“I saw your post. It’s not exactly what our agreement was.”
I sat in the empty seat next to her desk. “I know, but you can still have all of the research and I’ll still go to Orlando with you this summer for the conference.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a situation quite like this one. Tell me, what did Beau say after he read your post yesterday?”
My eyes hit the floor. I knew writing the blog was taking a chance, but I wasn’t quite prepared for the embarrassment that had followed in the past twenty-four hours.
“I haven’t heard from him.” I bit my lower lip, waiting for Professor Garcia to launch into some kind of I-told-you-so speech. She never thought Beau was compatible with me from the start of the project.
“Oh, dear, you must be devastated. Oh no.” She planted her hand on my knee. “When I read your blog yesterday I realized that maybe I had gone about this project with you two the wrong way.”
“What do you mean?”
“The class is supposed to be about real relationships, but all of the other students were navigating business dealings, roommate problems, and human survival instincts. You two were the only ones analyzing love—in retrospect that wasn’t a fair position to put you in. I just didn’t realize it until last night.”
“I don’t know what to say, Professor.”
“I’m the one who is speechless, London. I’m going to call my colleagues and back out of the Orlando conference. It’s too much to ask of you, especially if Beau isn’t talking to you.”
I didn’t really need her to remind me that I had bared my soul to the entire world online and I hadn’t heard a peep from him. The site was overloaded with responses from our fan base, but not a single comment came from Beau.
“No, a deal is a deal. I went into the second half of the project giving you my word that you could have the research. The show is real—it works. People can fall in love on these crazy dates. I’m your living proof, even if Beau doesn’t feel the same way anymore.”
I didn’t like the look of pity coming from the professor’s eyes. “London, I might be a member of the academic community, but I’m not about to put you through a rigorous panel of research questions just to get my name in a publication. I’m a woman first, and if there is one thing I know, it’s heartbreak. No one should have to live it publicly. You didn’t sign up for that. I’ll tell you I definitely didn’t with Pablo. Did I mention him to you?”
“Um. Not really. Is he the guy from spring break?” Where was this conversation headed?
“Trouble. I knew he was trouble. But did I listen to my logical side? Hell no. I just let loose and well—we are supposed to be talking about you. Anyway, I think we can cancel the Orlando trip.”
“Ok. Thanks, I guess.” I couldn’t believe I was actually bonding with Professor Garcia over boys and broken hearts. The conversation faintly resembled one of my late night talks with Nina. I had to admit I was dying to see a picture of Pablo.
“I’ll see you in class, London, for your final presentation. Good luck with everything.” She smiled then turned back to a stack of papers she was sorting.
I pulled my backpack over my shoulder and walked out of her office.
The brightness of the spring sun hit me before I had a chance to locate my sunglasses. My eyes started watering while I scrambled in the pocket of my bag for the glasses. I was certain I had stashed them in the front compartment before entering Professor Garcia’s office. I could feel the mascara streaming down my face as the watering intensified. Shit. Everything was a blurry mess and it stung.
“London?” I heard his voice over my shoulder.
Ah-ha! My hands felt the familiar plastic sticks of the sunglasses. Quickly, I shoved them on before spinning around.
“Beau!” I smiled as I wiped my cheeks trying to clear the mascara streaks. I could tell by the way he was looking at me that my efforts had the opposite effect.
“What are you doing on campus on a Monday?”
“I just had a meeting with Professor Garcia about the project.”
“Funny, that’s why I’m here.” He shuttled his bike into the closest bike rack.
“Beau, can we talk? I need to tell you everything that’s going on.”
I had pictured some epic scene where he would come to the house and we’d talk in my room and pour our hearts out to each other and then end up hot and sweaty under Ugly Quilt. The middle of campus wasn’t part of the make up fantasy and neither was a mascara crisis.
“Oh, now you want to talk? Now you finally want to open up? I read it, London. I saw your post. I don’t know what we need to talk about.” He started to walk past me.
“Are you kidding me? I just told the whole world that I’m in love with you, and we don’t have anything to talk about?” A few students walking through the mini quad stopped to watch our exchange unfold. Damn our blog fame.
“Right. You’re in love with me. So you think because you posted something online that everything is just taken care of? That I should forget how you’ve broken my heart repeatedly? It doesn’t work like that, London. This isn’t some scene in one of your little plays you can act your way through.”