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Which he needed to hear.

Still.

“But…” I hesitate.

His eyes lift back to mine.

I should leave it there. I should absolutely leave it there.

“I think it’s sweet that you help him with his homework.”

The crooked grin returns instantly, so fast and bright it’s almost embarrassing.

Honestly.

“Goodnight.”

Before he can say anything else, I close the door and turn the deadbolt.

For a moment, I stand there, staring at the wood. Then I let out a long sigh. I really need to stop looking for the good in this man.

That’s how people end up with strays.

11

CARMEN

The next day, I sit toward the back of class, hunched over my worksheet. Numbers swim across the page. Fractions, decimals, algebraic expressions—all of it might as well be written in ancient Greek.

Paul moves between the desks, offering help as he goes. He stops at the desk in front of mine to assist a young girl struggling with the same problem set.

“Remember, you want to isolate the variable first,” he says patiently, leaning down to point at her paper. “See? Much better.”

She beams up at him. “Thank you so much, Paul.”

“No problem at all,” he replies with a warm smile.

I wait.

When he finally passes my row, I lift my hand. “Paul? Could I get some help with question six? I’m not sure how to⁠—”

He barely glances at me. “Just keep working through it, Carmen. You’ll get there.”

His voice is polite but distant, and he keeps walking, already moving on to the next student.

He spent nearly five minutes guiding the girl in front of me. With me, he offers nothing. It isn’t the first time, either. I’m starting to see the pattern. He laughs with the younger students, answers their questions in detail, gives them his full attention. But when it comes to me, he’s suddenly too busy.

I swallow the sting and stare back down at my paper. The numbers blur. My pen hovers uselessly above the page.

It’s hard not to notice how differently the world treats me now. When I was younger, people practically tripped over themselves to help me. I knew why, of course, but a person gets used to being seen.

Now, it feels like my looks have faded and taken the attention with them. I’m old news. Invisible. As if the person inside this body no longer matters because the body itself is no longer desirable.

But I’m still here. Still a person with thoughts and feelings and worth. Some days, it feels like the world only sees the gray roots and the lines.

Maybe I’m being dramatic. Maybe this is all in my head.

But I still don’t know what to do about the math. I’ve tried searching for explanations online, but I don’t learn well from reading. I need someone to show me. To walk me through it slowly.