After Math (2 page)

I wait for a sarcastic comment to follow but none it doesn’t come.

We spend the next half an hour starting with the basics of mathematic operations. He’s focusing on what I’m telling him, but the concepts are slow to sink in, and he’s frustrated.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get it. The problem is that everyone’s brain is wired differently. Some gravitate to words and concepts. Others are hardwired for facts and logical order. The human brain is capable of both. We just need to figure out how to activate your brain.”

“So I’m a cyborg?” he teases, but it’s not cocky or arrogant. He’s sweet. And so unlike his public persona.

“If you were, you wouldn’t need me.” I grin. “We’re the ones who tell our brains we are incapable. Maybe you need to tell yourself that you
are
capable.”

He watches me for a moment, his palm resting on his closed book. “When are you in here again?”

“Why?”

“I want you to tutor me. No one’s taken the time to work with me the way you have.” I wonder if he’s flirting, but he seems serious.

“Uh…I work tomorrow from three to six.”

He scowls. “Do you do private lessons?”

I shake my head, now worried where this is going. I thought
this
Tucker, the one I’ve spent the last half hour with, was too good to be true. “No. I only work here in the lab.” I force a smile. “But there’s always someone here who is more than capable of helping you.”

“You like that word. Capable. You’ve said it multiple times.”

I’m caught off guard and a blush rises to my cheeks. My gaze falls to my folded hands on the table. “Maybe it’s because I think we tell ourselves that we can’t when we should be telling ourselves that we can.”

I refuse to face him, instead pretending that my hangnail is fascinating. Several seconds pass before I make myself look up.

Tucker’s blue eyes flicker with confusion and surprise. He gives me a soft smile before he scoops up his books, grabs his backpack, and walks out of the lab.

He must think I’m weird, the brainy math geek, and part of me is glad. I’ve always steered clear of guys like him, and I have no intention of changing. Guys like him were who Momma and my sister ended up with. Smooth talkers who took your money, screwed you until the next piece of ass came along, and then left you pregnant and living in a trailer park for the rest of your life. I’m running away from my past, creating my own future. There is no room for men like him, or for self-destructive relationships. With my schedule and drive to succeed, I don’t really consider dating much at all, not that I have men begging me to go out. The male math majors have either tried or considered me untouchable. They leave me alone, and I like it that way. Only classes, work and mathematics. The logic of math will never let me down.

I stay several more hours, helping other students before my shift ends. I pack up my stuff and head for the exit. “See you tomorrow.”

“Scarlett, wait.” Dr. Carlisle calls out of his office. He gets out of his chair and stands in the doorway. “I saw you helping Tucker Price earlier. How did it go?”

I shrug. “He doesn’t understand some of the basic rules. But despite the impression he likes to give, he’s capable of learning the material. I think he just needs repetition.”

“And how comfortable were you with him?”

I know what he’s asking. Dr. Carlisle is well aware of my anxiety disorder. Although we don’t discuss personal relationships, my preference for not dating is well known in the math department. And the entire school knows Tucker’s penchant for trying to get every girl in school out of their panties.

“It actually went really well. He surprised me.”

He smiles and leans against the doorframe, looking relieved. “Good to know, because I received a phone call from the chancellor. He wants you to personally tutor Tucker Price. Outside the math lab.”

My mouth drops. “
What
?”

“The chancellor himself called, Scarlett. You know the department is up for funding for the new computer program. This could…”

Bile burns my throat. The university needs Tucker to keep his eligibility. The math department needs funding. If I can help the university with the former, they’ll help with the latter.

Damn it.

I nod with a jerk. “Okay.”

“You can tutor him during your scheduled lab hours if you like.” He sighs and his brow wrinkles with worry. “Scarlett, if you don’t feel comfortable—”

“No, I’m fine. It will be fine. I can do it.” But it won’t be fine. And I’m sure I can help him as long as I’m dealing with the Tucker from this afternoon. But if I’m dealing with the Tucker I saw in the lunch room, then I’m screwed.

But then again, part of me knows I’m screwed either way.

