I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. “God, you’re insufferable.”
“Insufferable and passing.”
A pen flew across the table. He caught it just in time, grinning wider. “What? You tolerate it from me sometimes.”
“Key word: sometimes,” I warned, aiming for the bowl of pretzels next.
Diego snorted from the couch. “Better watch it,hermano. She’s got good aim.”
“Please.” Dalton tipped his chair back further, utterly smug. “She wouldn’t kill the only guy keeping her awake with my quality jokes.”
“Quality?” I muttered. “That word doesn’t mean what you think it means.”
Mac rolled his eyes but smiled a little, dragging the bowl of pretzels away from me and my quick hand. Maria slapped the next card down. “Focus, children. Save the flirting for after you pass this damn test.”
Dalton’s chair thunked back onto all fours. “Flirting? Absolutely not. I like my balls attached, thank you. And I don’t even know who’d get to them first if I tried it—Holly, or Jackson.”
I froze mid-chew, an Oreo hanging half way out of my mouth. “Excuse me?”
Dalton pointed the pretzel bowl at me like it was evidence. “I am not flirting with Malibu. I value my life too much.”
The Oreo hit him square in the forehead.
“Do not call me that,” I snapped.
Diego wheezed from the couch. Mac sipped his coffee, and reached for the Oreos like he was going to take those next. I snatched them before he could and glared at him. Maria groaned, scooping up the next flashcard like she was reconsidering all her life choices. “Ay Dios mío…you two are never going to survive this test.”
We worked in fits and starts. Someone would shout an answer, someone else would argue the logic, and someone else would eat everything in sight while pretending they were only “refueling for academic excellence.” That last someone may ormay not have been me. Maria ran the whole thing like she was refereeing a prize fight, clapping her hands when we got too loud, passing snacks when we got too quiet.
At one point I got hung up on a stupid arithmetic problem, the kind of thing my hands could’ve done on autopilot if my brain wasn’t busy tripping me up. Numbers blurred, my chest tightened, and frustration crawled under my skin. I was strongly considering dropping out entirely and finding a new career to invest in. Or, at the very least, setting the entire notebook on fire and calling it a day.
“Slide it over,” Dalton said, voice even, not mocking. He pulled the napkin toward him, sketched out a quick diagram that actually made sense, and started explaining. Not in a teacher voice. Not in a condescending one. Just steady, clear, matter-of-fact—like he’d done this before. Which he probably had.
“You’re making it harder than it is,” he said, pen moving fast. “Look—split it like this. Simplify first, don’t let the numbers bully you. One step at a time.”
“You’re not stupid, Holly,” Mac said finally, voice flat but sure. “You just think too fast and trip yourself up. Slow down. That’s all.”
Somehow that landed harder than Dalton’s whole napkin diagram. I snorted, trying to cover how much it calmed me. “You would both rather be elbows-deep in an engine.”
Mac gave a one-shouldered shrug, eyes flicking up to mine. “Problem’s a problem. Doesn’t matter if it’s fractions or carburetors—you figure it out piece by piece.”
Dalton brandished his pen at his brother, “What he said. Now watch.”
Between Dalton’s diagrams and Mac’s steady logic, the numbers finally lined up in my head, neat instead of snarled. When I blurted out the answer, triumphant and a little too loud, the room erupted like I’d just solved world peace.
Maria banged her hand on the table. “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!”
Dalton smirked, but there was pride under it, sharp and real. “Told you it wasn’t that hard.”
Mac’s mouth twitched in the closest thing he ever gave to a grin. And Diego slid the Oreos closer to me, mouthing, “For victory.”
And me? I laughed, shaky and breathless, but real. For once, the knot in my chest eased. It was ridiculous and small and perfect—the kind of night that made me feel like maybe I wasn’t drowning. Or, if I were, that someone nearby gave a damn to throw me a buoy.
By the time the last flashcard had been conquered and the snack table raided down to crumbs, everyone was winding down. Diego started packing up the textbooks with military precision, Maria stretched on the couch like she was storing up one more hour of kid-free peace, and Mac disappeared into the kitchen, probably to see if he could wrangle one last cup of coffee from the pot before driving home.
I was ready to call it a night too, until my eyes landed on the library book poking out of my bag. My stomach dropped. “Shit. I gotta run to campus. This is due at midnight, and the librarian already hates me.”
Dalton raised an eyebrow. “So, pay the late fee. Pretty sure you’re not gonna starve over a couple bucks.”
