“So why do you like it?” He asks again. I hear no challenge in his voice, only genuine curiosity.
“Because as long as you know the rules, you know what’s expected of you, and as long as you have the necessary information, you can always find the answer.”
He watches me, analyzing my face and what I’ve said. “You like being in control.” There’s no malice or derision, only pure observation.
I wait for the heat to rise to my cheeks, but it doesn’t come. I suppose I never looked at it that way, but now that he’s said it, I realize it’s true. “Yes.”
“And you do math problems for fun?”
He remembers our discussion on the street.
Memories of Friday night rush into my head, and I start to look down, but his hand reaches for my chin, tilting my face up. “Don’t do that. Don’t be embarrassed. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was the ass, you were only stuck dealing with it. Okay?”
I bite my top lip and slowly nod.
His hand lowers but his eyes hold mine.
“You don’t like soccer?” I ask.
Pain flickers in his eyes, but he still holds my gaze. “That’s a complicated question.”
The last time we met, I wouldn’t have pressed the issue. But I feel like what we experienced Friday night gives me the right to ask. “I think I can handle a complicated answer.”
He smirks, and a hint of his smart-assness flickers in his eyes. “Let’s just say that on rare occasions, the answer is yes, I love to play. But mostly, especially lately, the answer is no.”
“Then why do you play?”
“Why do any of us do what we don’t want to do?”
I don’t respond, unsure what answer he’s looking for.
He smiles, but it’s sad. “Because we’re afraid of what will happen if we don’t.”
I always considered fear to be a motivator or a reason not to do something, but I never considered it a reason to continue an ongoing behavior. This opens a vault full of questions about my own life. I’ve always assumed I’m afraid to engage in activities because I’m afraid of what might happen. But maybe I’m looking at it all wrong. Maybe I should be asking myself if I’m really afraid of leaving what makes me comfortable.
Tucker watches me with careful, perceptive eyes. He knows he’s stirred something in my head, and he patiently waits for me to respond.
If Caroline saw this Tucker, would she believe he’s the same guy that showed up at the party Friday night? I’ve experienced this doppelganger Tucker multiple times now, and I still struggle to believe it.
A question bubbles in my chest, begging for release. “Why are you so different with me than what I see in class or with your friends?”
He looks surprised, but I’m more surprised than he is. I’m usually a steel trap with my thoughts and emotions. Tucker seems to draw them out against my will.
He hesitates, but his blue eyes hold mine. “Because I trust you.”
I want to ask why, but he looks down at his paper. “So you’re telling me that I can’t multiply x by twenty-three?”
He’s changing the subject, and I let him, uncomfortable that I’ve shared so much. “No.” I point to the problem. “See? You need to perform this function first.”
We pass the next hour in silence except for Tucker’s few questions. It takes him a little longer to understand the concepts, but once he has them, he knows them well. At four, we get up to leave, and Tucker walks me to my car. His mouth twists to one side, showing his dimple, and I realize how much I love when he smiles and lets me see it. How odd that Tucker spends most of his time grinning and cavorting his way through life, but with me, his dimple-producing smiles are rare.
Suddenly, he looks shy. “I’ve been thinking I might know of another way for you to de-stress, doing something besides math.”
My face burns. Is it that obvious that I’m a mess?
“Scarlett, don’t.” He leans down to look into my eyes and his voice softens. “Don’t be embarrassed. I was thinking about it because I’m freaking out over my algebra test on Thursday. I thought how ironic it was that the thing that calms you down stresses me out.”
I take a deep breath, but my skin feels like it’s crawling with ants. “I can see the irony.”
“Anyway, I was thinking maybe I could teach you a different way to relieve your stress. A physical way.”
My face is on fire now. I’m sure I know the physical way Tucker relieves his stress.
He smirks. “I’m pretty sure we’re thinking of two different things right now.”
Mortified, I spin around to open my car door.
“Scarlett, wait.” His left hand presses the door, and his right hand rests on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I forget how sensitive you are. It’s just that I think that deep down inside you want to learn how to relax.”
If he’s trying to make me feel better, it’s not working. My hand jerks on the door handle.
His body tenses behind me. “Damnit. That didn’t come out right.”
I don’t say anything, frustrated with myself for reacting this way. He’s making an effort to try to help me, Tucker Price, and I’m acting like a nun in a convent. I take a deep breath. “It’s okay. I tend to overreact.”
“Look.” His mouth is next to my ear. “You’ve helped me so much, I just thought maybe I could teach you something I know and maybe help you.”
I turn around to face him.
He smiles, and it’s lopsided. His excitement makes him look like a teenager instead of a jaded college junior. “When you play soccer, your run your ass off on the field, so it’s important to keep in shape all year long, even when you’re not playing. Most guys hate it, but I like it. I like pushing myself. I like the rush I get during a hard run and meeting my goal. Anyway.” He takes a deep breath. “For some reason, I think you’d like it too. It’s about control and testing your limits.”
“You think I should start running?”
“Yeah, and I want you to work out with me.”
My lips part. “You want me to run with you?”
