Contradictions (8 page)

Silence filled the room as everyone waited for my response. Now that the gavel had been dropped, the decision was mine. I could get up and walk out if I wanted. I may not like the choices I’d been given, but they were mine to pick from.

In the end, I made the only decision I could. I would not leave MSC if there was even the slightest chance of staying. I simply nodded my head and sat quietly while a tutoring schedule and the parameters of my academic probation were outlined. School functions were out. My academic probation would be revoked and I would be asked to leave school if I was involved in any further questionable activities. A week ago, I would have balked at his words. Giving up school functions may not seem like a big deal, but that included football games as well. That was a low blow. For those of us born and raised in Woodfalls, where the most exciting thing happening was watching paint dry, football was our life. Cheering on the Maine State College Black Bears was almost as important to me as attending parties. I was being forced to quit everything cold turkey and throw myself into my classes.

The meeting eventually came to a close. I felt relieved and like I’d just had my ass kicked at the same time. God knows I had plenty of free time to stew over the weeks of endless tutoring in my future. I was halted by President Johnson’s parting words to Trent as I was leaving.

“It is commendable that a student of your caliber is unselfishly volunteering your limited free time to help a fellow student,” he said, reaching out to shake Trent’s hand.

His words stopped me in my tracks. I was a selfish bitch. I never considered what tutoring me would mean for Trent. My only concerns had been about myself and my unwillingness to give him a chance. I was a total asshole. Without waiting to hear Trent’s reply, I left the office.

Somewhere near the student union building during my walk back to my apartment, my self-loathing changed to suspicion. President Johnson had brought a relevant question to the table. I’d done nothing but treat Trent with disdain. Why would he willingly give up his time for me? Was this nothing but a mad ploy to get in my pants? The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced I was on the right track. Why else would he give up his precious lab time or all that other shit?

That bastard was trying to boink me.

Feeling better and less indebted to his “sacrifice,” I picked up my pace. My first tutoring session was this afternoon, and there was no way in hell I was going to be late.

A couple hours before our tutoring session, I received a text from Trent because he found out the library was closed for the day with some sort of plumbing issue. He suggested we meet at his apartment off campus instead.

“Well, isn’t that convenient?” I said out loud, rolling my eyes. That superhero-worshiping asshole would go to great lengths to get in my pants. If that’s the way he wanted to play, that’s fine. Game on. Just because my grades sucked didn’t mean I was a moron. I called the library myself.

“Oh, so the library is closed until tomorrow?” I asked, confirming what the helpful lady who answered the phone had just stated. “Plumbing issue, you say? That’s what I heard. Okay, thanks for the info—bye.”

Fine. Send me your address,
I texted to Trent. According to the GPS on my cell phone, his apartment was on the other side of campus. I probably could have walked there, but it had been almost a month since I’d taken out my old reliable Jeep, so I decided to drive. Dad reminded me every time I talked to him to start the Jeep at least once every few days to save the battery, but anytime it came to mind, I always told myself I would do it the next day. And yes, that would turn into the next day and then the next. My pattern was clear.

Cameo came out of her room as I was gathering my things to leave. It had started to snow outside and I wanted to head out in case it got bad.

“Hey, you want to go to Stavro’s for dinner? I’m in the mood for a little pasta and some house wine.”

I shook my head regretfully. “Can’t. I have tutoring.” The idea of good Italian food and rich wine sounded more appealing than banging my head against a math book, but my ass was in a sling.

“Tutoring? You? Where is my friend and what have you done with her?”

“Very funny.” I grabbed my bag, which felt like it weighed a hundred pounds with all the textbooks inside. “Believe me, I would much rather go to dinner with you.”

“So blow it off.”

The idea was laughable. At this point, if the college found out I was even thinking about blowing off tutoring, they would kick my ass to the curb so fast my head would spin. “Sorry, Cam. I can’t.” I knew she wanted more of an explanation, but I was too embarrassed to tell her about the trouble I was in with my grades. It sucked being the dumb one in our group.

“Can’t? Since when do you have a problem blowing things off? Besides, I don’t want to go alone. We haven’t hung out in a few days and I really need to relax.”

What Cameo meant by
relax
was she was looking to get drunk.

“Please, I’ll buy the first round of drinks,” she pleaded.

For a second I actually considered calling Trent to reschedule the first tutoring session. It wasn’t the same thing as canceling altogether. Of course, I was sure Professor N would feel differently. The image of his disappointed face filled my head. There was no way I could cancel.

“I really can’t. Professor N is on my ass. Maybe some other time.”

Cam looked completely taken aback. “Some other time? What does that even mean?”

