Infinite Cashback System

Chapter 264: 264 | I Don’t Feel Much of Anything About You

Jordan could have said a lot of things. He could have told her that this version of him had always existed but had been buried under layers of insecurity and desperation. He could have told her that he’d been so focused on making her like him that he’d forgotten to be someone worth liking. He could have told her that watching her walk into that hotel with Cameron had broken something in him, and the pieces had reassembled into someone new.

Instead, he said: "Doesn’t matter now."

Eliza flinched like he’d slapped her.

"Jordan."

"We should focus on the outline." He pulled his laptop open and navigated to the assignment rubric. "Professor Delgado wants three main arguments with supporting evidence for each. I can take point on the economic data. You can handle the personal narrative angle, since you clearly have strong feelings about the topic. We’ll meet again Thursday to combine our sections."

Eliza stared at him.

Her carefully constructed expression had cracked completely. Beneath it, Jordan could see something raw. Something hurt. Something that looked almost like regret.

"Is this really how it’s going to be?" Her voice was quiet. "We’re just going to pretend the past didn’t happen?"

"The past happened. I’m just not interested in reliving it."

"I hurt you. I know that. I’m not stupid enough to think you’ve forgotten."

"I haven’t forgotten. I’ve just moved on."

"Moved on." Eliza repeated the words like she was tasting them. "To Chloe Kim."

Jordan’s jaw tightened. He forced it to relax again.

"That’s not relevant to the assignment."

"It’s relevant to me." Eliza leaned forward, and the cream top gaped slightly, and Jordan continued to not look. "You’re dating the most popular girl on campus. You’re walking around looking like you just stepped off a magazine cover. You’re having actual intelligent conversations about economics. What the hell happened to you?"

"I stopped being pathetic."

The words came out harsher than Jordan intended. Eliza recoiled like she’d touched something hot.

"I didn’t think you were pathetic."

"Yes you did. Everyone did. I did." Jordan met her eyes without flinching. "The guy who spent forty-five hundred dollars on a girl who wouldn’t even hold his hand in public? That guy was pathetic. That guy is gone. I don’t know what you were expecting from this meeting, Eliza, but if it was the old Jordan who would worship the ground you walked on, you’re going to be disappointed."

Silence.

Eliza’s eyes had gone shiny. Wet. Like she was fighting back tears that she was too proud to let fall.

"I wasn’t." Her voice cracked slightly. "I wasn’t expecting that. I just wanted to." She stopped. Started again. "I wanted to see if we could be friends. Or at least civil. I know I don’t deserve it. I know what I did was wrong. I just thought maybe."

She trailed off.

Jordan watched her struggle with words that clearly didn’t want to come out.

The old Jordan would have caved immediately. Would have rushed to comfort her. Would have apologized for making her feel bad about making him feel worse. The old Jordan had no spine, no self-respect, no ability to watch a pretty girl cry without falling all over himself to fix it.

The new Jordan sat back in his chair and waited.

"I’m sorry." Eliza said finally. The words sounded like they cost her something. "For everything. For using you. For lying to you. For what happened at the hotel. I was selfish and I was cruel and you didn’t deserve any of it."

Jordan considered the apology.

It sounded genuine. More genuine than anything Eliza had said to him in two months of fake relationship. Her makeup was starting to smear slightly at the corners of her eyes. Her carefully constructed appearance was crumbling under the weight of actual emotion.

"Okay." Jordan said.

"Okay?"

"I accept your apology. Now can we focus on the debate outline?"

Eliza stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

"That’s it? I just apologized for treating you like garbage for two months and you’re going to say okay and move on?"

"What else do you want me to say?"

"I don’t know. Something. Anything. Yell at me. Tell me I’m a horrible person. Tell me you hate me."

"I don’t hate you." Jordan pulled up a blank document on his laptop. "I don’t feel much of anything about you, honestly. You’re my debate partner for a sociology class. That’s the extent of our relationship now. Everything else is history."

Eliza’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

She looked like someone who had prepared for a war and found the battlefield empty.

"You’ve really changed." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"That was the point."

Jordan started typing the outline format into his document. Introduction. Argument one. Supporting evidence. Argument two. Supporting evidence. Argument three. Supporting evidence. Conclusion. The mechanical process of organizing information helped quiet the part of his brain that wanted to analyze the expression on Eliza’s face.

After a long moment, Eliza pulled her laptop closer and began typing as well.

They worked in silence for the next forty minutes.

Jordan assembled statistics about income inequality, social mobility rates, and the declining purchasing power of minimum wage. Eliza, despite her personal beliefs, put together surprisingly good material about the mythology of meritocracy and the ways successful people rewrite their own histories to minimize the role of luck and privilege.

When 2:45 arrived, Jordan saved his document and started packing his bag.

"I’ll email you my section by Wednesday." He stood and slung his backpack over his shoulder. "You can send me yours whenever it’s ready."

"Jordan."

He paused at the door.

Eliza was still sitting at the table. Her laptop was closed. Her hands were folded in front of her, fingers interlaced like she was praying or trying to keep them from shaking.

"The Powerade." She said. "I really did try to remember what you liked. I spent twenty minutes in the campus store trying to think of anything you’d ever mentioned about your preferences. And I realized I couldn’t remember a single thing. Not your favorite drink. Not your favorite food. Not your favorite movie. Nothing."

Jordan waited.

"I was with you for months and I don’t know anything about you." Her voice cracked again. "What kind of person does that make me?"

The old Jordan would have comforted her. Would have told her it wasn’t her fault. Would have found some way to take the blame onto himself.

The new Jordan opened the door.

"The kind of person who needs to figure that out on their own."

He walked out of the study room and didn’t look back.