I cringe.
“No, don’t do that, Scarlett. Don’t make a list of things in your head that you should have done differently.”
I cock my head and lower my voice. “Why would you think I’d do that?”
“I’ve told you before. I know you better than you think.”
This should scare me, the way he can peek at the inner me, but it’s comforting. I believe he really does, that he wants to find the real me. I just can’t figure out why.
“Look.” He stands and moves in front of me. “You’re the first real friend I’ve had in years. Everyone wants or expects something from me and while, yes, you do too in a way, you want me to succeed for my benefit, not yours.”
We’re so different. No one expects anything from me but me. Everyone expects something from Tucker. But we’re similar, too. We’re both very much alone.
“I like spending time with you,” I finally say, looking down at the floor.
“Me, too.”
I look up into his face and sadness crinkles his eyes. Then he grins his Tucker Price grin and cocks his head in his self-confident way. “So are we doing this or what?”
“We are.” I’m surprised I don’t feel more shy, more self-conscious, but Tucker has a way of making me comfortable so I not only say what I think, but I’m not embarrassed about it either.
“Come sit on this thing right here.” He pats the seat back.
I have slight reservations about sitting on the machine but I look up into Tucker’s smiling face. He wants to help me.
The thought is strange and comforting at the same time. He values what we have, whatever it is.
I rest my back against the seat. “Is this some medieval torture device?”
“No, but remarkably close.” He explains that it’s to help strengthen my thighs as he sets the weights lower, explaining everything as he goes. “Now lift your legs slowly and slowly release. Don’t drop it abruptly.”
I do as he says, focusing on my thighs.
“Good. Now nice slow reps. Controlled movements. It’s all about control.” He’s looking at my legs as he talks, and I’m thankful I’m wearing yoga pants.
Control. He’s right. It’s all about control. Control over my thoughts and feelings. Trying to control what the world thinks about me when it probably doesn’t even give a flip. Even my anxiety is my mind’s way of trying to control things I have no control over.
Maybe I need to give up more control and embrace moments of impetuousness.
Isn’t that what I’m doing right now?
We spend the next hour with Tucker showing me how to use the machines. He gets in his own workout between his lessons for me.
I glance over at him while he’s lifting at least quadruple the weight I used on my thighs. “I’m sure many a girl has swooned over your legs,” I tease.
He cocks an eyebrow. “Are you making fun of my legs? They’re my best attribute.”
I laugh. “Your legs? That’s a sad fact indeed. Your mind is much more useful.”
“Perhaps, but my good looks get the girls.”
“What are you going to do when your hair falls out and you get a potbelly gut?”
“Never.” He winks. “And who says swoon anymore? What are you? From the nineteen-fifties?”
“I’m a bit old-fashioned sometimes.” I shrug.
His face softens. “I know. It’s cute.”
After we finish in the weight room, Tucker asks if I want to walk around the track instead of run. I’m not ready to go home yet, and if I’m honest, I’m not ready to leave Tucker yet, either. I watch him, trying to name this foreign emotion floating in my head.
Lighthearted. I feel lighthearted.
We head down to the track and fall into a comfortable silence. We’ve made one full lap when Tucker looks down at me. “I told you about my past. I want to ask you questions this time.”
Tucker asking questions about my past sends a sliver of worry poking my belly. “If I remember correctly, and I’m sure I do, I had to earn those questions.”
He grins, reveling in the idea of a challenge. “So what do you want me to do?”
“That’s a good question. I’m not sure it would be fair if you do something physical. Maybe I should make you recite the rules of distributive properties.”
“Do you know how incredibly hard that would be for me?”
“Nothing easy is worth having.”
He stops in the track.
I’ve walked several steps away and turn back to him. “Tucker?”
He looks in awe, as though he’s had a revelation. “You’re right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe that’s why I’m so unhappy. Soccer and everything that comes with it is too easy.”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Maybe not, but it’s true.”
I stare up into his face, my heart aching. “Are you unhappy?”
A tiny smile lifts his mouth. “Not when I’m with you.”
We stare at each other for several seconds until someone calls Tucker’s name. His head jerks to the side, and he becomes a different person. His shoulders roll back and his chin lifts. A hardness fills his eyes. He’s arrogant, cocky.
A dark-headed guy I don’t recognize walks toward us, looking me up and down. He puts his hands on his hips. “What are you doing, Tucker?”
Tucker spreads his arms wide, tilting his head to the side with a grin. “Working out, dude. What’s it look like?”
The other guy’s face is expressionless, but one eyebrow twitches. “Looks like you’re walking around talking to me.”
Anger puffs out Tucker’s chest. “What, are you here to check up on me?”
“Somebody has to.”
“Fuck you, Jason.” Tucker sneers, then grabs me arm and pulls me away.
I turn to study Jason. He still stands in the middle of the track, his hands on hips, watching me. “Who was that?”
“No one.” But Tucker’s mood has darkened. He looks over his shoulder. “We should call it a day.”
I nod, but I’m disappointed. “Yeah.”