“It means not now,” I bit out in aggravation. “I’m on freaking academic probation, Cam. If I don’t get my shit together, I’m out of here.” I pulled on my jacket in frustration and threw a scarf around my neck.

“Probation? Since when?”

“Since now. So, no. I don’t have time to go get drunk at Stavro’s.” Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I grabbed my keys and walked out, slamming the door behind me. I didn’t mean to get so mad at Cam, but she wouldn’t stop pressing. Hopefully, after a couple of hours we would both get over it and could talk again when I got home.

Ordinarily, I put more effort into my appearance before going out, but impressing Trent was the furthest thing from my mind. My plan was to buckle down during the tutoring sessions, figuring the sooner I improved my grades, the sooner things could go back to normal.

The snow was already coming down more than I’d thought and was beginning to stick. I grimaced when I approached my Jeep and saw the spiderwebs between the tires. Dad would have my head if he knew. The good news was that despite my negligence, Old Reliable started on the first try. I cranked the heat and waited for a few minutes to give it time to warm up before I pulled out. I still had fifteen minutes until T-Doom time, which is what I had deemed my tutoring schedule, so I decided to hit the coffee bar where I worked for some liquid sanity.

“What’s up, Tressa? You working today?” Ben, one of the other part-timers, asked as I pushed the door open, inhaling deeply. If they could bottle the smell of this place, I’d buy it by the gallon. Working at Javalotta was like coming home to a second family. There was an easy comradeship that stemmed from the owners, Liz and Larry, who ran the coffeehouse like a well-oiled machine. Despite their strictness when it came to the rules, they maintained a lighthearted relationship with their employees.

“No, I have a studying session that requires a double shot,” I answered, moving behind the counter to fix my drink. “Looks pretty dead today,” I observed, adding whipped cream to top off my concoction.

“Yeah, it’s kinda been this way since the accident . . .” His voice trailed off.

His words caused me to nearly drop my coffee. I had momentarily forgotten about David’s death, pushing it to the back of my mind. It was like a game to see how long I could go without thinking about it. Ben had broken the longest stretch yet. I’d almost made it sixteen minutes. Time to start over again.

“Yeah, I guess I hadn’t noticed,” I mumbled, steadying my cup as I stared blankly at the walls. Ben gave me an odd look that I didn’t acknowledge. For the past three days, I’d been fielding similar stares from Cameo and Derek. It was a
what alien species took over Tressa’s body
kind of look. I hustled around the counter, suddenly anxious to leave.

“Catch you later,” Ben called as I walked out without saying bye.

Climbing into the Jeep, I didn’t know whether I should be pissed or embarrassed that everyone seemed surprised over my reaction to David’s death. Were their perceptions of me really that I was just a party girl with no real feelings? Lost in my thoughts, I made it to Trent’s apartment quicker than I’d anticipated. I sat in the parking lot, stalling for as long as I could before walking to his door. I took a big swig of my coffee before knocking. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. This was just Trent, for crap’s sake. My damn emotions were like a roller coaster lately. Anything I thought I’d felt for him earlier in President Johnson’s office was nothing more than the result of the upheaval I’d been going through the past week.

I raised my hand to knock on the door before I could chicken out.

Trent answered almost immediately, like he had been standing by his door waiting for my knock.

“Tressa?” He greeted me awkwardly, looking surprised when I took a cautious halfstep backward. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. I waited for a moment, expecting him to invite me inside, but he stood there like he was waiting for me to say something.

“Tutoring,” I said, holding up my book bag to jog his memory. Sheesh, I thought he was supposed to be supersmart.

“Right. Sorry, I was just finishing up some notes for Professor Nelson.” He held the door open so I could enter his apartment.

“O-kay,” I replied, still not quite believing he’d forgotten I was coming over. What about the text he’d sent me just a few hours ago? Stepping past him, I stood in the middle of his living room, taking in my surroundings. My original assumptions about him were dead-on. I’d stepped into a pimple-faced teenaged comic book lover’s wet dream. Superhero memorabilia littered every available surface in the apartment. The shelves that bracketed a big-screen TV were lined with statues and action figures, much like what my brother was into. I could tell by the way they were reverently displayed that Trent cared more about his collection than my brother did about his. I moved closer and reached a finger toward a gleaming Superman statue.

“Don’t touch,” Trent said, stepping between me and the shelf.

“Wow, chill, Wonder Boy. I was just going to point out that my brother has that same Superman. I think his is missing an arm, though.” Trent flinched. He was definitely strange.

Backing away from his precious shelf, I took in the rest of the living room. Outside of the superhero universe, the apartment looked pristine. Unlike most apartments around campus I’d been in—including mine, which was made up of nothing but castoffs—Trent’s furniture actually matched. A large leather sofa sat against the wall that shared space with the front door. The matching leather recliner sat near the patio door and was turned to face the television. Matching throw pillows adorned both the sofa and recliner like an interior designer had placed them there. Hell, even the coffee table and end tables matched the elaborate entertainment center.

