“Ah ha!” Tosha smiles and leans forward. “You’ve met Macsen.”
I nod. “I have a class with him.”
“And?” she asks.
“And what?” My heart speeds up nervously. Talking to Tosha about Macsen like nothing is wrong makes me feel sick. I smooth out my pants to keep my hands busy. “I have a class with him.”
“I’ve only spoken to him a few times,” Tosha confesses. “He’s really quiet. Reads a lot ... actually, he’s a lot like you.”
Tosha doesn’t know that, for me, that’s the biggest insult. I am nothing like Macsen Sloan. Nothing.
“That’s not true at all,” I tell her firmly.
She ignores my tone of voice. “You should talk to him,” she encourages.
I shake my head quickly and frown. “I’m not going to do that.”
Not yet, at least. I want to give it time and wait to see if he remembers anything about me. If he really looks closely, he’ll see a resemblance. I’m not surprised that he didn’t recognize me from the coffee shop last May. Back then I wasn’t even a blip on his radar.
“Are you nervous to talk to him?” Tosha asks in a teasing voice.
“No—”
Quickly, she interrupts me. “Are you being all quiet and ‘Emilia’?”
“What other way would I be?”
Tosha shrugs her shoulders and hops off my bed, sliding on her flip-flops. “It’s hard to tell with you, Emilia.”
With Tosha off the bed, I scramble out of the chair and dive onto my stiff mattress. The sad part is that I’m actually getting used to the lumpy feeling.
I fluff my pillow and grin widely at Tosha. “I’m quiet. People can’t handle quiet people?”
“There’s nothing wrong with quiet,” Tosha points out. “It’s when you stare at someone like you know everything about them. That’s what no one can handle.”
Weakly, I defend my habit. “Some people are just easy to read.”
“You’re going to find someone that reads you right back,” she warns. It’s meant to be a joke, but my blood freezes. It’s a scary thought, thinking someone could possibly see my pain. Tosha gives me another pointed look and smiles. “And when that happens, I’m going to be there with a post-it in my hands. It’s going to say, ‘Told ya so!’ and I’m going to slap it on your forehead.”
My expression is dull, but I’m panicking inside. “Thank you for your support,” I say dryly.
Tosha heaves a sigh and pats me on my knee. “Whatever you’re after ... just take it, Emilia.” She walks over to my desk and unzips my makeup bag. “You can be fierce when you want to be.”
“You think so?”
Cocking her hip to the side, she points my lip liner at me. “I know so. You’re like broken glass.”
“Broken glass?” I give her a strange look.
“You’re intense. It’s unexpected and makes everyone jump.”
“I hope I cut a few people,” I reply dryly.
Pulling out my compact she looks at her face and nods at her reflection. “You will.” Tosha slams the compact shut and looks over at the right side of the room. “Hey, where is Severine?”
We’ve been talking for almost two hours. How is Tosha just now noticing that Severine isn’t here?
“Probably with Thayer. She’s never here.”
“What do you think of her?” she asks.
I shrug and stare at the ceiling. “She’s okay. Reminds me of a Bond girl.”
A short burst of laughter escapes Tosha. “What?”
Turning over, I look at my friend. “You know, she’s friendly in person but actually cunning.”
“Oh really? And you’re completely pure and innocent?” Tosha jokes.
There are major differences between Severine and me. She’s beautiful with her green eyes, dark hair, and plump lips. But she knows she’s gorgeous and is smart enough to use that to her advantage. I can’t use my looks as a weapon. But that’s where my people-watching skills come in handy. That’s my weapon and it never fails me.
When Severine and I are in the same room, we tiptoe around each other. The conversation always remains light. It’s very clear that neither one of us really trusts the other.
“Well, I know she’ll come around,” Tosha states confidently. “Probably just getting a feel for you.”
“We’ll see.” I lift my head up from my pillow. “Where are you going?”
“Target.” Slowly, Tosha twirls and looks at me. “How do I look?”
