Page 105 of The Equation of Us
Because the truth—the truth I haven’t admitted to anyone, barely even to myself—is that I didn’t just fall in love with Nora Shaw.
I fell in love with the future I could see with her. The one where we pushed each other to be better, challenged each other’s assumptions, built something stronger than either of us could create alone.
The one where I finally found someone who saw all of me—the control, the intensity, the drive—and wanted it, not in spite of those things, but because of them.
I close my eyes, exhaustion finally overtaking restless thought. Tomorrow, I’ll head back to campus. Back to classes and lab work and the waiting game of the Archer decision.
Back to a world where I might pass Nora in the science building, might see her across the quad, might have to pretend she’s just another student I once knew.
But tonight, in the anonymous darkness of this hotel room, I can admit the truth.
I miss her.
And I don’t know if that feeling will ever go away.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Variables Recalculated
Nora
I throw one final punch at the heavy bag, every muscle screaming in protest. Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging, but I don’t wipe it away. The physical discomfort is a welcome distraction from the dull ache that’s lived in my chest for the past two weeks.
“Time!” the instructor calls, and I drop my hands, sucking in air.
Strike class at the rec center has become my salvation—the only place where I can channel all the rage, frustration, and heartbreak into something that doesn’t involve crying in bathroom stalls or staring blankly at lab equipment.
“Shaw,” the instructor calls as we’re wrapping up. “Your form’s improving. Keep that wrist straight on the cross.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. It’s the first compliment I’ve received in weeks.
In the locker room, I unwrap my hands mechanically, wincing at the raw skin beneath. Everything hurts—knuckles, shoulders, the space between my ribs where my heart used to be.
When I check my phone, my stomach drops. Three missed calls from Professor Wexler.
After the initial academic misconduct hearing, things had reached an uneasy standstill. I was removed from the tutoring program but allowed to keep my research position, pending further review. Wexler had been professional but distant, clearly disappointed in me.
The Archer Initiative nomination had been the biggest question mark. “Under review,” they said. Which I assumed was administrative speak for “not going to happen.”
With trembling fingers, I call Wexler back.
“Professor? I saw you called.”
“Nora.” His voice is neutral, impossible to read. “I’ve just received word from the Archer committee. I wanted you to hear it from me first.”
I close my eyes, bracing for the final blow. “I understand.”
“They’ve decided to maintain your nomination.”
For a moment, I think I’ve misheard. “I’m sorry?”
“Your application will stand,” he says, a hint of warmth returning to his voice. “The committee received a… clarification regarding the complaint against you. They’ve determined that while your judgment could be questioned, your academic integrity remains intact.”
“A clarification?” My mind races. “What kind of clarification?”
“I believe the complainant retracted certain aspects of her complaint.” There’s a pause. “She indicated she acted emotionally and that the relationship in question, while perhaps ill-advised, did not impact the quality of the tutoring or involve any abuse of your position.”
Daphne. She went back to the committee. For me.