“Yeah.” He grins, but it’s hesitant, like he’s worried I’ll say no. Which is crazy. Why would he care?
I shake my head. “I haven’t run since high school gym class. I’ll hold you back.”
“It’s my offseason and training is boring. You’ll help liven it up a bit. Make it more interesting.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, I’ll get to tutor you for a change.”
I laugh, but it’s a nervous laugh. Even though I’m not that physical, exercise is supposed to be good for my anxiety. But I’m worried working out with Tucker will make me more anxious. Nevertheless, I’m intrigued by this side of Tucker and the idea of finding something to help my nerves. “What would I have to do?”
“Just show up in workout clothes and running shoes, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“And when did you want to start this?”
His grin spreads across his face. “I have to work out tonight. You usually work in the math lab on Tuesdays, and it closes at seven. Right?”
I nod, momentarily caught off guard that he knows this, until I remember we’ve shared schedules to set up his tutoring sessions.
“What if you come to the fitness center around eight?” He studies my face with a hopeful look. “So you’ll do it?”
Say no. Say no. Hanging out with Tucker Price is a terrible idea and will come to no good. But he’s giving me a cheesy smile and looks genuinely excited about this venture. I can’t help myself. “Yes.”
“Okay. Tonight at eight. At the fitness center.” He takes off to his car, and I wonder why I can’t go to a movie with a nice guy like Daniel, but I’ll agree to work out with Tucker.
Chapter Nine
I text Caroline while I’m walking across campus to the tutoring center, asking if I can borrow her running shoes. We wear the same size, and she bought a brand new pair after Justin broke up with her last fall. Her plan was
to run away from her problems by taking up jogging. It lasted two sessions.
She quickly responds: Yes, why?
I thought I might try running.
No response. She’s probably trying to figure out why I’ve suddenly decided to do something physical. She knows about Daniel and our coffee dates. Maybe she thinks I want to get in shape for him.
The next few hours fly by, but my stomach has begun to tighten like a noose. Why have did I agreed to this? Sure, I’ve hung out with Tucker at Panera, but that was for studying.
If the Tucker I knew before our tutoring sessions had suggested we run together, I would have been sure it was a practical joke. But oddly enough, I know this Tucker. We’ve only been together a handful of times, yet I know he wouldn’t hurt me. He said he shows a different side of himself to me because he trusts me. I guess I trust him, too. The revelation is shocking. Other than Caroline, I can’t remember the last time I’ve trusted anyone.
When my session is over, I hurry home. Caroline has left a note that her shoes are in my room. I make a peanut butter sandwich and eat it while I search my dresser drawers for workout clothes. I tried yoga a year ago as a form of relaxation and while it worked, I had trouble finding time when I was alone in the apartment to do it. I was too self-conscious to do it around Caroline.
So what makes me think I can run with Tucker? In front of people? My hands are shaking as I tie Caroline’s shoes, and I sit on the side of the bed, sucking in air.
I can’t do this, which is stupid and makes me more upset, which increases my anxiety. I consider canceling, but I realize I don’t have Tucker’s phone number, and the responsible part of me would never leave him there wondering where I am. I lie down on the bed and try to relax, using guided imagery to settle down. When I try to envision running on the track with Tucker, my mind can’t go there. For one thing, I’m too anal to imagine a place I’ve never been. And for another, I simply can’t picture Tucker working out with me.
I finally get myself under control and drive to campus. The grounds are dark when I pull into the parking lot, but I’ve never felt unsafe here, one of several reasons I picked Southern. Still, I’m careful as I walk toward the brightly lit fitness center. I’ve been in college for two and a half years and never entered that building, but I know it’s divided into two sections. One for the student athletes, and the other for the general student population. It never occurred to me to ask Tucker which side. One more thing to worry about.
It’s a needless concern. Tucker is standing in the lobby, waiting, with a duffel bag over his shoulder. He smiles when he sees me. “I was worried you’d chicken out.”
“I almost did.” Why am I always compelled to tell him the truth?
“I’m glad you didn’t.” The weird thing is he really looks happy.
He opens the door to the general student body side and waits for me to enter. I’m relieved. I’ll make enough of a fool of myself without doing it in front of trained athletes.
Tucker sets his bag down on the side of the indoor running track. Leaning over, he pulls out two water bottles and hands me one. “It’s important to stay hydrated.”
I nod and take a drink.
“I’m not sure how much physical exercise you’ve gotten lately, so I decided to start as though you’re a beginner.”
My eyebrows lift. “Is it that obvious?”
He cocks his head to the side with an ornery look. “Is that a trick question where there is no right answer?”
I laugh. “Probably.”
“Then I plead the fifth.”
“Smart man.”
“Interesting choice of words.” He teases. “You may be smarter with algebraic equations, but I know about running. You’re in my territory now.”
Something about his wording sets off a buzz in my stomach, but it quickly ebbs away. This is a totally friendly venture. I’m amazed how relaxed I am. I expected to be a nervous wreck, and while my nerves are on edge, it’s only a twinge. Why? I’m in an unfamiliar situation that sets off all my trigger points, but I’m comfortable. Is it because of the activity or who I’m with? Before I can puzzle it out, Tucker takes the bottle from my hand and sets both on the ground.
