After Math

by Denise Grover Swank

  He holds his hands out from his sides, his cocky attitude bleeding through his stance. “I’m here now.”

  “Good for you. I’m not.” I head for the door.

  Tucker follows behind, cutting in front of me and blocking the exit. “Scarlett.” My name rolls off his tongue, smooth as silk. I’m sure many a girl has given him much more than their attention when he’s used that voice. Fortunately for me, I’m not one of them. “Let’s just sit back down, and we’ll work during the time I have left.”

  “Tucker, if you don’t get out of my way, I’ll call campus security.”

  All eyes in the shop are on us. He shakes his head in disbelief. I’m quite certain he’s used to getting what he wants whenever he wants it. He’s not sure how to handle me.

  My throat tightens and my lungs burn for oxygen. My body wants to gasp for air, but I fight the sensation, focusing every speck of my attention on the puzzled blue eyes less than a foot in front of my face.

  We have a standoff, in the doorway of The Higher Ground coffee shop. People are outside the door waiting to get in, but Tucker’s hand is on the handle, preventing their entrance as well as my escape.

  I lift my chin and grit my teeth to keep them from chattering. “Get out of my way. Now.”

  He stares for another three seconds before he curses under his breath. His hand drops, and he takes a step back.

  Someone outside pulls the door open, and I push through the group, my eyes stinging from my unshed tears and the cold. I walk at a brisk pace until I get to the mathematics building, then find a back stairwell and sink to a step. Closing my eyes, I bury my face in my hands and give into a full-blown attack as the realization of my fate sinks in my head.

  I may have stood up for my principles, but I’ve just committed career suicide.

  Chapter Three

  After fifteen minutes of sitting on the stairs fighting to breathe, I feel like I’m ready to move. Thankfully, only a few people have passed me on the seldom-used staircase, and I’ve struggled to look relatively normal as they pass. As normal as someone sitting on the stairs crying can look.

  My scheduled time in the tutoring center is three to six on Wednesdays. If I’m not going to tutor Tucker, I may as well head back to the lab and face my fate. I doubt I’ll lose my job in the tutoring center, but Dr. Carlisle is bound to be disappointed in me despite the fact he said I wasn’t required to tutor Tucker. Still, I can’t help but wonder what it means for the department’s funding. As well as my résumé.

  After I make my decision to go upstairs, it still takes me another ten minutes to calm down enough to move off the step I’m perched on. I may be able to breathe again, but my nerves are raw and jittery.

  Dr. Carlisle isn’t in the room when I arrive. The other tutors are all busy with students who are waiting for assistance. I dive right in, helping with calculus and statistics problems. I keep glancing to the door, my anxiety rising as I wait for Dr. Carlisle to show up so I can share my bad news.

  When my shift is over, I stay half an hour later and help the last of the students. If nothing else, it will make up for the time I should have spent with Tucker. Dr. Carlisle still hasn’t returned, but I can fill him in on the details tomorrow. If the chancellor hasn’t beat me to it.

  I sigh and grab my bag, heading out the door. My study group meets off campus every Wednesday night at Panera, and I should be only a few minutes late. The sun has already set and the lights in the hall are dim, casting dark shadows. My gaze is lowered as I replay the incident with Tucker in my head. I don’t notice the person leaning against the wall.

  “Scarlett.”

  My feet stick to the floor, but I stumble as my body continues its forward momentum. My chest constricts when I see it’s him. Anger fueled my backbone earlier. Now I’m dealing with worry, and I know it’s not enough to face Tucker and stand my ground.

  “I’m sorry about this afternoon.”

  My mouth opens to answer him, but nothing comes out. I can’t say it’s okay, because it’s not. Instead, I wait.

  He takes a step toward me out of the shadows, and I notice right away his cocky swagger is missing. His shoulders are slumped in defeat. “Look, Scarlett, I screwed up. I was disrespectful of your time and rude to you when I finally got there. I know that I don’t have any right to ask this, but I’d really like for you to give me another chance.”

