“Nope.”
I don’t believe him. There’s a hitch in his voice. He wants me to ask him questions. If I ask and he has to answer, he’s off the hook for having to voluntarily share his past with me. He wanted me to win.
“So I get three questions?”
“Yep.”
The problem is he’s so secretive, I don’t even know where to start. When we’re halfway around, I’ve partially caught my breath. I decide to ask a simple question. “First question, tell me about your family.”
His chin lifts. “Which one?”
“You have more than one? And this doesn’t count as a second question.
He snorts. “Fine. It doesn’t count and the indirect answer to your second question is”—he pauses, rolling his eyes to the ceiling—“seven families.”
“Seven? How is that possible?” I stare into his face, searching for a sign that he’s tricking me.
His mouth lifts into a grimace. “Foster care.”
My mouth forms an O. That explains so much and yet so little.
“You get one family per question. Or you get one family and two more unrelated questions.”
“Your first family.”
He gives me a sad smile. He knew I’d ask this question. The realization is shocking. “My mother was a drug addict. Meth was her drug of choice, but she’d take anything she could get her hands on. When I was twelve, the state intervened and placed me in foster care. My mother wasn’t the best of parents, but she was better than the multiple foster homes I made my way through.”
He pauses, and I take in what he’s said. I could have lived his life. I occasionally wondered if I should have had that life. My mother was neglectful when she was on a drinking binge, and she was on drinking binges more often than not.
“Next question.”
I can’t stop thinking about Tucker telling me that his parents want him to become a pro soccer player. “Tell me about your last family.”
“My last foster family. I was placed with them when I was thirteen. It was toward the end of my eighth-grade year. They realized I had a talent for soccer and encouraged me to develop it. It didn’t hurt that my foster brother played, too. I’m sure that’s why I was with them until I graduated from high school. Because I was an all-state soccer player and received multiple scholarship offers. They liked the attention. They still do, although not all of it.” His mouth lifts into a slight smirk.
He’d said that there’s more than one way to control a situation. The door of understanding swings partially open.
“You think the only reason they wanted you was because you could play soccer?”
He’s silent for a second. “I’m sure of it.”
An ache fills my chest thinking about how unloved he felt. I wonder if he misses his biological mother or if he’s tried to find her. “At least you felt wanted,” I mumble before I realize I’ve said it aloud.
“What?”
I can pretend I didn’t say it, but it hardly seems fair. He’s shared deeply personal things. I need to reciprocate. I sigh and wipe the back of my hand against my forehead. “I said at least you felt wanted. I was a burden to my mother. The only time I ever felt wanted was when her boyfriends showed an interest in me.”
His eyes widen in horror. “They didn’t…” He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
“No. But not because they didn’t want to. Especially my junior and senior year.”
“Scarlett. I’m sorry.”
My face hardens. “I didn’t tell you so you’d feel sorry for me. I thought it might help you understand me better. That’s the point of this exercise, right? To understand each other better?”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “You used up your last question asking me if I thought my foster parents only wanted me because I could play soccer. But I’ll give you one more.”
The question that springs to mind is one I’m not sure he expects but has plowed through my head since he told me about his last family. I plan to ask him if he’s ever felt loved. I stop on the track and he comes to a halt next to me, looking into my face with nervousness and hope.
Why does he look at me with hope?
Once again, I wonder why he’s telling me these things. I know for a fact he rigged this so he would be forced to share his past with me. A new question forms as I search his eyes. “How many people at Southern have you told about your past?”
The corners of his mouth lift into a sad smile. “Only you, Scarlett. Only you.”
We stand on the track staring into each other’s eyes as someone runs past, but neither of us moves.
Why me?
There’s so much more to Tucker than he shows the world. A vulnerable, injured boy that created the man in front of me. Maybe he feels as trapped in his skin as I do.
That thought shocks me. Protected, cocooned, yes. I built the walls myself. I created the nest inside. But lately Tucker has made me question my decision to stay hidden, and never once have I felt trapped.
Until now.
Tucker walks to his bag and picks up our water bottles as I gather my wits and follow him. When I’m close, he hands me mine while keeping his gaze on the back wall. He takes several long gulps, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “So how was your workout tonight?”
“Good,” I say after drinking a quarter of the bottle.
We stretch in silence as I process what Tucker has told me and what it means. I feel like he’s given me a precious gift, and I’ve given him nothing in return. But I’m not sure I can offer myself like he did, and then I realize Tucker has much more to lose by sharing himself with me than the other way around.
We’re exiting the fitness building and walking across the parking lot as I search my brain for a comparable sliver of my past. “My mother was a drunk,” I finally say.
He stops and turns to me. The lights illuminating the walkway make half his face visible while the other half remains in the shadows.
“It was just my mother, me, and my little sister. And the revolving door of guys she brought home. She was always looking for her meal ticket. Her way out of the trailer park she’d been born into and will probably die in.” I look into his face and hope he can see how hard this is for me to share. “I swore I wouldn’t end up like her and my sister and every other female in my family before me. I wouldn’t end up pregnant at sixteen and living on welfare. That I’d make something of my life.”