“Let’s get started.”
“Do we need to stretch?”
“You don’t want to stretch cold muscles. We’ll stretch when we’re done.”
“Oh.” This is no big deal, but I hate not knowing things. My stomach tightens.
“Scarlett.” Tucker’s voice is soothing, and I look up into his face. “Breathe. For once, you don’t have to know everything. Let me be in charge, and you just do what I say.”
Does he know what he’s asking from me? I inhale a gulp of air and stare into his eyes. Strangely enough, I think he does.
“The goal here is for you use your body to relax you, not just your mind. Okay?”
I nod.
“Good. Now I know how driven you are, but it’s important to not push yourself. Not your first time or two. Otherwise you’ll overdo it, and this will be counterproductive.”
I take another breath and nod.
“I’m going to be watching you closely, but I know you hate people to watch you, so I wanted to warn you.”
How much of me does he actually see?
He senses my unease and looks into my eyes. “You have to trust me. Okay?”
Trust. There’s that word again. I do trust him, but this is still hard. I nod. “But won’t other people watch me?”
“Everyone else is busy with their own workout. They’re not going to pay attention to you.” He grins. “Not unless you start running like Forrest Gump.”
His answer makes me laugh, and I find myself relaxing a bit.
“We’re going to start out walking first, then work our way up to a run. The walk will warm up your muscles.” He starts walking, and I stay beside him, trying to match my strides to his. Someone approaches from behind us, jogging at a brisk pace, and we move to the side, walking a quarter of the track in silence. I’m concentrating on my breathing and my strides, trying to find equilibrium for the two.
He turns toward me. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
My stomach clenches. “A younger sister.”
“Why are you tensing up?”
“What?” My head jerks toward him.
“Was it the question or what you’re doing?”
I look away. “The question.”
“You don’t like to talk about your family in general or just your sister?”
He’s much too perceptive. “My family.”
“Okay, No talking about family. I get that. I’m not a fan of talking about my family, either.”
Now I wonder even more about his brother Marcel. “That’s okay. We don’t have to talk.”
“Actually, we do. Your being able to carry a conversation is a good indicator of how much you’re pushing yourself.”
“Oh.”
He winks. “The challenge is to find a safe topic that doesn’t make you anxious. Any hints?”
That’s a good question. My life is math, school, tutoring, and hanging out with Caroline. “I’m pretty boring, Tucker.”
“I highly doubt that.” There’s a strange tone in his voice that sets off a flutter in my stomach. “Let’s start with the basics. I’d ask you where you’re from, but I suspect it falls under the not comfortable topics.”
I nod.
He smiles. “The past sucks. The future is what’s important.”
I laugh. “Says the history major.”
“Well…” A sheepish grin spreads across his face, and he rubs his hand through his hair. “What do you plan to do with your math major?”
“You really want to know?”
His voice turns serious. “Yes, Scarlett. I only want the truth from you.”
I turn to look at him.
“That’s what I love about you. You speak the truth, as painful or as uncomfortable it is for you to say and me to hear. People bul
lshit me all the time. I need the truth.”
I always worry people think I’m weird or will make fun of my career plans, but looking into Tucker’s face, I know he won’t think it’s odd. “I want to be an analyst for the CIA.”
He pauses. “That’s not something you just come up with. How did you find out about that kind of thing?”
“It was in math club in high school. One of our meetings was about careers with math.”
“Why did it excite you?”
My head swings to face him. “Why do you think it excites me?”
“Your eyes widened just a bit and got a sparkle that wasn’t there before.”
“That’s kind of scary, Tucker.” But I’m not frightened for my physical safety, more for my emotional. I wonder what else he sees in me that no one else does.
He shakes his head then shrugs. “I just pay attention. I read people.”
I do this in my own way, study people so I know where I stand and how to react. Tucker and I are more alike than I realize.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he says. “Why does it excite you?”
“I don’t know.” It’s my turn to shrug. “I guess because I can use something I love to help people and it seems like a challenge. Maybe because it seems so unlike me.”
He gives me a soft smile. “I happen to like you the way you are.”
“You don’t even know me.”
Seriousness creeps into his eyes. “I think I know you better than you think.”
We walk in silence for several steps, and I know that Tucker’s confession should scare me and on some level it does, but mostly it fills me with wonder. For twenty years, I’ve kept myself, the real me, hidden from everyone. Even Caroline who knows me better than anyone doesn’t see it all. Could someone really see past the walls I put up and see me?
“And how does someone become an analyst for the CIA?”
“A minimum of a bachelor’s degree, although a master’s degree would help. I’m going to apply my senior year and see if they accept me without one. I’m not sure I can afford the tuition for a master’s. I’ve got a 4.0. I’m preparing for the GRE. My English and writing skills are strong, and I’m semi-fluent in Arabic. I’m a strong candidate on paper.”
After Math Page 7