Project Hero

by Briar Prescott

  “The library?” he asks. He’s full-on laughing at me now, and if I felt indifferent toward him before, I now fully support Falcon in his hate for the guy.

  “Me,” I snap.

  He cocks his head to the side and studies me like I’m a fascinating creature on display in a circus. “Nah,” he finally says. “I don’t feel like it.”

  “But… you’re not even using it for its intended purpose,” I sputter. “You can notify your followers or stalkers or whoever of your whereabouts from anywhere. You don’t need to be in this particular seat for it. I’m sure they’d be happy to murder you in a place that has fewer witnesses.”

  “There are available seats all around here. I don’t see why you need that specific seat either,” he reasons. My hackles rise because he’s so calm, and I’m teetering on the edge of losing it.

  “But it’s my seat,” I grit out, well aware that my argument is as thin as a layer of graphene but not ready to give up yet either.

  Law leans back in his chair with a calculating look in his eyes. “What is this seat worth to you?” he asks.

  I’m not an idiot. I guess I have above-average intelligence in some areas of my life, but most of that pertains to science. That intelligence, however, is counterbalanced by my complete and total lack of understanding when it comes to social situations. Like right now. What does Law mean? Does he want me to offer him money for the seat? Is this a thinly veiled threat and I’m supposed to start running so I don’t get beaten up? Or is he…

  “Are you coming on to me?” I blurt out the most ridiculous option that comes to mind and immediately wish the library floor would open up and suck me into a black hole because the guy loses it. There’s no other word to describe what is happening to him. He laughs so hard there are actual tears running down his cheeks. If there ever was a time to carry out seppuku, this is it. If only I had something sharp within reach.

  “Okay. Thanks for the humiliation,” I say. “This should last me a good while.”

  I turn around to flee the premises, and jump in a lake while I’m at it, but Law stops me with a hand. “Don’t leave. I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh or insinuate that the idea is ridiculous. It was just unexpected. You surprised me. Not many people manage to do that. Let’s just say that your guess was the opposite of what I was planning.”

  I squint. His fingers are wrapped around my wrist, and although I’m now officially a first-class passenger on the Law Anderson hate train, it’s hard not to get sidetracked by how freaking handsome the guy is.

  His black hair is messy like he’s in the habit of combing through it with his fingers. He has that whole square jaw, high cheekbones look going on, which is my kryptonite. And as if that wasn’t enough, he has the most piercing, emerald-green eyes I’ve ever seen on a person. There must be some Irish somewhere in his gene pool because he definitely looks the part.

  I frown. Good looks will not sway me. I’m not that shallow of a person. I pull my hand free and glare at Law.

  “What exactly were you planning, then?” I ask because, damn it, I’m curious.

  “You’re Andy Carter,” he says. He doesn’t ask it. He’s stating a fact.

  I stare at him. It’s my turn to be surprised. Law Anderson knows my name? How? Why? Since when? And, oh yeah, how?

  Immediately, my brain decides that over-the-top paranoia is the way to go. Has he been following me? Did he know it was my seat before he took it? Why is Law Anderson even here, talking to me? It could be an elaborate prank. Why on earth he’d want to prank me is a mystery on its own, but thanks to my sisters, I’ve seen a lot of romantic comedies set in high school, so I’m willing to entertain outlandish scenarios. Of course, pretending to be interested in me just to humiliate me later doesn’t seem like it would serve any purpose. There’s nothing interesting about me. I did get some fascinating results in my experiment on lattice vibration last week, but I doubt Law is here for that information.

  Unless he’s doing it to find out something about Falcon. Why would he, though? It’s not like he’s a spy and Falcon is some kind of secret agent with classified information hidden in a briefcase under his bed.

  Or is he?

  I force my errant mind to stop throwing idiotic thoughts at me because it’s getting ridiculous even for my standards. Coming for me because of Falcon still seems plausible, though. Granted, it seems farfetched and like a waste of time on his part. Then again, what the hell do I know about feuds? The whole not-liking-a-person-because-he-plays-a-different-sport thing is pretty stupid, to be honest. Not that I would ever tell that to Falcon. Go Wildcats.

