Free Fissure by Nicole Williams Page A

but when I started to feel dizzy, I knew it wasn’t a result of the lack of oxygen. It had everything to do with the anticipation of hearing my name called out with Emma’s.
    In a class close to one hundred, it was what I suppose you could call a forlorn wish, but those were the best kind to hope for. The absolute unlikelihood of them coming to fruition made the personal angst that much more intense. I could feel it pulsing through my blood.
         I leaned forward in my seat as Professor Camp called out the first pair while Emma seemed to slink so far back into her seat it was like she was melting into it. What was she so uneasy about? The assignment itself, being told to break up with Ty the bonehead, who she’d be paired with . . . wondering, hoping, guessing it could be me? Or praying it wouldn’t be me?
         I couldn’t tell, and I knew I shouldn’t ask, but I did anyways.
         “What’s wrong?” I whispered over to her as the announcement of names continued on at an agonizingly slow pace.
         She waved me off, working her tongue into the side of her cheek and wringing her hand in her skirt.
         I felt something then. Seeing her so uncomfortable, but it went beyond seeing. I could feel her discomfort, with such clarity it could have been my own. It was jarring and intimate . . . and a first. Setting all of myself aside, nothing else was on my mind but easing hers. I was just reaching for one of her hands and searching for the right words of comfort when I heard her name called out from down front.
         “Emma Scarlett, your partner is . . .”—I sucked in a breath; she did too. I had just enough time to send out another prayer into the waiting universe before the good professor finished, “Patrick Hayward.”
         And then, I did something I had no control over. Something that had the whole class busting a gut. I leapt from my seat, threw both arms in the air, and screamed, “YES!”
    When I realized what I’d done, I didn’t blush, I didn’t sit back in my seat and duck my head like anyone who had a shred of self worth would. Too late to worry about my delicate male ego. Way too late.
         Instead I turned around and gave a bow, which was followed by another round of laughter with some applause tossed in.
         “Glad to have made your day, Mr. Hayward,” Camp said, trying his best to look irritated. “Happy love making . . . errrr . . . finding,” he edited before going on to the next pair on his sheet.
         I’d been so caught up in the moment I hadn’t noticed Emma’s reaction, and now that I was thinking about it, I wasn’t sure I wanted to look because I knew if she was grimacing or shuddering or anything that indicated she was dreading what I was dying for, I would have melted where I stood. The bad kind of melting, the water doused Wicked Witch of the West kind of melting.
         I sat down first, giving myself a few more moments to let it all simmer in. Chancing the shortest of glances her way, I didn’t see any lines of dismay or eyes narrowed in aggravation, so I mustered up some courage and did a full-on body turn so I could look at her straight on.
         She kept her face forward, not allowing me to read anything in her eyes. Her face was expressionless, as unreadable as an empty book. Her shoulders were relaxed, as was the rest of her. No more hands wringing the hell out of her skirt, no more looking so uncomfortable she could have been seated on a hot burner.
    She could have been elated, she could have been devastated. I didn’t know.
         I didn’t think there could have been anything worse than finding her cringing at the thought of spending the quarter together, but I’d been wrong. This was worse.
         She was so still and flat faced she could have been a mannequin.
         “Emma?” I whispered, contemplating reaching over and shaking her a little.
         When she didn’t respond with even a blink, I