He watches me in silence.
“But I shut myself off from everyone and everything to survive. I’m hidden somewhere deep inside and sometimes I wonder if I’ll stay buried forever. If I’ll ever find my way out.”
His hand reaches for my cheek, and he brushes away the stray hairs that have escaped my ponytail and whip around my face. “You will, Scarlett. You’re closer than you think.”
His hand drops, and we walk to my car in silence. He opens my car door and closes it once I’ve gotten inside, waiting and watching as I drive away.
I’m still stunned that I shared these things with Tucker. Shocked to realize the truth of the last part. I wonder if I’ll ever climb out of this tunnel of isolation.
And I wonder if Tucker Price is the one to help me climb it.
Chapter Twelve
I’m achy when I wake up Friday morning. At first I think I’m tired and sore from pushing myself too hard the night before, but after I get up and moving, I realize I’m getting sick. My throat is burning and I have a massive headache. I don’t have time to get sick.
While I don’t usually dress up to go to class, I definitely don’t wear sweatpants like the ones I put on now. When I go into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, Caroline takes one look at me and shakes her head.
“You look like shit.”
I grab my travel mug from the cabinet. “I love you, too.”
Her hand presses against my forehead. “You have a fever.”
“Thanks. I figured that out by now.” I press the large button on my single-
serving coffee maker. It’s days like today I truly appreciate its efficiency.
“See? I told you that running is bad for you.”
I scoff, and it makes my throat hurt worse.
“You’re not going to class, are you?”
I turn to face her, pressing my back into the counter. “I cannot miss set and logic. I might be able to get out of Arabic.”
“Scarlett.”
I grab my coffee and find my coat. “This class is the most important class in my college career. I have a test next Friday. I cannot miss it.”
“Then will you go to the clinic after your class? Please?”
I grin. I love this girl. “Yes, anything for you.”
“That’s not true, or you wouldn’t be spending time with Tucker Price.”
I walk out the door without answering. She’s right. That’s the one thing I stubbornly refuse to give in on.
Class is torture. My back begins to ache, and I end up slouching through the last half as I try to concentrate on the class discussion. When I gather my books and leave the room, I find Daniel waiting in the hall.
How could I forget that he’d probably be here?
His eyes widen as he moves toward me. “Scarlett. You look terrible.”
“Why does everyone keep telling me that?” I grumble.
Daniel rubs his forehead. “That came out wrong.”
“It’s okay,” I say, moving to the staircase. “I’ve looked in the mirror. I know it’s true.”
“What are you doing in class?”
“I couldn’t miss the class discussion today.” I cut him off as he opens his mouth. “And no, getting someone’s notes isn’t good enough. Not in this class.”
“Are you going home now?”
“No, I’m going to the clinic. Then I’m going home.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
I cast a skeptical glance at him. “I’ve got to warn you—I think I’m carrying the bubonic plague. Walk with me at your own risk.”
He grins. “I’ll take my chances.”
We exit the building and dark gray clouds cover the sky. A blustery wind blasts my face and steals my breath. The chills from my fever intensify. All I want to do is go home and go to bed, but I suspect I have strep throat and need an antibiotic.
When we reach the building that houses the clinic, I turn to Daniel and smile. “Thanks for walking with me.”
He opens the door. “What kind of guy would I be to leave you out here? I’ll walk you to the clinic.”
His offer is sweet and genuine, but all I want is to be left alone. Still, it’s not like I can refuse. “Thanks.”
When we enter the building, he presses the up arrow at the elevator. “I had hoped you’d agree to go out with me tonight, but I can see that’s out of the question.”
His statement is the one thing that makes me thankful I’m sick. I still haven’t decided if I want to go out with him or not. Maybe the fact that I can’t decide is my decision. “I suspect I’ll be home all weekend.”
The elevator opens and he presses his hand against the opening to keep the doors from closing. He’s so nice and polite. How can I not want to go out with him? He has every quality I look for in a guy.
Maybe I’m just too broken to become attached to someone other than Caroline, who’s more like a sister at this point than a friend.
The thought is upsetting, but I can’t let myself ponder it as I exit the elevator and stop at the clinic door. “Thanks so much for walking with me, Daniel. It was really sweet.”
“See you Monday after your class?”
I nod and give him a smile. I hope I have an answer for him, one way or the other.
The nurse practitioner confirms my strep throat diagnosis, and I send an e-mail to my Arabic instructor that I’m going to miss class. It kills me to miss a class. Any class. But not only do I feel like crap, I don’t want to infect other people. The best place for me is home in bed.
***
When Caroline comes home, she pops her head in my door to check on me. “You still look like shit.”
“I have good reason. Strep throat.”
Her face scrunches with indecision. “You probably need someone to stay with you tonight.”