Chapter Two

Caroline is at our apartment when I get home. She’s curled up on the sofa with an afghan and a bowl of mac and cheese, watching
Gossip Girl
on Netflix. Other than my family, Caroline has known me longer than anyone. Before college, the trailer park in which we grew up was the one commonality that linked us. But while we were friends in grade school, in our high school years we were more acquaintances. Caroline hovered on the periphery of the popular crowd, not quite breaking in because of her address. By high school, I had retreated from everyone and everything, focusing on my goal of graduating with honors and getting a scholarship to college. When we realized we were both going to the same college, we ended up rooming together, then became best friends. We left Shelbyville behind, and we’re all that we have left of our past. Now we’re more like sisters than friends. We’re our own little family.

“Bad day?” I ask.

She twists her mouth to one side but doesn’t answer.

Caroline says her goal in life is to be Blair Waldorf, headbands included. Not surprising since she’s a fashion major. But in the two and a half years we’ve lived together—freshman and sophomore years in the dorm and our junior year in our apartment—I’ve learned that her
Gossip Girl
marathons are her clue that something’s wrong.

“Is the sidewalk at the bottom of the stairs still flooded?” she asks, licking her spoon.

The rain has come down in sheets off and on all day. Still, the question seems random. “Yeah.”

She scowls. “Damn. I wanted to wear my new suede boots tomorrow.”

I shake my head as I scoop up a bowl of the mac and cheese. “It’s January in Tennessee, Caroline. It’s wet and cold. What’s tomorrow?”

She shrugs, but one side is higher than the other. She has a reason but doesn’t want to tell me. “How was geek lab?”

I shove her feet off the sofa to sit next to her, but she puts them in my lap, and I pull the corner of her throw over the both of us. “
Math lab
was fine, although I tutored an interesting student.”

Laughing, Caroline leans over and scoops some macaroni from my bowl. “Interesting student. In the math lab.” She eats my noodles and shrugs. “I give up. I got nuthin’.”

“Tucker Price.”

Her eyes narrow, and her mouth puckers around her spoon. “Yeah, right.”

“Ever heard of
academic probation
?”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.” I give her a smug smile. “And guess who will start privately tutoring him?”

She bolts upright. “Shut. Up.”

Ever since I’ve agreed to do this, I’ve been trying to see this in a positive light. The mathematics department needs the new program that maps arbitrary complex functions, and experience with this program will look fantastic on my résumé. I already have the disadvantage of Southern University being a relatively small school with a slightly above-average mathematics department. Besides, I tutor students one-on-one all the time. Why is tutoring Tucker any different? To my surprise, Tucker wasn’t the cocky asshole I’m used to hearing about. As long as he checks his attitude at the door, I can live with tutoring him.

I shrug. “He wasn’t anything like I expected. He was… polite.”

Sinking back into the cushions, an ornery grin lights up her face and she scoops several noodles. “Oh, he’s
polite
all right.”

“Not like that. Kind of quiet. Other than a few slips into character, he was…normal.”

“Are we talking about the same Tucker Price? Blond with incredible blue eyes? About six foot? Stunning legs when he wears those soccer shorts? Guy who flaunts his good looks and his
sportsmanship
?”

“Good Lord. Is everything a sexual innuendo to you tonight?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, it was the same guy. Different personality.”

“Shh!” She grabs the remote and increases the volume. “Chuck’s about to trade Blair for a hotel.”

My jaw drops. “You’re kidding, right?” I’ve never been able to get into
Gossip Girl
, despite Caroline’s multiple and relentless attempts to sway me to the dark side. As a poor girl from the other side of the tracks, I just can’t relate to spoiled rich kids. Or maybe it’s the spoiled, rich bad boys I’m trying to avoid. Why anyone would willingly subject themselves to that type of person is beyond me.

“Want to talk about anything?” I ask.

Tears fill her eyes, but she shakes her head.

“I’m here if you need me, okay?”

