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“Seriously,” Kye lowered his voice because a couple more people had entered the room. “If you need help later on when things get harder, I want you to come in for tutoring.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said again. “I’m a straight-A student.”
“I know. That’s why I’d hate to be the one to ruin your GPA.”
He knew her GPA? That meant he’d checked up on her after yesterday. The thought made her feel breathless—even if he’d only done it because she was his friend’s little sister. “I can tell you’re a smart girl,” he said. “Sometimes it’s hardest for the smart kids to ask for help.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll get help. I mean, I’ll ask for it. If I need it. From you.” She obviously needed help, although not in math. She needed help in knowing how to carry on a conversation with hot older men. She needed help acting like she wasn’t an immature teenager. “Um, thanks,” she finished and walked over to the nearest desk. One in the front row. It became her desk from then on.
Seeing Kye every day became a sweet sort of misery. Elsie stared at him dreamily, relentlessly. Her eyes traced the lines of his hands as they swept markers against the dry-erase board. His handwriting was a swirl of passion in numbers. Sometimes it was hard to pay attention to the calculus because all the old words about marrying Kye kept stirring themselves up and inserting themselves into the integrals on the board.
Dx(uv) = u(dv/dx) + v(du/dx) = we will have children with brown hair, blue eyes, and your smile that quirks up at the side.
The other girls at school declared math was much more enjoyable with Mr. McBride teaching it, but none of them were as devoted as Elsie. All year long, she excelled in math. She got perfect scores on her homework. Aced the tests. She lived for the moments when Kye handed her papers back with a smile and a word of praise.
Every Monday she came to class early and brought him a bottle of applesauce. She didn’t even complain when her mother made her help in the applesauce canning marathon. Some of these bottles would be for Kye. That made the work delicious.
Sometimes while waiting for class to start, Elsie would talk to Kye about Carson or her family, or anything—books she’d read or things in the news. In those moments, he talked to her like she was a friend. At those times, she was sure he felt an attraction to her too. He always held her gaze a little longer than normal and smiled more easily.
Besides those unspoken moments, he never gave her an indication he saw her as anything else than a student. She knew there were rules about students and teachers. She didn’t want him to do anything to risk his job, but she wasn’t going to be in high school forever. She could’ve lived until graduation on a teaspoon of encouragement. And then after graduation, well, she and Kye would have an entire summer before she left for college.
Summer. The warmth of it continually swirled around in her stomach.
Elsie let other boys flirt with her in class and even flirted back with them sometimes. She did this to show Kye that she was someone worthy of attention. If he was jealous, he didn’t show it. As he told the guys to settle down and go to their seats, he only seemed annoyed they were wasting class time.
Precious math time.
Dx(u/v) = (v(du/dx) – u(dv/dx))/v2 = we will laugh about all of this on our tenth wedding anniversary.
Things probably would’ve gone on that way, and she would’ve graduated with her dignity intact if it hadn’t been for that night at the Mathematics Decathlon.
It was a couple of weeks before graduation. Elsie was on the team and Kye was one of the advisors. They traveled to Montana State University, and it had all gone well enough—or at least as well as anyone expected. The team from Lark Field High didn’t win, but they made a decent showing. They had fun and got to joke around with other mathletes.
“Why did the chicken cross the Mobius strip?”
No answer was required. A Mobius strip only has one side.
“Dear Math, Please stop making me find your X. Just get over her.”
On the last night, the students had a dance on campus. Elsie took extra time to make sure she was beautiful, noticeable. Here, away from the usual setting of school, it felt like anything could happen.
Kye was one of the chaperones for the dance. All night he stood in the corner of the room wearing a white, button-down shirt to indicate he was a teacher. That shirt was aDo Not Crosssign. His hands were thrust in his pockets, and he looked bored. How could Elsie keep from imagining what those hands would feel like on her shoulders, on her waist, slow dancing with her? Just once, she wanted to stand slow-dance close to him.
She was eighteen. That made her an adult. In other times and places, girls were already married at eighteen. Certainly, it wasn’t wrong to just dance with Kye.
After the night was nearly over, Elsie finally got the courage to go talk to him. A fast song played, not a slow one, which made her request downright innocent.
“Hey, Mr. McBride,” she said, half-laughing as though the idea had just occurred to her, “let’s dance.”
He shook his head. “I’m a chaperone.”
“So, chaperones aren’t allowed to have any fun?”
“Nope. It’s one of the chaperone bylaws. I have to be curmudgeonly, insist no one has fun, and I can’t dance.”
“Come on.” She sent him a come-hither smile. “Just this once. I won’t report you to the curmudgeon police.”
He gestured in the direction of a group of guys. A couple of freshmen stood nearest to the dance floor. “Try one of them. They look like they would say yes to you.”