  While I’m busy reeling in the crazy, Law starts to look unsure of himself. Whether it’s because he’s questioning if he has the right person or if he is realizing the right person is a head case is anybody’s guess.

  “I am,” I finally say.

  He nods, still weary, but I can’t really blame him. “Good. Okay. This is going to sound weird, but I would like to offer you a job.”

  He’s right. It does sound weird. And my brain is off again, conjuring up another set of ideas that are way too out there for even the most dedicated conspiracy theorists.

  What a great day it is turning out to be.

  2

  Law

  The guy stares at me like jobs are a foreign concept. It goes on for a long time, but eventually, he snorts and rolls his eyes. “Hah. Good one. And now, would you please be so kind as to get the hell out of my seat?”

  What is this weird obsession he has with this damn chair? I have no idea, but it seems like it’s the bargaining chip I have for this exchange, so I stay put. I do stand up, though. To even the playing field. I plant my hands on the back of the chair and lean forward.

  “I need help,” I say.

  He snorts again. “Do I look like somebody who’s good at sports?” he asks.

  “No,” I say way too quickly and immediately wish I could take it back. I should be buttering up the guy, not insulting him.

  He doesn’t seem to be that bothered, though, as he nods and says, “Exactly.” He moves to his desk, which is right behind the one I’ve been using for the past hour and a half while I waited for him to show up. I’ve gone full-on stalker on the dude. I have a picture of him, taken at some kind of a party, and I’m armed with the knowledge that I’ve gathered over the last few days.

  Andy Carter. Twenty-two. Majors in physics. Can be found in the library every day, even though it’s the end of the semester, and we’re heading for the summer break. I’ve been trying to track Andy down for three days. It hasn’t been smooth sailing. I’m volunteering at a hockey camp this summer, and the meetings and preparations have taken up a lot of my time. Still, I’ve been in the library every day, waiting for Andy.

  It seems like a lot of trouble to go through for one guy, but there’s a reason for that. Baril University prides itself on giving all the students a well-rounded education, which is not a bad thing at all. Baril has prerequisites for math and science, and there are several core subjects everybody has to take. It’s not exactly stuff for beginners most of the time and bad news for those who hoped they could leave physics and chemistry behind them once high school was over. Most people can deal with it because Baril U is a good school, and you need a certain amount of gray matter to even get in.

  There have always been people who need a little extra help, and it’s generally easy enough to find tutors. That is to say, it was easy enough until the appointment of Professor Robert Shaw last year. He teaches physics, and he’s the sole reason every one of our rookies flunked physics this spring term. All seven of them. Rumor has it the dean forced Shaw’s hand so he would take on the class in the first place, which is why he’s failing people as revenge.

  I’m not sure if it’s that, or if he’s just a mean old bastard, and the reason doesn’t really matter. What matters is that he’s failed a good number of people on my team, and if they don’t get their shit together, come fall, we’ll fail o
n ice because I won’t have players. The rule is, you can’t play when your GPA is lower than 3.0, and a failing grade in physics brings some of those guys dangerously close.

  So far, I’ve found them a couple of different tutors, but they’ve all been more or less useless. I was getting desperate until I went to the physics department in person and started harassing people. It turns out Shaw has a student who helps him in the lab, and who Shaw seems to like. Every person I talked to said that Andy Carter is essentially the Holy Grail and the solution to all my problems.

  And that’s the short version of how I ended up stalking Andy Carter. The way I see it, Andy is my last hope. He knows Shaw. Knows his demands. He has never failed Shaw’s class, and I’m hoping he can explain the material so that the guys will get it. He’s my Hail Mary.

  I sound dramatic, but there’s a reason for that, too. I need the team to be successful because my career depends on it. If I’m ever going to coach an NHL team, I need a fantastic track record. I’m already at a disadvantage because I’m twenty-four and was forced to quit playing before I ever got to set skate on NHL ice, but I’ll be damned if I let that stop me. I will fight, and I will succeed, and the first step on that journey is to get Andy Carter to help me.

