepening. He sets it down on top of a stack of others as he shakes his head. "See you on Thursday, Miss Reed. And don't be late this time."
"I won't, sir."
Slinging my bag on my back, I head from the classroom, feeling like a weight is pressing upon me. I stroll outside and glance up, pausing when I see the Mercedes still parked there by the curb. A quick look around tells me Naz isn't anywhere in sight, so I pull out my phone and call him, getting his voicemail.
Shrugging it off, figuring he walked somewhere, or is working in the neighborhood, I start toward the dorm, in no rush to get there.
It takes me the entire walk to shrug off my solemn mood, trying to force a smile on my face, to act like it isn't bothering me before facing my friend. When I get there and push open the door, I'm immediately greeted by Paul's face.
Melody's boyfriend is stretched out on her small bed, remote in his hand, watching ESPN, while Melody sits at her desk, digging through her backpack. She glances up, giving me the look I expected. Pity. "What did he say?"
"He said I'm not cut out for philosophy." I drop my bag on the floor and plop down on my bed. "He said I say a lot of shit but I don't know what any of it means."
"He said that?"
"In so many words, yeah," I mutter, closing my eyes. "And to top it all off, after he says it I hand over an unfinished assignment, proving exactly what he said—I'm not cut out for it."
"I don't believe that," she says. "That's crazy."
"You're failing Santino's class?" Paul chimes in with disbelief. "I didn't think that was possible."
"I'm not failing," I say defensively. "I'm just not passing."
Paul laughs. "What's the difference?"
"The difference is I'm surviving by the skin of my teeth but that's not good enough to keep my GPA where I need it to be."
"Tough break," Paul says. "Seriously, though, Santino's class is a breeze. I bullshitted my way through it and still got a B."
His words don't make me feel any better. In fact, they piss me off even more.
My phone rings as I'm lying there. I pull it out, glancing at the screen to see Naz's name. Sighing, I answer it, muttering a quiet, "Yeah?"
He's silent for a moment. "You okay, sweetheart?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You called me."
"Oh, yeah… I just saw your car was still there, so I called to see what you were up to."
"Ah, I was just handling some business. You back at your dorm?"
"Yeah, just got here."
"You want to grab some dinner?"
"I'm not really hungry."
"You want to come to my place?"
"I really shouldn't. I have class early in the morning, and I still have some homework to do for it. It's probably going to be a long night as it is."
"That's not what I asked. I want to know how you feel, not what you think. It doesn't matter if you should come over. I asked if you wanted to."
I hesitate. "I do."
"Then I'll pick you up in five minutes. Bring your homework. I'll help you with it."
I start to argue, but he hangs up on me. Standing up, I grab my bag, waving to Melody as I head for the door. "You crazy kids have fun. I'm going to Naz's."
"Will you be back for class in the morning?"
"Yes," I say. "Just don't expect me any sooner."
She laughs, wishing me a goodnight. Paul says nothing. I don't think he much likes me either, and that's okay. He watches my television and throws his dirty socks on my floor and eats my Ramen noodles and the cherry on top of the icing is he makes a better philosophy grade than me.
I'm beginning to like him less and less.
Naz is double-parked right in front of the dorm, not seeming to give a shit as people honk, annoyed that he's blocking traffic. I laugh as I climb in the passenger seat, seeing he's staring down at his phone, paying no mind to what's going on outside of the car.
He lives in his own little world, where he's the king, and I'm more than happy to be his minion… although, when he looks at me, flashing that dimple, I feel like nothing less than his queen.
He pulls into traffic and drives straight to Brooklyn. He takes off his coat and loosens his tie when we get to his house, tossing his keys down on the living room table.
"You sure you're not hungry?" he asks. "I can make you something."
"You? Make something?"
He laughs. "I probably have something you can make yourself."
"Thanks, but I'm okay. I just wanna get this work done so I can try to relax."
I settle into the den, cracking open my math book to finish some problems. Naz distracts me more than anything, sitting beside me on the couch. He sucks at math, fucking up basic multiplication when he tries to help.
I even catch him counting on his fingers a few times.
I merely smile, having to do some of the problems over again, but I don't mind much, even if it does take twice as long. It doesn't feel like work with Naz involved.