I sit up. “Caroline, I’m twenty years old. You and I both know I’ve been taking care of myself since I was six. I’m not deathly ill. If you have somewhere to go, go.”
“I was invited to a party with Tina.”
I offer a smile. “Then go and have fun. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I have antibiotics, Netflix, and hot tea. I’m good.”
She laughs. “You’re so easy to please.”
Not as much as she thinks. Not lately.
Caroline heads to her room to figure out what to wear. I check my e-mail to see if Anne in my Arabic class has responded to my e-mail requesting notes from today’s missed class. Her response is in my inbox, but there’s also an e-mail from Tucker.
I read Anne’s first, although I’m dying with curiosity as to why Tucker e-mailed. Anne has attached her notes in a file, which I download to begin studying in a few minutes. Next I open Tucker’s e-mail, which is titled Just Checking On You.
I stopped by the math lab to check on you this afternoon but they said you called in sick. I wanted to make sure you were okay, and that I didn’t push you too hard.
Tucker
I smile and find myself happy, even though I’m sick. Tucker went to check on me. I click reply.
Tucker,
I survived the run but alas succumbed to streptococcus. No worries, I’ll be back to normal by tomorrow night after penicillin has flowed through my veins for over twenty-four hours.
Scarlett
I send the email and open Anne’s notes. We’ve been each other’s fallback person since Arabic I. She’s almost as thorough with her note-taking as I am. I’m reading the homework assignment when my e-mail dings.
I click over, surprised to see Tucker has responded. It’s 8:10. Why is Tucker e-mailing on Friday night?
I was going to see if you wanted to run on Sunday afternoon. Do you think you’ll feel up to it?
I find myself hoping I am.
Tucker was right. I like the challenge of pushing my body, but I have to admit that there’s more to wanting to run than the physical activity itself. It’s Tucker. But what exactly is going on in my head?
I like the freedom to be myself with him. No pretenses. No hiding. His wild partying and short flings with girls tells me he’s not interested in me in anything other than a friend, which makes me feel safe. And while I love Caroline, it’s nice to have someone else in my life. It’s so easy with Tucker. The door to me, the me deep inside, has cracked open, and I’m emerging into the daylight for the first time in years. I like that he’s part of that.
I e-mail him back and tell him to count on meeting me at four.
***
By Sunday I’m much better, and eager to get out of the apartment. I’ve been holed up since Friday.
Caroline doesn’t approve, which comes as no surprise, but she’s too busy getting ready to go out with a guy she met at the party on Friday night to put up much of a protest.
Tucker is waiting in his usual spot when I arrive at three-fifty. He’s grinning as I walk up, a mischievous gleam in his eye.
His look makes me slightly nervous. He’s up to something.
I lift an eyebrow. “I still don’t understand how you can be early when you meet me to run and for tutoring but you can never make it to Western civilization on time?”
He shrugs. “I told you. I just need the right incentive.” I start to open the door to go to the track, but he puts his hand over it. “You probably shouldn’t run, since you’re still getting over strep.”
Disappointment sinks like a weight in my chest. “I’m a little tired, Tucker. I’ll just take it easy.”
“We’re still working out, just not running.”
My eye
s narrow. “What exactly are we doing?”
“I’m behind on my weight training. We’re going to work out in the weight room instead.”
“Oh.” This is unfamiliar and unease blooms inside my chest.
“Scarlett.” His face lowers to mine. “No one’s going to pay any attention to you, okay? And I’ll show you everything so you’ll know exactly what to do.”
“Okay.” I’m still not used to him reading my subtle emotions.
He steps away from the door. “Come on.” He heads up the stairs and enters a large room filled with weight machines, then tosses his bag on the floor. “Have you ever worked out on machines before?”
“No.” Some of them are easy to figure out but others look completely foreign.
“We’ll start slow. We won’t overdo it.” He moves to a piece of equipment with pads where someone’s legs would go.
Tucker is focused on adjusting the weight and I watch him in confusion. I’m struggling to believe that he’s here for such a simple reason as wanting to be with me. “Why are you doing this, Tucker?”
He turns around, surprise widening his eyes. “Doing what?”
“This.” I point to the machine he’s standing next to. “We were supposed to run. If you thought I couldn’t run, then why are we up here instead? Why didn’t you just cancel?”
Tucker takes a step toward me, worry wrinkling his forehead. “I told you. I’m behind in my weight training.”
“You’d be much faster and more efficient without me.”
His head tilts to the side, and his face hardens slightly. “Do you not want to do this?” The way he says it sounds like he means more than working with weights.
“No.” I shake my head. “I mean yes.” I exhale in frustration and brush a stray hair from my face. “I want to do this. I just don’t get why you do.”
He rests his butt against one of the machines and crosses his arms over his chest. “The truth?”
“Always. I only want the truth from you.”
A soft smile tips his mouth up. “That’s one reason. The fact you want the truth. No one else does. They want to hear what’s going to make them happy, even if it’s a lie. But you always want the truth, even if it’s painful. Just like me.”
After Math Page 10