  Now that I’m face to face with Andy, I have to admit, there’s something vaguely familiar about him. I’m about seventy percent sure I’ve seen him before, but for the life of me, I can’t remember where.

  He looks pretty… scruffy, for lack of a better word. He’s wearing sweats and a T-shirt that has a large picture of Beyoncé with the words Who run the world? Physicists! on it.

  He has a lot of hair. And I do mean a lot. It’s around his head like a lion’s mane, only darker, and I don’t think any self-respecting lion would keep it that messy. He’s kind of skinny, although it’s hard to tell because of the large T-shirt, but if there’s any muscle mass under the clothes, it’s well hidden. He’s shorter than me by a few inches, so he has to lift his head a bit to look at me. The move makes the hair fall back and gives me the opportunity to see that eyes are definitely Andy Carter’s best characteristic. They’re silvery gray. Lighter than most eyes that color, piercing and intense. They’re mesmerizing, and due to the glasses, the eyes only seem that much bigger.

  He’s scowling at me, which reminds me, I should explain my offer before he takes off. “I need a physics tutor,” I say, hoping there’s some kind of magic in the air that would make Andy smile and go all, Sure, dude. When and where? I’m your guy.

  Alas, that does not happen, and Andy scowls harder. “I’m not a tutor,” he says instead and tries to leave. Again.

  I stop him. Again. At this point, we’re pretty much holding hands. “I don’t need just any tutor,” I say. “People tell me you’re the best, so I want you.”

  There was a TA who told me Andy is working for Shaw and possesses a magical ability to, and I quote, dumb things down to an extent that everybody gets them. From what I’ve seen so far with the tutoring sessions, I’m in desperate need of that exact quality.

  I have no idea how I’ll get this guy to agree to help me, but for starters, I figure a little flattery goes a long way. It seems to work because Andy flushes and blinks, but just as quickly, the scowl is back, bigger and meaner than ever.

  He shakes his hand loose and glares at me. “That’s not possible. People don’t know who I am.”

  The weird way he phrases it stumps me for a second, but I wave it off and persevere. I need him, damn it, and I’m going to get him.

  Andy marches to his desk and starts stuffing his belongings in his backpack. I follow him there. “Hear me out. Let’s get a coffee and I’ll explain the situation.”

  Andy finishes stuffing his laptop into his bag and hikes the battered, black backpack over his shoulders.

  “I’ll pay you, of course,” I hurry to add, and that makes him stutter in his steps. I almost feel disappointed that, once again, money will help me solve this problem. Without even realizing it, I had kind of wanted Andy to differ from other people.

  Should he do it out of the goodness of his heart? My brain is a snarky dick sometimes.

  Meanwhile, Andy’s jaw twitches as he seems to reconsider my offer. He doesn’t look at me, instead concentrating on some point over my shoulder.

  “How much?” he asks, voice strained.

  I can almost taste the victory. Now I just need to make the dollar amount enticing enough to seal the deal. Since there are multiple people in need of tutoring, I can be generous with money, so I say, “A hundred bucks an hour.”

  Andy’s shoulders fall as he meets my gaze. There’s reluctant interest there. It’s clear as day. “How many hours per week?”

  I scratch the back of my head. Enough for them to pass doesn’t seem like a good answer, but I figure a lot is definitely the way to go. Once a month will not cut it, even though some of the guys would definitely go for it.

  “Two?” I suggest.

  Andy seems even more conflicted as he pulls out a chair and sits back down. “What do you need tutoring in again?” he asks.

  I let out a breath. I’ve done it. Not that it’s exactly a surprise. When I put my mind to something, I usually succeed. It’s that simple. Still, for a moment there, I thought I would have to waste a lot more time to convince Andy. It’s a relief this whole process is going this smoothly.

  “Well, I don’t need tutoring,” I explain as I pull a chair and sit down on the other side of the desk. “My team does.”

  “Your team,” Andy says while blinking at me like an owl through his glasses and all that hair.

