“Let me see,” I say, leaning over.
His brows jump up, but he drags his textbook over, showing me the questions he’s working on. I look at the angular handwriting in his notebook.
“Okay,” I begin. “I see what you’re doing right, but you’re consistently messing up here. But don’t worry, it’s a common error. What you have to do instead…”
I give him a step by step process, writing over his notes with my own pen. “Does that make sense?”
“Um. I think so.”
“I’ve confused you.”
“No, it’s just…I feel bad. I don’t want to distract you from your own studying.”
“It’s no big deal. I already know this topic inside and out.”
“You’re very confident.”
I shrug. “I study a lot. Anyone can do it. I can run through this question again if it would help. I can go slower, too.”
He blinks twice. Why is he so surprised? “Okay, thanks.”
So I do, and for the next question, I get him to try. Halfway through the question, he gets stuck simplifying the equation by applying logarithm laws. I wait for him to try and solve it himself.
He hums and ahhs, rubbing his neck. The motion pushes his collar down, revealing a nasty purple mark.
“You’ve got some sort of bruise there,” I say.
He looks at me.
“Here.” I point to the base of my own neck, where it meets my shoulder.
Aaron blinks once at me, very slowly, then turns as red as a ripe cherry.
“It-it’s nothing.” He tugs his shirt collar and straightens it, redoing the top button so no one else will see it.
Oh my god. It’s a hickey.
I let out a huff of laughter. So much about his protests on Monday morning about not dating Lily. Does he really think it’s such a big deal that he has to keep it a secret? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Everyone does it — kiss and touch and…
I glance at the clock at the front of the classroom. I’m meeting R this afternoon. We’ve decided that we’ll meet on Mondays and Fridays. R thinks his friends will get suspicious if he disappears more often than that, and as much as I would love to meet R every day, I know I need to reserve some lunchtimes to study. Our meetings are fun, but I have to keep focused on my main goal.
I look down at my battery pen. Study. Graduate. Move out. Freedom.
Despite reminding myself, I can’t wait for lunch to arrive. I want to hear R gasp again. As soon as I have the thought, I force it down because I cannot get hard in maths class.
Aaron says something.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s not what you think,” he says. It takes me a second to realise he’s referring to his hickey. “Please don’t tell anyone.” He looks pained.
“Do you think you’re a celebrity or something? No one cares about your sex life.”
Impossibly, his blush deepens. “I just want to keep it private, y’know?”
“Relax,” I say, and mime zipping up my lips. “Now, do you want me to help you with the rest of this?”
His gaze falls to his notebook like he forgot it was there. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.” He gulps as if physically pushing his embarrassment away. “I don’t know what I’m meant to do with this number at the front…”
