“You’re a lifesaver,” he smiles, flipping through the pages.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” he says. “You make math make sense.”
Which is not the same as makingmemake sense to him.
Theo closes the notebook neatly, like a transaction completed. “Thanks. I’ll bring it to the study lounge tomorrow?”
I force a smile. “Yeah. Sure.”
If I were a better person, I’d admit this is not a date. I choose not to.
He gathers his books. “See you then.”
I watch him walk away longer than I should, waiting for something he doesn’t turn back for. His tee pulls across his shoulders when he reaches for a book. The ink on hisforearm flexes and shifts. Geometric lines vanish under the fabric, and my brain—traitor that it is—wonders where else he might have them.
He disappears around the corner.
I slump forward and let my forehead thud onto my notebook.
Borrowed. Not chosen.
My tutoring shiftat the student center drags. Thursdays usually do. I still take every hour I can get.
Tuition and the cafeteria plan are covered, but everything else is on me. The meal plan leans hard on fries and mystery meat, calls iceberg lettuce a vegetable, and has never met a spice besides salt and pepper. If I want real food, I have to buy my own groceries. If I don’t work, I don’t eat well. It’s that simple.
My boots are wearing thin and my little cousin’s birthday is coming up. If I squeeze in a few extra sessions this week, I can afford one of those Sephora body sprays she fogs the entire house with, plus a set of ridiculously overpriced lip balms “all her friends have.”
A freshman approaches the table clutching a calc textbook.
“Are you…Wren Marin?”
“Yes,” I say, voice polite even though exhaustion is dragging at me. “What do you need help with?”
“Um…everything?”
I nod and pull out scrap paper.
Halfway through explaining limits, I feel it—sharp white static at the edges of my perception. The kind that means something has entered my orbit without permission.A cluster of voices in the hallway, laughter rolling in bright, metallic arcs.
One sound slices through the rest.
Steel blue.
Kieran.
I don’t turn or acknowledge. My hand just tightens around the pen until my fingers go numb. Ink bleeds a little where I pause too long.
The freshman hasn’t noticed I’ve stalled.
“So then you plug the value back in?”
“Yes,” I say, throat dry. “Try it that way first.”
The voices fade.
The job keeps me anchored. The numbers don’t care who’s nearby.
