“How long is that going to last?” I ask Dad.
“Hopefully not long.”
I’m feeling particularly petty, I guess, because knowing he’s suffering through the documentary interviews makes me feel a twinge of satisfaction.
“I’ll leave you two to study.” Dad’s mouth curves up for Lacey and then he leaves, but the tension in the room lingers even after his departure.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more uncomfortable in my own house. It doesn’t even look like my house.
“I made a plan,” she says and moves to her backpack. It sits on one of the stools in front of the counter. It’s blue and has a mini pom-pom on the end of the zipper. I’m distracted by the shiny bauble, thinking how Lacey-like it is to have decorated her backpack with team spirit, while she pulls out a notebook and her laptop.
It’s then I realize I’m staring at her and she’s waiting for me to say, or do, something.
“Where do you want to work?” she asks.
I usually work in my room, but this is already painful enough. Adding confined spaces to the mix sounds like torture.
“The living room, I guess.” I wave a hand toward the tiny couch. They even moved the TV. This really is a sad day.
With a nod, Lacey takes her things into the living room. She sits right in the middle of the smallest couch ever and spreads her stuff out on the matching ottoman in front of where she sits.
I skip dinner and join her.
Her notebook is open, and the top of the page has today’s date. Each section is underlined and the notes underneath it broken out into bullets. I’m not surprised at all to find all her notes organized and neat.
“I wasn’t sure what specifically you had questions about, but I thought we could start at the beginning of the unit and work forward?”
It’s safe to say she could start at the beginning of the class, and it wouldn’t hurt, but I’ll take what I can get. “Sounds good.”
While she talks, I listen and try to comprehend. I really do, but math is not my strong suit, and it’s not long before my eyes are glazing over and I’m nodding along but have no idea what she’s said for the past few minutes.
Lacey stops. “Am I going too fast?”
“No.” I shake my head.
She doesn’t look convinced.
“It’s not you. It’s me. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.” I blow out an exasperated breath and run a hand through my hair. “I don’t understand the point of complex numbers. I can carry out the motions, but I don’t understand why we’re learning about them or what they’re used for.”
“That’s a good place to start.” Her eyes light up, and she talks me through factoring—what it is and why we do it.
“Make sense?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Okay. Now let’s try one.” She writes out a problem and then passes the notebook to me.
I feel uncomfortable with her watching me. Even my handwriting feels lacking compared to hers. Halfway through, I drop the pencil to the page. “This is stupid.”
“You almost had it.”
She leans over me. Her hair falls onto my arm and her leg presses flush against mine. She’s scribbling on the page, finishing the problem and explaining as she goes, but the only thing that has my attention is her. She smells nice, like grapes and something else I can’t place.
“See?” she asks, pulling back.