  I stare at him in shock, still unable to answer. Who is this person in front of me? Because it’s definitely not the Tucker Price I saw hours earlier. He sounds so formal, like he’s rehearsed his appeal. I shake my head to clear it. “I’m not the only person who can tutor you.” I pause to assemble my thoughts. “We’re just not a good fit, but don’t worry. I know at least two or three people who would jump at the chance.” Tina included.

  He takes another step closer, his eyes pleading. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

  I blink. “Why? I don’t understand. You don’t even know me.”

  “I know you’re not going to take my shit. Today was proof of that.”

  Anger blooms in my chest, catching me by surprise. “So today was a test? To see if I’d put up with your shit?”

  He grabs both sides of his head and shakes it. “No! That’s not it at all! I fucked up, okay?” His hands lower, and pain and fear fill his eyes. “I fucked up, just like I fuck up everything.”

  I swallow, unsure how to answer. His response is unlike anything I ever expected to hear from him.

  He takes my silence as encouragement. “Please, Scarlett. I swear to God I’ll be on time the next time.”

  “I still don’t understand. Why me?”

  His lips press together, and he runs his hand through his wavy blond hair. He sighs and gives me a sad smile. “You treat me like I’m everyone else. You’re not star-struck by Tucker Price, the soccer star.”

  My heart is softening.

  He cocks his head to the side. “Please. One more chance.”

  Something in his eyes melts the guard I have up. There’s something so familiar there. It’s as though I’m staring into a bottomless pit of regret and sadness. I groan, frustrated with myself for falling for this. “Okay.” The word flows out so softly even I have trouble hearing it.

  But he doesn’t miss it. His mouth lifts into a soft smile, and I realize he has a dimple in his right cheek. “Thank you.”

  I shift the strap of my messenger bag on my shoulder, hooking my thumb underneath to relieve some of the weight. “What do you have in mind? How much tutoring do you need?”

  “What do you suggest?”

  I know deep in my heart that I will regret this decision, yet I can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “You’re still struggling with the basic concepts of algebra. Let’s work on it two days a week, right after your algebra class while what you just learned is still fresh in your mind. If you need more, we’ll add another session.”

  He nods. “Yeah, that’s good.”

  “Why don’t you e-mail me your schedule, and I’ll tell you what will work. And we won’t meet at The Higher Ground. We can meet at the library since you have an aversion to the math lab.”

  The happiness fades from his eyes, and his breath shallows. “Not the library. Please. How about somewhere off campus then? Like Starbucks?”

  His reaction is odd. While I know people study better in different environments, I can’t help but wonder if this is a ploy to goof off in public again. “Fine. How about Panera?” I reason that while it’s still public, there are tables tucked to the side, whereas Starbucks is completely in the open.

  Relief floods his face. “Thanks, Scarlett.”

  I lift my chin and thrust my shoulders back, trying to show a strength I’m not currently feeling. “I will give you only one more chance, Tucker Price. And that’s one more chance than I give most people.”

  The emotion that flickers in his eyes is unreadable yet intense. He swallows and nods, but doesn’t say a word.

  I head to
ward the stairwell, and he falls in step behind me. When we reach the exit, he pushes the door open, and I look up at him with wariness. What’s he up to?

  He grins, a mixture of the Tucker upstairs just now and the Tucker from this afternoon. “I’m not some kind of stalker, I promise. I just happen to be going this way, too.”

  “Oh.” I’m an idiot. I walk through the door and head for the parking lot as he heads for the fitness center.

  The look in his eyes haunts me during the short drive to Panera. Why does he affect me so? Strangely enough, it’s not the way every other girl on campus reacts.

  The study group has already taken our usual table in the corner. Stephen looks up from our group of eight as I head to the counter to order a bowl of soup. In high school, it would have been every girl’s daydream to be in a study group with seven guys and two girls. But this is not your average study group. We’re all in Set and logic, and determined to pass this gauntlet to continue our degree path, which means we are hyper-focused on the work and not the company.