  “The hockey team,” I explain. “Some of them flunked Freshman Physics with Shaw, so they’re retaking it this summer.”

  “Shaw,” Andy repeats with understanding dawning in his eyes.

  “Yeah. I mean, you’re a physics major. You know the material, right?”

  He gives me an annoyed look. “Of course I know Freshman Physics. It’s the easiest class there is,” he scoffs as I try to hide my smile at the wounded pride.

  “Great. So I’ll tell the guys you agreed. We’ll do it at the house they’re renting. The living room has plenty of space for it. Or do you prefer a classroom?” I ask.

  “A classroom?” he all but squeaks.

  “I’m sure I could arrange something,” I go on, determined not to give him a chance to refuse. “You should also give me a list of things you might need. Like a whiteboard or something like that? I don’t have desks and such, but if that’s something you need tell me, and I’ll find them. Also—”

  “Whoa!” Andy’s voice is loud, and he raises his hands like I’m a spooked horse, even though he’s the one that looks alarmed and ready to bolt. I stop talking. He looks overwhelmed, so I wait him out.

  “How… how many people are there exactly?” he asks.

  I scratch my head. “Seven. Two of them are scraping by, but five need serious help because Shaw is not great at simplifying concepts, and physics is not their strongest subject.”

  “Seven,” he repeats to himself. “Seven.”

  And then he’s out of his seat like a bolt of lightning. I’m honestly shocked he can even move that fast. “Can’t do it,” he declares and all but runs off. I take off after him, but I’ve left my jacket, my phone, and my earbuds on Andy’s desk and with the time it takes me to retrieve them, Andy is gone.

  “Fuck me,” I mutter as I stuff my things into my jacket pockets. I throw the thing on, and just as I’m about to leave, I see something under Andy’s desk. He’s dropped his wallet. I pick it up.

  It looks like recruiting Andy Carter will take more effort than I thought. Now, a decent person might take to the information desk, but the way I see it, I’ve gained myself a bit of an advantage here, and I’d be an idiot not to use it. After all, there’s a good chance Andy will be a lot more receptive to my offer if he’s feeling grateful.

  I cram Andy’s wallet into my pocket and leave the library.

  Game on,
Andy Carter. Game on.

  3

  Andy

  Jesus Christ, seven people! I hurry down the library stairs and head toward my apartment at a brisk walk. Seven people is ridiculous. That’s not tutoring, for fuck’s sakes. That’s like teaching a class, and there is no way I can do it.

  As far as experience goes, it’s much more likely Law’s hockey players will learn what I had for breakfast that day from the contents of my stomach than any actual physics. If I could teach a class, I would have taken that TA position Shaw has repeatedly tried to talk me into. It would have been a good addition to my resume, and I considered it for a moment, but as if on cue, I remembered what it felt like to have everybody point their fingers at me and laugh as I spewed my lunch all over the floor for the whole school to see. The desire to say yes was put out quicker than a burning candle facing down a bucketful of water.

  When Law told me a couple of people on the hockey team needed tutoring, I’d figured two at the most, and I’d still been hesitant. Even one person was iffy, but the money had been really enticing. My job at the lab with Shaw pays the rent for my room in the apartment I share with Falcon and two of his teammates. I’ve spent the last two summers on campus working for Shaw. The job is interesting, and it’ll look good on my application for MIT. The pay is lousy, but I don’t spend much, and it’s enough to put a little something in my savings account, which will make the rest of the year somewhat easier.

  My tuition and books are covered by different scholarships, but that still leaves everyday expenses like food and shampoo and every kind of unforeseeable addition to my budget that is already stretched thin. Like the time I had to pay for dry cleaning when I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, walked into some girl and spilled my coffee all over her shirt.

  My parents help me some, so I’m not exactly starving, but I try my hardest to manage on my own. They still have Landon and Ryan to put through college, so the more they can save, the easier it will be. Those two hundred bucks a week would be a nice supplement to my income. Then again, seven people is a crowd, and I don’t do crowds. One public humiliation was enough, thank you very much.