THERE'S NO WAY ❥ JACKSON AVERY

THREE

She used one of her small bowls to help her plate the rice into a nice mound, putting the egg on top and the others around it in a circle. She placed it on the coffee table and then went back for the mugs of coffee she had brewed for them, with creamer—hers a lot more than his.

By the time she was done setting the coffee table, he came back out. The water droplets on his shirt and how some of his hair near his forehead was wet confirmed her theory.

His face lit up in an excited smile when he actually looked down at the food. "This used to be my favorite parts of going to your house on the weekends back in high school," he said, sitting down next to her on the sofa, making her left side dip in as the cushions dented with his weight. "Your mom always made this."

"Your favorite part about coming to my house was red hotdogs and tocino, and not me?" she inquired.

"Oh, and Ryder and Hannah, they were usually there, too," he messed with her, which resulted in her shifting her weight all the way to her left, swinging herself into him. "Hey, keep your hands to yourself."

"That was my shoulder," she said, which he mocked her, repeating what she said in his high-pitched whine while shaking his head back and forth like a toddler.

She shoved him with her shoulder again.

"So, what did your parents say when you were moving out here?" he asked.

She paused, thinking about the conversation she had with them a few weeks ago when the move was beginning. 

I don't approve of this. His family doesn't even like us.

Which was partially a lie. Catherine Avery loved Blair. 

She swallowed even though there was no food in her mouth. Jackson furrowed his eyebrows at her in confusion, staring at her as he waited for a response.

"You know parents," she let out a forced laugh. "No matter how old you are, they never want you to fly the nest."

"You flew their nest when we left high school," Jackson replied, waiting for her to tell him what really happened.

"Yeah, to a nest super close to their nest," she replied, playing with her food. She shook her head, knowing he wanted to know more. "Don't worry, we're fine."

The way she said it was all he needed to know it wasn't, but he knew better than to push her. He looked around the apartment, switching the conversation.

"So, what things was it that you needed me to move around?"

The answer was: well, everything. She had asked them to place her bookshelves, which were the perfect height to go under her window sill without blocking it, under the window. Instead, the movers had placed them in the corner on the same wall as the window. The next thing was her couch. It wasn't perfectly in the middle, which bothered her. Then, in her bedroom, her bed also wasn't perfectly in the middle.

She helped him move them, of course. In her Boston apartment, rearranging things was easier since she had wooden floors. She had thrown felt patches on the legs of everything and was able to slide them around, but on carpet? No sliding, if she tried to push them, they would just tip over. If she tried hard enough.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The beginning of the semester rolled around quicker than anticipated, which meant: time to get her professor on. The interview process had been long and extensive, she had to interview first with the head of the English department, and then candidates were compiled. 

Normally there were rounds where they would go into classes and take up about fifteen minutes of their time being interviewed by a faculty member, another professor, and answering student questions.