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I dish to him the one-brow skeptic he’s so fond of using.
He exhales, lifts his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m sorry about my... about last week. Can we please forget that even happened?”
So much for him confiding in me. I want to push, but I can tell he’s digging in. “Okay,” I say, though I can’t help worrying.
Our eyes meet and hold. He didn’t expect acquiescence.
“Well,” he says, recovering, “final next week. Lots to cover.”
Forty-five minutes later we’ve reviewed everything and I’m feeling much more confident about the math than what I’m about to do.
The sun is setting—outside and on the tutor-student relationship. It’s our last session, and I’ve procrastinated this... whatever it is... to the last possible moment.
I close my notebook and gather my courage, calling on all the encouragement—and threats—Ivy has given me over the past few days. Thankfully, Noah and I are alone at our small corner table amid the white noise of a full house.
“That should do it,” Noah says. “Make sure you’re relaxed going in, do some breathing exercises if you need to, and your final should be a breeze.”
“Mental toughness,” I say, zipping Trusty and wishing I could coax my butterflies in there with the books. “Listen, Noah, I want to thank you for helping me so much this semester. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“That’s my job,” he says matter-of-factly, picking up his things and rising to leave. All business.
“It’s more than that.” My time has run out. I stand, swallow my pride, and take a leap. “I... I’ve struggled with math for years, but with you it makes sense for the first time since elementary school. I’d like—” I clear my throat. “I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner.”
His expression tightens. Did I misread him? Did I say something stupid? He hasn’t said anything, so my mouth runs to cover the silence.
“Just, you know, to show my appreciation. As friends. To say thank you.” I become intensely interested in the floor, but I’ve made a pact to speak my appreciation, and I will do it. Maybe not with eye contact. “I don’t think you realize how important passing this class is to me. Without it I couldn’t graduate, and the job I have lined up would no longer be an option.” I risk a glance, and he’s wearing the blank face—the one he puts on any time I bring up anything personal. “I’ll never forget how much you’ve helped me,” I say.
His blank face cracks and his eyes harden. “Really?” Sarcasm drips from the word.
Does he not realize how much he’s helped me? How much I appreciate it? I have to convince him. “Yes, really! I could never have done this—”
“You’ll never forget?” His voice is bitter.
“Huh?” What’s going on here? Maybe he doesn’t want to go out to dinner, and that’s disappointing but fine, but he doesn’t believe I appreciate his help? All I can do is shake my head, confused.
“Forgive me if I doubt your memory and allow me toreintroduce myself. My name is Noah Jennings.” He holds his hand out, and mine is drawn into his in spite of his derisive tone.
Heart-pounding warmth spreads through my skin from his touch—a confusing sensation, considering the hostile squeeze he’s putting on my hand. Like he did that first day, only now he’s taken a step closer and his voice has lowered so I can barely hear the words in spite of his closeness. I feel calluses on his palm, smell cinnamon as he speaks.
“Noah. Jennings.” He draws himself to his full height, gaze momentarily dipping before snapping up to look me straight in the eyes. His are more brown than green today, and my heart is hammering as he resumes his reintroduction.
“Between my freshman and sophomore years, I spent a summer building wells in Ghana.” He pauses again, waiting. His eyes narrow, daring me as he did that first day.
That first day...
Wait.
Ghana? That’s where Claire’s husband—
Suddenly an image emerges from the depths of my memory, superimposing itself onto Noah’s face in front of me. The fit is almost perfect, though the details have shifted considerably.
Stocky now instead of slender.
No beard.
Glasses.
But the same olive skin and square jawline, though that’s less pronounced at his current weight. And those hazel eyes—staring straight into mine as we stand nearly nose-to-nose—sparking with anger and triumph as they expose my shame.
