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CHAPTER 18

STOP READING THROUGH MY CASE!

If you’re reading this, that means you once again are reading through my binder. I wouldn’t have a problem with that if YOU WOULD STOP REARRANGING THE SECTIONS.

I mean it, Lexie, I will delete all your manuscript files.

On Monday at school, my mind is entirely focused on math. No dad issues, no Theo, nothing but the notes I reviewed countless times. Even in other classes I peek at my practice problems until fourth period.

I’m sitting by the closed window before students start trickling in, and Theo takes the seat beside me. “Feeling good?”

Theo has been texting me and FaceTimed me last night, helping me go over my math. Enough that when I answer, “I think so,” I kind of believe it. Without thinking, I reach over and fix the collar of his white button-up. As always, no blazer in sight. Would it kill him to just once follow dress code?

“That’s my girl,” he says, opening up his laptop and logging in, not even giving the comment a second thought.

His throwaway comment makes a horde of butterflies awaken in my stomach and tiny dots of heat spread up my body. I have to rub my face with my hands to hide the ridiculous smile that won’t go down.

Math, focus on your math.

It’s effective enough that I can log into my laptop without grinning like some lovesick puppy. Which I’m not. At all. That word doesn’t even exist to me.

Oh my God, shut up, brain. Heart. And any organ working against me right now.

Class begins and the teacher greets us as usual, makes a joke about finally being able to have the exam, and the timer begins. I go through each problem with the allotted seven minutes I’ve scheduled out to be able to review the problems again at least once before it’s over.

A question catches me off guard, the wording of it tripping me up. As soon as my rhythm is thrown, my palms begin to gather sweat. My heart stutters uncomfortably.

Without meaning to, my gaze keeps reading the clock, the timer on the side of the website. This sense of impending doom pounds against my chest at each second that passes.

I’m falling behind. I’m messing up my scheduled time. If I mess up this one, it’ll be a domino effect, and—

A loud, resounding smack lands beside me, making me flinch.

“Hudson,” the teacher scolds, “if you can’t handle keeping more than one item on the desk, perhaps you should leave your thermos on the floor.”

“My bad,” he says, picking it off the ground by my foot. “You’re okay,” he whispers to me, placing the thermos by his sneakers.

I glance over at him and we hold each other’s gaze. “You got this,” he mouths.

“Hope your thermos isn’t broken,” I mouth back.

“You’re worth it,” he responds.

I don’t bother hiding my smile when I return to my work. Okay, I went over this problem for two minutes. No worries. Like Theo suggested last night, I move on to the next one. Better to finish what I can than to fixate on what I’m struggling with.

The rest of the problems are a little easier; some, shockingly so. I breeze through in a way that makes me nervous that it was too easy, that I may have messed up. But there’s only ten minutes left of class, and of the exam, and I can’t waste time freaking out.

I finish what I can and go back to the question that stumped me. It’s not that I can’t figure out exactly what to do, but the question itself is confusing me.

Another chunk of advice Theo gave me: Just ask for help.

I raise my hand. “Mr. Khan. Can you clarify what you mean by question seventeen?”

He looks away from his computer, tightening his oversize cargo jacket around his thin body, like my question brought him a sudden chill. “Can you bring your laptop over?”

I swallow so there is moisture in my throat when I go over and place the laptop on his desk. I point to the question. “I don’t get the wording here.”

“Ah, I see what’s got you confused. Look at it this way.” He starts explaining his wording for me a different, easier way.