The Saint
Page 97
“Right,” Wyatt said. “That’s why I like it.”
Eleanor looked back and smiled at him, mouthing a thank-you. He gave her a nonchalant no-big-thing shrug.
When class finally ended, Eleanor grabbed her backpack off the floor and stuffed her book into it. She saw feet facing her feet. A note with her name on it appeared before her face. She looked up and saw Wyatt standing in front of her.
“It’s a very important note,” he said. “Life altering. Read at your own risk.”
“You’re kind of weird, Wyatt. You know that, right?”
“Should you be flirting with me, Elle? This is the first time we’ve talked, and I’m very shy and girls scare me. I’m probably still a virgin.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. She’d been practicing that in her mirror.
“Probably? You don’t know if you’re still a virgin or not?”
“I didn’t ask myself if I was or not. It’s a really personal question, and I don’t know myself well enough to bring it up.”
“I’m going to open the note now.”
“I wish you’d reconsider,” Wyatt said.
“I might need it for evidence in my criminal case against you.”
“Good point. Open it.”
She unfolded the paper.
“This is a shark, Wyatt. This is a drawing of a shark.” She held up the note.
“What? You don’t like sharks? What kind of person doesn’t like sharks?”
“I’m not saying I don’t like sharks. I’m saying I don’t know why you gave me a picture of a shark.”
“The shark asked me to.”
“Why did the shark ask you to give me a picture of it?”
“Because he thinks you’re beautiful, brilliant and he wants your phone number.”
Eleanor studied the shark. It was about as well rendered a shark as she could have drawn. For Wyatt’s sake she hoped he wasn’t an art major. Still, it was a cute shark with impressively large fins. He’d even given the shark a red Mohawk.
She folded the paper back up and handed it to Wyatt.
“Please tell the shark I’m sorry. I’m not available.” It shocked her how hard she had to work to force those words out.
Wyatt’s eyes clouded over for a split second, and she saw the hurt and disappointment behind the adorable mask of male arrogance.
“Can you and the shark maybe be friends?”
“I’ve never been friends with a shark before. Will he bite me?”
“If you ask nicely.”
“Worth a shot. Shark lunch?”
“Shark lunch.”
They talked all the way to the cafeteria in Weinstein about how they couldn’t believe Dr. Edwards had been that obtuse about “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost.
“Here’s what I think,” Wyatt said as he finished off his lunch of a cheeseburger and fries, some of the only safe food in the cafeteria. “I think if you know more about a subject than your professor, you get to take their Ph.D. from them. Education should be like heavyweight boxing, but with Ph.D.s instead of belts.”
“So which one of us gets Edwards’s Ph.D.? I think Dr. Schreiber has a nice ring to it.”
“It does. You can have it because you spoke up first.”
“Yeah, but you gave the better argument.”
“You can have the Ph.D. if you’ll play doctor with me, Dr. Schreiber.”
“Did the shark forget to tell you I’m not available?”
“He told me, but he didn’t have many details so I’m not sure I can trust him as a source. Boyfriend?”
“Sort of.”
“Does he go here?”
“Nope. He’s in Europe right now defending his dissertation.”
“Older man, huh? I see how it is.”
“You see, huh?”
“Not even a shark can compete with an older man for a college girl. That’s like bringing a stealth bomber to a knife fight.”
“It gets worse.”
Wyatt winced dramatically.
“How much worse? Is he rich?”
“He’s gorgeous. It’s obscene how gorgeous he is. But he’s not rich. Not anymore. Went the low road, real job, not taking Dad’s money.”
“Poor by choice. God, I hate this guy. Tell me more.”
“Are you a masochist?”
He pointed at his eyebrow ring and the tattoos on his hands.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Eleanor said. “What do your tattoos say?”
“They’re in German. The right hand says—”
Before he could finish she grabbed his hand and yanked it across the table.
“Es war einmal,” she read. “Once there was …”
He handed over his left hand and she read aloud, “Und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute. And if they haven’t died, they are still living.”
“You know German?” Wyatt said, seeming to be in no hurry to take his hands away from her.
“German grandparents. You have the beginning and ending lines of German fairy tales tattooed on your hands.”
“Is that what those are? I walked into the shop and told them to give me whatever the special of the day was. That’s weird that tattoo parlors have those, right? I thought it was weird. You got any ink?”
