ANYTHING BUT ENEMIES

30. another group assignment

IT'S DONE.

Restless nights hunched over my laptop and the incessant chatter of Nicholas Murphy have led up to this moment.

I slip the piece of paper off the top of the copy machine in the hotel lobby, breathing in the warm smell of fresh ink.

The group project is finally over.

And I'm not gonna lie—I think the outcome is pretty damn good.

It'd taken quite a bit of back and forth editing until Nick and I were finally able to decide on a final draft we both liked—a short piece on the fragility of human life.

No aliens included.

I tuck the sheet into my folder before heading back upstairs, almost bumping into Ruby on my way onto the elevator.

"You finished it?"

I wave my folder at her in answer. "Yeah, it's about time."

"You're telling me. I'm so lucky I didn't end up with Nick."

"You know, I preferred it when you were calling me brave instead of praising your own good fortune."

She leans back into the elevator to click our floor for me before moving back to wave goodbye between the sliver of the closing doors. I flash her a wry smile before settling back into the metal box.

On my way up, the elevator comes to a halt, and the door slides back to reveal Marty.

"Oh, hey, Cleo. What're you up to?"

"I just finished printing this godforsaken flash fiction piece. What about you?"

He lets the doors slide back without clicking a button, letting the car clatter up to my floor. "I have to ask Dane some final questions about ours. He's so difficult to work with." Then he adds, "And bossy."

I snort. "Him and Nick are a fucking match made in heaven then."

"Huh, no kidding."

We both step off as the elevator comes to a halt, and I take my time fishing out the key to my door as Marty knocks on the one across the hall.

The door beeps open far sooner than I would like as my card flashes the sensor green, and before I know it, I'm inside my unit, peering through the peephole to see Dane.

Like the loser I am.

He opens the door in a few seconds, looking incredibly bored and frustratingly put together as he gestures for Marty to come inside.

For a split second, his eyes land on my door, and I shrink back with the irrational fear that he may have caught me staring at him. But a second later, he's back inside and the door's closing with a thud.

I haven't talked to him in three days—that is, at least not outside of the daily meetings. And even then, we fall back into the usual pattern: glaring, biting remarks, snide comments, secretive rude gestures. We'd never quite addressed exactly what the hell had happened at the museum.

Why he'd walked me to the bathroom to help wipe the smudged makeup from around my eyes.

Or why he'd disappeared right after that. Pretended it never happened. Just like the nosebleed. Or the pool. Or the kisses.

Goddammit, I must be losing my mind.

Despite being aware that I'm losing it, I can't help but wonder what Dane will think about the piece when he reads it. Wonder what him and Marty have been able to come up with so far. Wonder if he'll like mine—be able to see the effort I put into fighting Nick into submission. Bullying him into letting me use my artistic vision.