“I wish!” He nudged her with his knee under the table. “Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

Maya looked up in surprise. She knew she should have been attracted to Connor, all things considered, and she thought she was supposed to be grateful for the attention, but she just wasn't.

“Studying.” She pulled her limbs in and made herself as compact as possible.

“Connor!” It was Betsy Monroe. Bouncy and blonde, she was the perfect feminine bookend for the boy sitting next to Maya.

Maya turned away from their conversation, trying to decide what to say about this story when it came around to her. Poignant was a good word. She'd try that one. She wrote her comments at the end, in her rounded, girlish handwriting. By the time she finished, Professor Reardon had come in and was looking for a place to wedge in. There were only about fifteen of them around the table.

Maya looked up when he set his briefcase next to her, popping it open and pulling out a stack of papers. She noticed what a mess it was, how unorganized, and smiled. So Mr. Reardon wasn't Mr. Perfect, was he?

“All right.” He snapped the attendance book closed and slipped it back into his briefcase. “We're going to have to go on to the next story in the queue. The author of the story we're intending to do isn't here today.”

They all looked around, trying to figure out who was missing. The stories were anonymous, but they could usually tell who wrote what.

“Which one is next?” Betsy asked.

“The Captive Bride.” Professor Reardon held up Maya's story and she shrank even further in her seat, willing herself not to blush. It wasn't working-her face already felt hot. The rest of the class was shuffling through their papers, locating the story. “So, who wants to start?”