“Not yet. I want to get the Jabberwocky tattooed on my back.”
Eleanor looked back and smiled at him, mouthing a thank-you. He gave her a nonchalant no-big-thing shrug.
When class finally ended, Eleanor grabbed her backpack off the floor and stuffed her book into it. She saw feet facing her feet. A note with her name on it appeared before her face. She looked up and saw Wyatt standing in front of her.
“It’s a very important note,” he said. “Life altering. Read at your own risk.”
“You’re kind of weird, Wyatt. You know that, right?”
“Should you be flirting with me, Elle? This is the first time we’ve talked, and I’m very shy and girls scare me. I’m probably still a virgin.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. She’d been practicing that in her mirror.
“Probably? You don’t know if you’re still a virgin or not?”
“I didn’t ask myself if I was or not. It’s a really personal question, and I don’t know myself well enough to bring it up.”
“I’m going to open the note now.”
“I wish you’d reconsider,” Wyatt said.
“I might need it for evidence in my criminal case against you.”
“Good point. Open it.”
She unfolded the paper.
“This is a shark, Wyatt. This is a drawing of a shark.” She held up the note.
“What? You don’t like sharks? What kind of person doesn’t like sharks?”
“I’m not saying I don’t like sharks. I’m saying I don’t know why you gave me a picture of a shark.”
“The shark asked me to.”
“Why did the shark ask you to give me a picture of it?”
“Because he thinks you’re beautiful, brilliant and he wants your phone number.”
Eleanor studied the shark. It was about as well rendered a shark as she could have drawn. For Wyatt’s sake she hoped he wasn’t an art major. Still, it was a cute shark with impressively large fins. He’d even given the shark a red Mohawk.
She folded the paper back up and handed it to Wyatt.
“Please tell the shark I’m sorry. I’m not available.” It shocked her how hard she had to work to force those words out.
Wyatt’s eyes clouded over for a split second, and she saw the hurt and disappointment behind the adorable mask of male arrogance.
“Can you and the shark maybe be friends?”
“I’ve never been friends with a shark before. Will he bite me?”
“If you ask nicely.”
“Worth a shot. Shark lunch?”
“Shark lunch.”
They talked all the way to the cafeteria in Weinstein about how they couldn’t believe Dr. Edwards had been that obtuse about “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost.
“Here’s what I think,” Wyatt said as he finished off his lunch of a cheeseburger and fries, some of the only safe food in the cafeteria. “I think if you know more about a subject than your professor, you get to take their Ph.D. from them. Education should be like heavyweight boxing, but with Ph.D.s instead of belts.”
“So which one of us gets Edwards’s Ph.D.? I think Dr. Schreiber has a nice ring to it.”
“It does. You can have it because you spoke up first.”
“Yeah, but you gave the better argument.”
“You can have the Ph.D. if you’ll play doctor with me, Dr. Schreiber.”
“Did the shark forget to tell you I’m not available?”
“He told me, but he didn’t have many details so I’m not sure I can trust him as a source. Boyfriend?”
“Sort of.”
“Does he go here?”
“Nope. He’s in Europe right now defending his dissertation.”
“Older man, huh? I see how it is.”
“You see, huh?”
“Not even a shark can compete with an older man for a college girl. That’s like bringing a stealth bomber to a knife fight.”
“It gets worse.”
Wyatt winced dramatically.
“How much worse? Is he rich?”
“He’s gorgeous. It’s obscene how gorgeous he is. But he’s not rich. Not anymore. Went the low road, real job, not taking Dad’s money.”
“Poor by choice. God, I hate this guy. Tell me more.”
“Are you a masochist?”
He pointed at his eyebrow ring and the tattoos on his hands.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Eleanor said. “What do your tattoos say?”
“They’re in German. The right hand says—”
Before he could finish she grabbed his hand and yanked it across the table.
“Es war einmal,” she read. “Once there was …”
He handed over his left hand and she read aloud, “Und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute. And if they haven’t died, they are still living.”
“You know German?” Wyatt said, seeming to be in no hurry to take his hands away from her.
“German grandparents. You have the beginning and ending lines of German fairy tales tattooed on your hands.”
“Is that what those are? I walked into the shop and told them to give me whatever the special of the day was. That’s weird that tattoo parlors have those, right? I thought it was weird. You got any ink?”
“Not yet. I want to get the Jabberwocky tattooed on my back.”
