“Diana.” He stops me and places both hands on my shoulders, pinning me with his blue gaze. “You’re going to pass. There isn’t a damn bone in my body that believes otherwise because you are one of the smartest people I know and you worked hard for this, D.”
“You helped,” I remind him.
“I didn’t take the test.”
I hold back an eye-roll, laughing. “Shut up and take the credit, Carson.”
He holds both hands up in surrender. “Fine, I’m taking the credit.” When he finally laughs, it’s like jingle bells rigging. A pleasant sound I didn’t expect.
Yeah, I'm totally crushing.
18
I Might Have a Problem
Carson
On Wednesday morning, I drag myself into calculus. Even though it’s only November and not that early, I still feel weary, like a ton of bricks hit me in the face, and I’m waking up from a coma.
The one thing that’s making today more bearable is seeing Diana in the front two seats. Only today, she’s alone. Usually, Lucia sits right next to her but today, she’s not there.
I approach Diana’s desk, tapping once to get her attention. She glances up, hazel-green eyes no longer shooting daggers at me. When that stopped, I’m not exactly sure.
“Well, you’re chipper,” I muse.
She shakes her head wildly. “Nope, it’s all nerves.”
“Why? It’s just Wednesday.”
“He’s passing out the scores for the re-do midterm today,” she corrects, fiddling with the strap on her splint. “That’s why.”
“You nervous?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I feel just great, doc. Thanks.” I can hear the sarcasm lacing her voice.
“Okay, class. Get your textbooks out,” Professor Scott announces as he waltzes into the class. Really, he hobbles. His posture and stance are so bad that I’m pretty sure my great-uncle Carl can walk better than my sixty-something calculus professor.
I bet he can teach better than Scott.
But if that were the case, I wouldn’t have had to tutor Diana these past few weeks and break through that icy persona that she only showcased when I was around—partially due to the pie I accidentally threw at her face—and unveil a lot more.
And I’m grateful for my professor’s shitty teaching methods.
Nodding to the empty chair next to Diana, I ask. “Is this seat taken?”
She gestures for me to sit down, and I do so, grabbing my textbook and placing one headphone in. I wasn’t lying to Diana when I told her that I didn’t listen to his lectures. At least, not in their entirety. I jot notes down from time to time but for the most part, I spend the time I have in class answering the practice questions on the back of the textbook that I don’t think the rest of our class knows about.
Hozier playing in one ear, Professor Scott droning on and on in the other. I, Carson Ryder, the multi-tasker the world never knew it needed.
About halfway through the lecture, he pauses and allows us five minutes of reprieve so he can pass out the scores for the re-do midterm. I quickly finish the question I’m working on and close my notebook before turning to Diana, who bounces her jean-clad knee in anticipation.
And at such a rapid pace that she repeatedly hits the desk lightly from underneath. I thought the knocking was coming from the music—I guess I was wrong.
I lift my hand from my desk and place it on her knee, causing her to turn to me with wide, confused eyes. “You’ll be fine,” I whisper, bringing my eyes back to my notebook.
After giving her knee one light squeeze, her shoulders loosen slightly, and I can feel that her knee has stopped bouncing. I don’t blame her for being nervous. There’s so much on the line for her with that midterm score.
Diana’s name gets called. She stands up and pushes her chair before shaking her left wrist and heading over to his desk in the front of the classroom. When she finally reaches it, I tear my head away from the sight and try my utter fucking best to focus on just aboutanything else.