  Everyone but Tim, who has asked me out three times in the last year and a half. Each time I say no. Each time he says I’ll eventually see the logic and change my mind. He never says it with malice, merely with the surety of someone who has definite plans in life that for some bizarre reason include me.

  When I take my seat, everyone looks up from their notebooks.

  “Where have you been? You’re never late to anything.” Stephen pins me with a questioning gaze.

  I shrug. “There were people still waiting when my shift was over at six.”

  “We were just discussing Monday’s lecture.”

  We spend the next ten minutes going over our notes, but everyone’s eyes keep darting to me. I can feel my face reddening.

  When we move onto today’s lecture, I find it harder and harder to concentrate. My study group is usually a safe place, but tonight it feels like anything but. I lock eyes with Tim for a brief second then shift my gaze to the table next to us. “Why is everyone acting so weird?”

  “We heard about this afternoon.”

  When I turn back, all eyes are on me. Waiting for my response. The blood in my veins rises ten degrees. I set the pen in my hand on the table with a careful movement. As though the correct placement will affect the direction this conversation is headed. “What did you hear?”

  “That you blew off Tucker Price in The Higher Ground.”

  I stare at the pen, noticing the logo is partially hidden the way it is laying. I resist the urge to turn it. “He was late.”

  Tony, a quiet Asian boy, clears his throat. “We need that program, Scarlett.”

  My mouth parts in astonishment. Tony is the most non-confrontational person I know, even more so than I am. But seeing how we have the same career plans, he of all people knows how essential this program is to our résumés.

  Against my better judgment, I look up at their faces and realize the truth. They all know about the arrangement. Am I the mathematics concubine, offered to the soccer god as a payment?

  Without a word, I slide out of my seat, grab my books and pick up my bag.

  “Scarlett.” Miranda’s eyes are wide. “Where are you going?”

  “I have a headache.” I throw my trash away and walk out the door to my car.

  How have I gotten here? How has my life taken this detour? I know I’ve overreacted. They are huddled over their sandwiches and equations, worrying that meek Scarlett Goodwin has sabotaged their academic careers. I should have stayed and told them Tucker and I have worked out a new arrangement. That their lives are safe for now, but another part of me rebels.

  Screw them.

  I drive home and walk into an empty apartment. Caroline has an evening class on Wednesdays so I pull out my homework, searching for solace in numbers. Math is the one constant in my life, the one thing I can count on to always be the same. I brush the stray strands of hair from my face, ignoring how sad my life is if that statement is true.

  ***

  Tucker has algebra on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I schedule a session with him the next afternoon at three o’clock, at Panera.

  He’s sitting in a booth staring out the window when I pull up, his face void of expression. He doesn’t notice me as I walk in and order a bagel and a coffee. I stop several feet away and study him, trying to prepare myself for our session. He’s wearing jeans and a gray long-sleeve thermal shirt. His jacket is folded and in the seat next to him, his bag on top of it. His hair is tousled, as though the gusty wind blew the strands around, and he hadn’t thought to right it. It’s easy to understand why girls follow him around like lost puppies.

  I’ve stood here for several seconds, long enough to make it awkward if I’m caught. I sit across from him and offer him a small smile. He looks so sad, it pulls a thread on my heart.

  When he sees me, he instantly changes, a smile spreads across his face, and he holds his hands out from his sides. “On time. Early even.”

  I can’t help grinning. “I noticed.” And I also can’t help noticing his dimple.

  He opens his book. “Ready.”

  We spend fifteen minutes going over the orders of operation again and then move onto the lesson from today. His professor has covered linear equations using one variable, and he doesn’t understand how to use the multiplication and division properties of equality.

  “Tucker, what’s your major?”

  His face lifts, confusion crinkling his eyes. “History.”

  “Why history?”