He grabs his bag and loops the strap on his shoulder, and picks up my coat. We walk out into the lobby and he helps me put on my jacket, but his movements are tight and controlled.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “I didn’t have you overdo it, did I?”
“No, I’m fine.”
We walk outside, and Tucker’s bare-armed, but he barely notices. He seems agitated.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He stops. “I’m fine, Scarlett.’ But he doesn’t elaborate. His demeanor has changed again. He no longer acts upset and instead has morphed into the caricature that greeted Jason. The guy who was twenty minutes late for our first tutoring session.
This arrogant Tucker is the shield he puts up to protect himself, and I suspect it’s up most of the time. It has to be exhausting. His trust in me grants me the rare privilege of knowing the real him. I want to tell him that he should tell people like Jason to fuck off and really mean it, but we’re not to that place in our friendship.
“Thanks for working out with me.” I say, worried that he’s put up his shield against me as well.
“Yeah,” he mumbles before he walks away.
I walk to my car, hoping I haven’t lost him.
Chapter Thirteen
Daniel is waiting for me after set and logic on Monday, and I suppress a cringe. What am I going to do about this situation?
“I don’t have time to have coffee with you,” he says, his eyes apologetic. “I’ve got to meet my advisor, but I didn’t want to make you think I’d stood you up.”
I smile. He really is a nice guy. He deserves better than me stringing him along.
“I realized I didn’t have your number to text you.”
“Oh.” I pull out my phone and he takes it from my hand to enter his number.
“If you want to get ahold of me”—he lo
oks up and grins—“for any reason, feel free to call or text.”
“Thanks,” I say, looking at my phone in his hand.
He hands it back. “I’ll see you Wednesday, unless you decide you want to see me sooner.” His meaning is clear.
“Thanks.” I still can’t make myself look at him.
“You look like you’re feeling better.”
“Yeah,” I shrug and finally look up. “I’m much better. Thanks.”
He walks backward down the hall. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye.”
I didn’t have my morning coffee at home in anticipation of meeting Daniel so I head to the coffee shop without him and wait in the line to place my order.
“I heard he’s actually seeing someone.” A girl in front of me says to her friend. “He was supposed to go to Scott’s party on Saturday night, and he never showed.”
The second girl lowers her chin and lifts her eyebrows. “Tucker Price skipped a party? What? Was he in jail?”
My ears perk up at the mention of Tucker’s name, but I try not to look too interested.
“No, he stayed home. Jason said he was doing homework. On a Saturday night. How insane is that?”
“Was he with someone?”
“He stayed home. You know he never takes girls to his place. And Jason said he was at his place. All weekend.”
Tucker’s alleged activity this weekend goes against everything Caroline is always telling me as well. And who’s Jason? I know he’s the dark-headed guy who talked to Tucker at the gym, but is he Tucker’s roommate?
I spend the rest of my time before Arabic trying to study, but I spend more time thinking about Tucker, and the gossip I overheard. What does it mean? Why should it matter to me? But Tucker and I are friends. He even admitted it. Doesn’t that give me the right to care?
The rest of the afternoon flies by in math lab, and I’m exhausted when I leave ten minutes late. Tucker’s standing in the shadows in the hall. He grins when he sees me.
“Tucker, what are you doing here?”
“We did it, Scarlett. We got a B-plus.”
I stop in front of him, my heart bursting with pride. “No, you did it, Tucker. You got a B-plus.”
He turns serious. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Shaking my head, I smile. “You could have easily had another tutor help you. This was all you. You just needed to have the steps explained slower.”
“Well, thanks.” He hands me a brown gift bag he had hidden behind him. His shoulders hunch as though he’s worried I’ll refuse.
My heart flutters, and I feel lightheaded. But not in the way I usually feel when I’m anxious. This is pleasant. “What’s this?”
“A thank-you for helping me.”
I look up at him and smile. Other than Caroline and Tina, I can’t think of the last time someone has given me a gift. The bag is heavier than I expected. “What is it?”
“Open and see.”
Gifts make me awkward. People watch while I open them, and although I’m used to Tucker staring at me, he’s waiting for my reaction. That makes me more anxious than usual. I pull out the white tissue paper and start to transfer it to my other hand, but Tucker takes it from me, his mouth pressed into a tight line.
He’s nervous. Confident Tucker is nervous. Why?
Tilting the bag, I look inside and pull out a rounded object. It’s an alarm clock, but the face of the clock has equations in place of the numbers.
“I saw it and thought about you. It’s kind of stupid…”
I glance up at him, smiling. “I love it.”
“Really?”
“Really.” I can’t believe how happy I feel right now. It’s such an unfamiliar emotion that I barely recognize it. “You didn’t have to do this, Tucker. The university is paying me to tutor you. Besides, we’re friends. ”
“I know. But I wanted you to know how much I appreciate you.”
I’m nearly speechless. “Thank you.” I finally get out.
“You’re welcome.”
We stare at each other for a couple of seconds. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I’m amazed this thoughtful guy is the same person who fuels the university’s gossip. I’m so grateful he’s part of my life.
“So what are you doing now?” he asks.
I take a deep breath. My nerves feel like they’re about to jump out of my skin. “I’m meeting someone from my Arabic class at Panera to study for a test on Wednesday.”
