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But by Sunday night at mass, I’d convinced myself that it hadn’t meant anything at all. To either of us. And if we could just consider it some weird wrinkle in time, a rip in the fabric of the continuum, we could even manage to pretend that it had never happened at all.

So come Monday morning, I allowed myself to attend classes in a haze of blissful denial. And every time my traitorous brain tried to recall images or memories of the incident, I’d brush them aside with meditative practice and refocus on whatever was happening in real life.

My last class of the day was Religious Philosophy and we were just about to release for the day when a young woman stepped into the room and approached the professor. They spoke for a moment then Professor Riggs pointed at me.

The girl walked over and handed me a note then walked back out. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I opened the note to find a request from Monsignor O’Shea to come to his office after class.

Fucking great.

“I think that does it for today,” Professor Riggs said, calling attention back to himself. “Have a good evening, everyone.”

I filed out the door with everyone else, turning right to head to the monsignor’s office, and knocking on his door when I reached it.

“Come in.”

I opened the door and smiled at him as he motioned for me to sit in a chair across from him. The same chair I’d been in the week before when he’d given me a death sentence.

“Good afternoon,” I said, nodding as I settled into the chair.

“How are things going with Mr. Hix?” he asked, apparently too busy for pleasantries.

Or, he knew what had happened and I’d been called in here to get yelled at. Or kicked out of school. Out of the seminary program. Out of the state maybe? Could he do that?

“What do you mean?” I asked nervously.

“What part of the question tripped you up?” He raised an eyebrow. “How is the tutoring coming along?”

“Right!” I prayed that my face hadn’t visibly flushed as the man stared at me. “It’s going well. I think he’s getting a better understanding of Faulkner. I didn’t read his paper, but I think he should do okay.”

“I heard from his professor this morning actually.” The monsignor smiled at me. “Apparently Mr. Hix did do quite well.”

I let out a soft sigh of relief. I’d given him pretty detailed notes, so I was glad that Trevor had been able to parlay that into a functional paper. And I was also glad that Monsignor O’Shea didn’t seem to know about…the incident.

“In fact, his teacher was impressed with Mr. Hix’s willingness to own up to his own faults.”

“I’m sorry?” I felt my brow furrow as I stared at Monsignor O’Shea in confusion. “What do you mean? It was a book report.”

“Well, it was a dissection of Faulkner’s characterization of humanity,” O’Shea said, his gaze locked on mine. “And the fact that of all the characters, Mr. Hix found himself best represented in Anse was quite a surprise.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’d told Trevor about Anse in the notes. Had he really not bothered to read those either?

“I didn’t write it for him,” I said.

“No, it never crossed my mind that you did,” he assured me. “But, he clearly didn’t do the full reading on his own, either.” O’Shea sighed. “I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t use an AI program, but I can’t help wondering what exactly this history between you two is really like.”

“Complicated,” I offered with a shrug.

“That much I’d figured out on my own,” he said sternly. “Mr. Simpson, if this partnership is going to be a problem for you, I would appreciate it if you’d tell me now, since you didn’t take the opportunity to do so when I first asked you this favor.”

“It’s not a problem,” I assured him. “To be honest, it was an offhand remark that I’m surprised he even remembered when he sat down to write his paper. I gave him notes, because the time constraints of the assignment didn’t allow for a full reading and breakdown together.”

“You believe Mr. Hix to be a simpleton and a hypocrite?”

“I believe he doesn’t try because he’s never had to,” I answered honestly, cringing at myself as I heard the bitterness leak out in my tone. “I think Trevor reserves actual work for the football field and expects the world to hand him everything else.”

With everything that happened in the past week, I thought it would be a bad idea to add lying to a priest to the list, so I didn’t bother trying to obfuscate how I felt about Trevor.

“Andy, why do you want to be a priest?”