Madison - Before

Math wasn’t my favorite subject.

Sure. I could do it, but it just seemed like a waste of time.

That’s what calculators were for, after all.

I sat in one of the computer labs in Wiley Tower at Louisiana Tech University.

The sun was coming in through the eighth floor window, sending dust sparkles through the room, but the sun did nothing to decrease the musty scent of the older building. 

The building always smelled like ink. Ink and old books. 

I had about two more pages of homework to do, then I could get out of here. Get something to eat before class.

But I was having trouble with my concentration.

The guy sitting next to me was tapping on a keyboard. The keyboard tapping didn’t bother me. It just blended into the background.

But about every five minutes or so, he’d stop and click the top of his pen for a few seconds.

Every time he did this, I lost my train of thought and had to start over. 

This time, his pen clicking for a few seconds was turning into at least a minute.

I tapped my fingers on the desk. Looked at the math problem again, but my brain couldn’t pick the threads back up.

“Do you mind?” I blurted. 

“What?” he asked, but the clicking stopped.

“I’m trying to concentrate.”

I took a deep breath and went back to the beginning of the math problem and started over. But I already knew it was futile.

The clicking started again.

I slammed my book closed. There was no use in even trying to get this done. My thoughts were scattered.

“Oh,” he said. “You meant this.” He clicked his pen again. Twice.

“Yes,” I said, still not looking at him.

I waited for him to apologize, but he didn’t. 

I was just about to open my book and give it one last try. The homework was due in four hours, so I couldn’t put it off much longer.

But he clicked his pen again.

“Okay,” I said, grabbing my backpack and tossing my books inside.

He laughed and I turned to look at him for the first time.

As a freshman, I knew he was at least a sophomore. Maybe even a junior.

Freshmen could tell those things.

He was wearing blue jeans, clean white sneakers, and a blue t-shirt with Tech splashed across it in red ink. 

And he was smiling at me with a devilish crooked grin.

My eyes locked onto his and I all but forgot to breathe.

His eyes were a stunning blue. Like a perfectly clear blue sky.

He was absolutely handsome. But unfortunately, he knew it.

I zipped my backpack.

“You know,” he said. “I’m actually really good at math.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m glad to hear that.”

He leaned back in his chair with obvious confidence. But I had to admit he was charming.

Dangerously charming.

“Maybe I can help.” He nodded in the direction of my backpack.

“I don’t need help. I just need quiet time to concentrate.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “At least let me make it up to you.”

I looked at him sideways. Shook my head. “I’ll just do it later.”

“Come on. At least let me help you with that word problem.”

While I thought he’d been working, he’d been watching me. 

I wondered if that was weird. 

It didn’t feel weird.

Follow your instincts, my grandmother always said.

I glanced at my watch.

“It’s due for my 1:00 class.”

He motioned with his hand. “It’s an easy one.”

I didn’t answer. 

“Come on. I owe you one.”

It was his fault I wasn’t getting my work done.

“Okay,” I said. “But I do know how to work math problems.”

“I always found math more interesting as a team sport.”

I snorted, then laughed. “Math a sport?”

But I pulled out my book and my notebook.

“You are obviously going about math the wrong way.”

“Obviously,” I said to myself. 

I’d never thought about math homework being fun. It was just something to get done and out of the way.

He started out by reading the math problem out loud and drawing some stick figures next to his version of a train.

He had me laughing. 

Then he leaned back and looked at me.

“So?” he asked. “What’s the answer?”

I looked down at his drawings with a smile I didn’t seem to be able to stop.

I gave him a number.

“All right.” He held up a hand for a high-five and I pressed my palm ever so briefly against his. “Easy, huh?”

“Actually, yes,” I said. 

“Let’s do the next one.”

It took me a minute to focus. Now, it wasn’t his pen clicking that had me distracted. It was my fingers. They were tingling from his touch.

Forty-five minutes later, we had all my homework done. I probably could have done it in thirty minutes—in a quiet room. But I was entertained by his animated drawings as he went through each problem.

“Thank you,” I said as wrote down the answer to the last problem.

“The pleasure was mine,” he said.

I looked at him from beneath my lashes. Not something a typical college student would say.

“I’ll let you get back to doing whatever it is you’re doing,” I said, tucking my books into my backpack again.

His computer had gone to screensaver mode, so I had no idea what it was he’d been doing.

“Can I borrow your hand?” he asked before I had time to stand up.

“Excuse me?”

He was wearing that crooked grin again.

“Your hand. May I?”

I held out my hand and he turned it over palm up. Then with his other hand, he picked up his pen, clicked it twice, and started to write some numbers on my palm.

Finished, he released my hand and winked at me. 

“In case you need private tutoring.”