“Panera should give you some kind of frequent-customer discount.”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “Where are you off to?”
“Training. Then some quality time with Western civ.”
“That’s right. We have another test coming up next week.”
“Maybe we could...” Tucker shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck, then releases a long exhale. “When do you meet your friend?”
“At six-thirty.” I shift the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “I need to get going.” My clock is still in my hand, with the handle of my bag looped over my fingers. I should put the clock in the bag, but I can’t make myself do it yet. I still can’t believe he’s given me a gift, let alone such a perfect one.
“I’ll walk you out.” He reaches for the strap of my messenger bag and slides it down my arm, then hooks it over his shoulder. It’s a simple thing, but I can read so much into it. The gift. Taking my bag. What does this mean? Is that what friends do?
We head for the staircase.
“I’ve been thinking about Daniel Bailey,” he says, his demeanor shifting again. He’s quiet, thoughtful now, with a twinge of sorrow. “I…I hope I didn’t sway you to not go out with him because of what I said.”
“You didn’t really say anything, Tucker.”
“I know. Look, Bailey and I don’t get along because I’m an asshole. He’s entitled to his opinion of me. I earned it.” He stops at the exterior door, his hand on the handle, keeping his gaze on my mouth. “I think he’s probably a nice guy, Scarlett. If you want to go out with him, you probably should.” His eyes shift to mine.
My breath freezes, and I’m not sure how to process everything that’s just happened within the last few minutes. “You think I should go out with Daniel Bailey?”
A war of emotions flashes in his eyes and finally settles on acceptance. “You deserve a nice guy, Scarlett.”
But what about you? stays tacked to the tip of my tongue. Where did that come from? How can I misinterpret our being friends to Tucker wanting to go out with me? And where did this sudden desire to go out with Tucker come from? I feel like I’ve been struck by a lightning bolt of want. I want Tucker Price. My knees start to buckle from the shock. It steals my breath, and I fight not to suck in a lungful of air. Instead, I smile, my chin quivering. “I’ll think about it.”
He pushes open the door and a gust of cold air blasts my face, springing tears into my eyes.
“I can walk you to your car.” He looks down at me with sad resignation. Sorrow oozes from him, filling the air and choking me with it.
Or is it my own?
This revelation is shocking and strong, as though I’ve run headlong into a wall. I cannot confuse his thoughtfulness with romantic interest in me. This is why me trying to date is a terrible idea. I get caught in a quagmire of confusion and anxiety, unable to read simple social cues. Tucker is encouraging me to go out with Daniel. He’s not interested me in other than as a friend. He’s never hinted that we were more than friends.
Tucker waits for an answer. The wind blows his hair, making it stand on end. His cheeks are turning pink, and his hands are shoved in his pockets. He shifts his weight to one side.
How could this happen? When did this happen? This is terrible. Horrifying. The one person I want is the one person I can’t have. Tucker Price flits from girl to girl, party to party, from one destructive situation to another. We live in different worlds that barely intersect, and that’s only with algebra. Which I love and
he hates.
“Scarlett?” His voice is gentle, and it sharpens my pain.
I shake my head. “No.”
Confusion furrows his brow. “I can’t walk you to your car?”
“I have to go.” I turn and head toward the parking lot.
“Scarlett! Wait.” Tucker runs in front of me and blocks my path. Worry pinches the bridge of his nose. “Did I do something?”
“No.” I shake my head, desperate to get away from him. “I’m going to be late.” I try to step around him, but he moves in front of me.
“Something’s wrong. What did I do?”
You’re too kind and thoughtful. You make me feel things I’ve never felt before. You see me, the me I keep carefully hidden behind facts and pretense. You see through the layers I’ve built up over the last twenty years. You give me hope when I have no right to feel it. That’s what you’ve done. You’ve made me feel for the first time in longer than I can remember. But I say none of these things, and instead attempt to swallow the burning lump that clogs my throat. I will not cry. I will not cry.
“I’m tired. Maybe I overdid it yesterday.” My smile is weak and is probably worse than no smile at all. “It’s been a long day, and I still have hours of study time ahead of me.” All these things are true. But only partially.
Tucker recognizes the half-truth, but doesn’t respond. He steps toward me and wraps his arms around my back and holds me close. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into my ear. Then he releases me, hands me my book bag, and he’s gone.
I stand on the sidewalk, trying to stop shaking. The street lamp overhead casts long shadows around me. The shadows of the bench and the trash can and a nearby tree are dark and thick. But mine is gray and obscure, the hint of me is there, but only a ghost compared to the world around me.
How long have I existed in this nether world? Living in it but not part of it? Standing on the sidelines as a bystander? I’m like an alien, exiled to a foreign land in which I never fit, no matter how hard I try. For twenty years I’ve lived alone, keeping me safely tucked inside, but it’s an illusion. A lie. I thought I could protect myself from the horror of my home life growing up, but all I’ve done is isolate and ostracize myself from the world. I’d always hoped someone would hold the key to open the door to my prison. Someone I felt safe letting in. Now I’ve found him.
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