She gives me a tearful smile, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders, leaning my head into hers. I suspect her despondency is related to her breakup from her boyfriend, Justin. He broke up with her several months before, but she’s still not over it. She’ll talk when she’s ready, probably in another hour or two.

I force myself off the sofa, not an easy task since it’s so cozy under the afghan with Caroline. “I’ve got some equations to work on.”

Caroline fakes a snore.

I put a hand on my hip and look down my nose at her. “Don’t the nerdy-math jokes ever get old?”

She twists her mouth to the side as though she’s giving it thought. “Nope. Never do.”

“I could tease you mercilessly about your fashion design degree. Tons of fodder there.”

“Go for it.” She grins with exaggerated glee, the tears still in her eyes. My heart breaks for her, yet I don’t know what to do to help her get over this awful pain. For the moment, we ignore the elephant in the room.

“Turns out I’m a nicer person than you,” I call out to her as I walk down the hall to my bedroom.

“You just keep telling yourself that.”

I turn my desk light on then lie down on my bed and listen to the ping of the rain on my window, taking a deep breath. I try to do my relaxation exercises every night to help my overall anxiety, and the soothing sound of the rain helps.

One of many godsends about college was my access to free counseling. After struggling to control my anxiety since the sixth grade, I was grateful to find ways to not only cope with it, but improve my life. I can thank Caroline for making me go only a few weeks into our freshman year after she found me lying on my bed struggling to breathe during a panic attack.

My therapist taught me to use guided imagery to help reduce anxiety before a potential situation that makes me nervous, but I also like to do it after situations that upset me. I relive what happened and reimagine how I wanted it to go. I focus on the incident in Western civ and how I should have appropriately responded to being late—walking in without feeling embarrassed. When people turn their attention to me, I smile and walk to my seat. But when I think about how I should have reacted to running into Tucker, my anxiety rises. I know the situation would have been humorous to anyone else. Why do I have to make such a big deal of it? But whenever I try to relive how I should have handled it, I see Tucker’s face in the student union. The disinterest. The sadness in his eyes. I hardly even know him so I’m not sure why I care.

Perhaps it’s because I see the same expression every morning when I look in the mirror.

With a sigh, I sit upright and take my long, dark hair out of its ponytail, then run my fingers through the strands. I’m imagining things. That’s the thing about people: you never really know where they stand. You have to rely on gestures and social cues, and still, you really don’t know.

I move to the desk and get out my homework. Anxious prickles have poked the back of my neck since I began thinking about Tucker. I pull out my book and study the equation for my linear algebra class. As I write the numbers onto the paper, my shoulders begin to unfurl, my tension fading away. Some people knit or read to relax. I do math problems. My mother and little sister never let me live it down when I was younger, making fun of my love of arithmetic. With math, as long as you have all the necessary factors, you can find the answer. Life, on the other hand, is so much messier.

I stay up another two hours working on my equations before I quit for the night. When I go into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, Caroline’s exactly where I left her hours ago. She doesn’t comment when I pass her on my way to the kitchen.

I grab a pint of Ben & Jerry’s from the freezer along with two spoons and sit next to her on the sofa, throwing the afghan over my legs. I toss the lid onto the coffee table and hand Caroline a spoon.

She digs in, eating several bites before she finally talks. “I saw him today. With someone else. It’s been three months, Scarlett. Why is it so hard to see him?”

I’ve never been in a relationship that I wanted to stay in, but I know the pain she went through when they broke up. The pain she still goes through. “Three years is a long time to be with someone, Caroline. I’m sure it takes time to get over it.”

“I don’t like feeling this way. It hurts too much.”

“Maybe you should start dating again.” I’m not really sure it’s an appropriate response, but I can’t stand to see her this miserable. This moping person isn’t the vivacious girl that took the campus by storm her freshman year. The girl I knew when we grew up together. Hiding out in our apartment for the last several months has made her more like me, a terrifying thought. “If nothing else, you need to get out and at least go to parties again.”

She sits up and points her spoon at me. “You know, Scarlett. I think you’re on to something. It just so happens I’ve been invited to a party at a guy named Kyle’s house Friday night.”