His apartment looked like an adult had decorated it rather than a bunch of college kids trying to fill a space.

“Do you want to sit down?” He looked uncomfortable with my surveying of his territory, like he’d never had a guest before. I guess my actions could have been construed as intrusive, but he was the one who had invited me.

“Uh, sure.” I walked over to the sofa and sat down next to a stack of papers, which was the only thing out of place in the room.

“Sorry, I was in the middle of entering data,” he said, stacking the papers into a neat pile before placing them on top of a laptop that was sitting on the coffee table.

“That’s okay. It feels normal.”

He raised his eyebrows in response before sitting on the couch cushion he had just cleaned off. “A mess feels normal?”

Without any conscious thought, I shifted over, putting more space between us. If he noticed my movement, he didn’t comment on it.

“I’ve been going over your grades in your classes, and I’ve come to the conclusion that statistics is the class you seem to be struggling with the most.” He shuffled the stack of papers, searching for one in particular.

“You pulled my grades?” My voice sounded shrill to my own ears. Tutoring or not, who the hell did he think he was?

“Huh? Oh, no. Professor Nelson gave them to me this morning,” he answered, looking confused over my tone. My eyes met his for a moment. The difference was glaring. His look was questioning, while I practically had lasers wanting to melt off his face. It took everything inside me not to snatch the papers from his hands. After a second, when the more rational side of my brain took charge, I realized it wasn’t his fault my grades had been handed to him. Clamping my mouth closed, I silently counted to three to calm myself. Most people thought ten was the golden number, but if I forced myself to count to ten, I’d lose my patience all over again.

After I was able to form a sentence without biting off his head, I answered him. “Math has been a pain in my ass for years. I’ll be the only senior in history that won’t be able to graduate because I can’t pass some math class.”

“Not true. Statistically, no pun intended, hundreds of students drop out every year. Most are for economic reasons or a life-altering circumstance, but I’m sure you’re not the only one in history not to graduate because of failure to master a class,” he said in a dry tone.

I stared at him incredulously. Was he fucking with me? The way he sat, waiting for another response from me, I couldn’t tell.

“It’s better to analyze it like you would a puzzle,” he continued when I didn’t respond.

Puzzle? What the hell did graduating have to do with puzzles? I swear, he was the freaking puzzle.

“Statistics,” he clarified. “It helps people sometimes if they look at the problems like a puzzle that needs to be figured out instead of a complicated math problem,” he said, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

“Why don’t you get glasses that don’t do that?” I asked, momentarily distracted.

He looked startled by my question, like I was the one talking in riddles. “What?”

“Your glasses. You’re always pushing them up. Why don’t you get ones more appropriate for your face?”

“I like these. They’re retro.”

I snorted. “Just because they’re ten years old doesn’t mean they’re retro. They’re too big for your face. With your bone structure, you should have smaller plastic frames. Like the stylish ones all the guys are wearing. You look like Clark Kent from the old movies my dad likes. Is that what you’re going for?”

“You got me. This is just a disguise for my alter ego. Now that you’re onto my secret, I’ll have to lock you away in a gilded cage.” He pulled a Tootsie Pop from a Spider-Man cookie jar that was perched on the end table.

His words made me laugh. Who knew Nerd Boy would have a sense of humor. It was dry, but it was still there. His eyes sparkled behind the overly big glasses as he responded to my laugh. He pulled the wrapper off the lollipop and stuck the orange sucker into his mouth. His eyes never left mine. My laughter instantly dried up. No guy had ever looked at me like he always managed to. His intensity sobered me.

He held out the jar filled with suckers. “Want one?” I wasn’t a big hard-candy fan, but I reached for one.

“Thanks.” I pulled the wrapper off the Tootsie Pop and cleared my throat. “Okay, so are you going to teach me how this mumbo jumbo in here is a puzzle?” I asked, pulling my book out of my bag.

My words had their desired effect. Trent abruptly switched his focus from me to the textbook in my hands like someone had hit a button. Within minutes, he was explaining problems that for the first time ever started to make sense. We worked for more than an hour until I felt I had a good enough grasp to take the first practice test online when I got home.

During the second hour of tutoring, Trent set up a study schedule for me on my laptop to help me catch up on my other classes. He gave pointers that would help me cut my missing-assignments list in half. The schedule was grueling, and a week ago I would have nixed the idea of cutting into my social life, but things were different now.

I was shoving my books and laptop in my bag when Trent switched the conversation from my dismal academics to food. “It’s past dinnertime. How about a pizza?”