  His mouth opens to say something then he unconsciously licks his lower lip. I’m sure most girls would drool over it, but I see a guy who’s suddenly lost his shield of confidence. Still, I can’t ignore the slight stir in my emotions from the movement. Finally, he shrugs. “I like history.”

  His answer is a lie, but I don’t see what good will come from pointing it out. “So what exactly do you like about history? It’s full of dates, which are numbers.”

  He shakes his head. “Not the numbers. They get scrambled in my head. That’s the hardest part.” He pauses. “I like the stories. People who did extraordinary things and people remember them. They’re not forgotten and lost forever.”

  I watch him as he speaks, the pain that flickers in his eyes.

  “Do you like soccer?”

  My question catches him by surprise. He blinks and sits up slightly. “Yeah. I’m good at it.”

  “I know you’re good at it. I asked you if you liked it.”

  His gaze turns out the window, and his mouth turns to a slight frown. “Do you know you’re the first person to ever ask me that question?”

  I realize he hasn’t answered, and although I’m curious, I refuse to invade Tucker’s personal life any more than necessary. “I’m trying to figure out how you learn. Some people are auditory learners, while others are kinesthetic. Most guys are visual.”

  He shoots me a wicked glance, and to my surprise, I’m happy to see his cockiness return. Sad Tucker makes me feel too personally involved.

  I lean forward, my forearms on the table. “I think there’s more to learning than just the senses. If we can tie learning to something we love, we can remember it, and it sticks in our heads longer. So then when we retrieve the information later, it’s easier to find. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what do you love? What excites Tucker Price?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize I’ve set myself up for a raunchy response.

  He ignores it. His jaw works, and he leans back against the seat, stretching his hands across the table. I notice the multiple scars on his knuckles and the back of his hand. “No one’s ever asked me that before either.” His gaze returns to the gray sky.

  While I wait for an answer that never comes, it occurs to me that he doesn’t know. As he shuffles through his thoughts, I search my own and ask myself the same question that no one has ever asked me.

  I press my head into the seat, stretching my hands out on t
he table top, and close my eyes. I’m surrounded by people every day, yet I always feel alone, no matter how hard I try to connect. It’s as though a veil has been thrown over my heart, and no one has ever been able to tear it down. Until this boy. This unattainable, untouchable, unreliable boy.

  My eyelids flutter open, and I see the despair I’ve stirred in him. My fingers flex, millimeters from his hand, his palms splayed on the table.

  For the first time, I feel genuinely connected to another human being and just my luck, it turns out to be Tucker Price.

  And that’s the saddest fact of all.

  Chapter Four

  “Scarlett, you look gorgeous!” Caroline squeals.

  I smile in the mirror, surprised I actually look pretty. My long dark hair is loosely curled, and I’m wearing makeup. Caroline has lent me a silky shirt and pair of boots to wear with my jeans. I have to admit that I don’t look anything like the real me. I feel like I’m dressed for a masquerade.

  Tina stands in the doorway. “Let’s hope Tim doesn’t see you tonight or he might become more aggressive in his pursuit.”

  I laugh. “It’s far more likely an asteroid will crash into the earth and send us into another ice age than I’ll see Tim Wilson at this party tonight.”

  “Thank God,” Caroline mutters. She stuffs her makeup brushes into a small bag. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Huge winged creatures battle in my stomach as I go into the living room.

  “Calm down, Scarlett.” Caroline laughs, handing me my coat. “They usually reserve the waterboarding torture for later in the night. I’m sure you’ll be safely tucked in bed before then.”

  “And hopefully with some good-looking guy,” Tina adds.

  I ignore Tina’s ridiculous statement. I suspect Caroline would go batshit crazy if I actually slept with some guy tonight. Her goal for me tonight is to actually go to the party and hopefully meet a guy. She’s been coaching me on what to do and not do all evening, knowing how awkward I can be in unfamiliar situations. The benefit and the curse of our friendship is that she knows me better than anyone. I force a smile at Tina. “Is it that obvious I’m nervous?”