He’s carrying two buckets of coffee from Starbucks.
‘Taylor?’ I ask him, looking pointedly at the name scrawled on his cup.
‘Close enough,’ he says. That’s what Cesca used to say when she had a Starbucks Saturday job at uni; she’d normallyget the first letter right but the rest she’d freestyle trying to find the most ridiculous name she could get away with before the customer threw a fit.
‘That had better be full of caffeine,’ I say taking the other cup from him.
‘Triple shot,’ he says. ‘We have work to do.’
‘Yeah.’ I take a step back from him as I try not to take in the scent of the cologne he wears – something dark and woody – or the lingering hint of toothpaste and coconut shampoo. How is it possible for a man to smell so clean and yet so sexy and dirt—
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
I shake myself.Get your head back in the game.‘Yep. Just needed this,’ I say, raising the cup towards him as if we’re saying cheers.
‘Kippis,’ he says, nodding his head and holding my gaze carefully.
‘You what now?’
‘It means cheers. In Finnish.’
‘Why Finnish?’ I ask, expecting a tale of Scandinavian origins.
‘I thought it would be a cool language to learn,’ he says, blushing a little. ‘But it’s so difficult. I tried for nine months but in the end I can barely say hello and ask about the weather.’
I’ve never been good at languages, something that often surprises people. ‘But you’re meant to be clever,’ they’ll say, astounded. The thing is that my brain just doesn’t click that way. I had a teacher at school who assumed I was just being lazy, even when I sobbed in frustration night after night because I couldn’t get it right. I’ve often thought about trying again, seeing if perhaps the mental stumbling block was all that exasperation and a hefty dose of self-disbelief, but I’ve never had the guts to actually go through with it.
He is still talking about Finnish and Finland and I apologize for not listening properly.
‘I think you have a bit more on your plate than my random musings,’ he says without even a hint of sarcasm.
‘Yeah.’
‘Right then. Let’s figure out a way to get you back.’ His eyes crinkle when he smiles and I can’t help but grin back in return. After all the years of our rivalry and running from him every time I saw him, it’s weird to find myself able to relax around him. Like I’ve stepped into a twilight zone. Which I have. But you know what I mean.
I sketch out my theorem on the whiteboard in my office. Unlike the one in my world, which takes up the entire wall and is covered in faded shades of blue and green where for years I’ve not rubbed everything out properly, this Bethany’s is pristine. A ninety by one-fifty-centimetre rectangle of brilliant white, so clear of smudges it positively glows. Shopping Bethany must have struck again: it must be brand new. It doesn’t feel right to write on it, like I’m sullying it somehow. But needs must.
Tyler offers a few quiet explanations as I draw, mumbling to himself under his breath. I turn back to look at him standing with his feet slightly apart, one arm wrapped around his waist and the other hinged so he can rest his chin on his balled fist. He’s like a caricature of Rodin’sThe Thinkerand it is utterly adorable.
I clear my throat awkwardly and turn back to the board, putting the few finishing touches to the theory. ‘Ta-da,’ I say, stepping to the side so he can see the final few calculations. I’m suddenly self-conscious, like a kid sharing her homework with her favourite teacher and desperately hoping there aren’t any mistakes in it.
He’s silent and my trepidation grows.
Is there a mistake? I walk myself through it again. No. It’s perfect.
Still he says nothing.
What if … my eye snags on the bottom left. Should that be a plus instead of a minus? I start to second-guess myself, turning the problem over and over in my head. All the while the silence grows and grows, sucking all the oxygen out of the air.
‘Say something,’ I whisper eventually, unable to take it any more.
He draws in a breath and then releases it through pursed lips, shaking his head as he does so. ‘You, Bethany Raven,’ he says, turning towards me, ‘are a fucking genius.’ His voice is filled with awe and I sag with relief.
‘It works?’ I ask, even though I know it does. I don’t need his validation. But I want it with all the depth of my soul. I want Tyler Adams to look at my work and tell me it is perfect. That I am perfect.
But I also need Tyler Adams to help me get home. This isn’t about a boy thinking I’m clever. This is so much more than that. Without him I will be stuck here.
With him.The voice comes from nowhere, but I stuff it back down. Yes, the Tyler of this world has a certain appeal. But I cannot be this Bethany. I just can’t.
