Huh. Forest seems a little stressed out.
Once the gear is squared away, and I’ve checked to make sure Charlie is buckled, I pull away from the curb.
A moment later I hear Charlie’s phone ping. He reads the text and then groans.
“Problem?”
“Did you make him text me? Because it says—Beck is picking you up today. Say thank you and NO VIDEO GAMES UNTIL MATH IS DONE.”
“Oh man, I’m sorry.”
Charlie sighs. “Beck, you don’t give serial killer vibes. We could have done without the text.”
I snort. “That’s the nicest thing anyone said to me today. Maybe I’ll put it on my Grindr profile. No serial killer vibes.”
Oh shit. I shouldn’t mention Grindr to a child.
“You should delete that app,” Charlie says sagely. “And just date my dad.”
“It was a poor joke,” I admit. “I deleted that app a long time ago, mostly because it’s full of—” I just barely stop myself from saying assholes, which would be an unfortunate double entendre. “Jerks.”
“My dad needs a boyfriend,” Charlie presses. “I mean, my mom has one. His name is Mick, and all he talks about is pickleball.”
“Hmm,” I say, wondering how to get off this topic. “So what’s the deal with your math homework?”
Another teenage groan. “Math is a BFD all of a sudden. Ever since I failed that test. I’m supposed to redo the whole test as homework, and my parents are all freaked out. Especially my mom.” His voice goes all high and he says, “In this family we don't fail tests, Charlie.”
“Ouch, buddy. What was on this test anyway?”
“Variables.”
“What kind of variables?”
“X. Y. What difference does it make? I do fine in math. It's just this one chapter that's killing me. Math is supposed to be about numbers, and now there's this letter right in the middle of everything. And I'm supposed to know what that means? I'll just do better on the next unit. It'll be fine. There can't be a lot of letters in math.”
Oh, little man. I turn at the next light. It’s only another five minutes to Forest’s house, so I have to think fast. “So… want some help knocking out that test? I remember variables.” From every single math class since eighth grade.
“Really? You’d help me?” He sits up straighter. “If I got it done tonight, everyone will finally shut up about it.”
“Sure,” I say, wondering just how uncomfortable Forest will be if he finds me hanging out with his kid. “Let’s knock it out. No problem. Maybe we can get it done before your dad comes home.”
Okay. Well. This is going to take a little longer than I thought.
“The answer is four,” Charlie says. “Why can’t I just write down four and be done with it?”
The first math problem is: X + 3 = 7. Four is, of course, the answer. But until Charlie learns to manipulate expressions, he’s going to keep on failing. “They need you to show your work.”
“Why?” he complains. “This is stupid.” He has the panicked look on his face of someone who’s deeply in the weeds and doesn’t want to admit it.
We’ve all been there. And maybe I’m an asshole for imagining I could solve this problem so easily. “Let’s look at the next one. 2X + 5 = 11.”
Charlie’s face turns red. He looks away from the page. “This is stupid,” he repeats in a small voice. “I’ll never get it.”
“That’s not true, pal,” I say, feeling a little sweaty, myself. “This whole thing is just like a hockey team.”
He gives me a dark look. “Not hardly. If this were hockey, I’d know what to do.”
“But you will,” I insist. “Just follow my lead here for a second. You need the same number of players on every team, right?”