I take in her blue, short shorts and yellow blouse. “For Target, you look great.”
“The last time I went, I wore a khaki skirt and a red polo. I had someone come up to me and ask what aisle the cold sore cream was in. I’m just making sure I don’t have the Target employee vibe this time.”
My smile spreads so wide my cheeks hurt. “You are Target free,” I promise.
“Good!” she shouts and walks out the door.
As I think over Tosha’s words, my smile fades.
‘You’re going to find someone that reads you right back.’.
It feels like a warning to me … that someday I might meet my match.
Seconds later, my phone rings. I grab it and read Tosha’s text: Be broken glass.
Tosha is trying to be encouraging. But all I can see in her words is that I have to break in order to succeed.
Chapter Five
EMILIA
I make it to The Study right on time, proud of myself for finding the damn building. It’s on the opposite side of my dorms. I get to the front counter and ask to be pointed in the right direction.
“Private tutoring is located at the Education Library, dear,” the nasally old lady behind the front counter says. She picks up a campus map and points to a building in the opposite direction, right by my dorm.
By the time I reach the right building, I’m more than late. I’m the awkward late—the kind where the minute anyone walks into the room, everybody lifts their heads up and stares at the person who can’t tell time.
I run straight to the information counter. A short girl with a pixie cut and funky glasses smiles happily at me. “May I help you?”
“I’m here for private tutoring,” I say out of breath, cheeks flushed.
“Oh.” Pixie Girl frowns and points at the shut doors clear across the room. “That started about twenty minutes ago.”
“I know, I went to the wrong place the first time.”
Pixie gives me a look that says, ‘Okay, Dumbass.’
Honestly, I have no idea why I’m wasting time explaining anything to the pixie. I stride across the room, toward the oak doors with determination and confidence.
When I open the doors, no one looks up—everyone is too busy looking at their laptops or reading the textbooks in front of them. I let out a sigh of relief and scan the faces, trying to find the person I need to check in with.
No one stands out to me. I’m close to sliding out the doors and running back to Pixie Girl, when I catch Melissa Woods talking quietly.
Meeting Melissa last May was probably the only positive thing about my visit. My nerves were out to play that day and she was instantly friendly. Melissa stuck out as a person with such a kind heart.
Everything starts to look a bit better as I tap her on the shoulder because there is someone here that I kinda, sorta know.
When Melissa turns around, it’s clear she kinda, sorta does not remember me. I smile weakly and say, “Hey.”
It takes her a few seconds before her eyes widen and she smiles happily. “Oh ... oh! Hey, how are you?”
I lean a hip against the table. “It’s the end of the first week of classes and I’m here for tutoring, so ... not too good.”
Quickly, Melissa stands up and smiles—actually, I don’t think she has stopped smiling since we started talking. Genuinely happy people are hard to come by.
She pats me on the shoulder. “Are you kidding? Everyone gets a little confused. It’s no big deal. Give me your pa
perwork and I’ll help you out.”
“You’re the person I check in with?”
She grins at me. “I’m that and the person that assigns you to a tutor.”
I smile widely as I search for my paperwork. Maybe she’ll be my tutor…
Melissa scans my info, while I watch with an antsy feeling. She looks up at me and shakes her head.
That’s always a bad thing.
She hands over my paperwork. “I can’t help you with math, but I have a few people that will be perfect.”
I grab it quickly and plead with her because I’m comfortable with her. “Sure you can,” I say confidently. “I bet you know way more than I ever will on the subject.”
The wheels in her head are working and I know she wants to say yes. Melissa is too kind to say no. She glances back at the student sitting at the table and looks at me with regret. “I can’t. I already have too much on my plate. Besides, there are way more qualified tutors to help you.”
I keep my head down and stare down at my paperwork and say, “Oh yeah? Who?”
“I can help.”
My head snaps up instantly. Macsen. His green eyes are guarded, as he slowly looks me up and down.
He holds out his hand and points at my paper. I step back and clutch it to my chest. My head feels shoved under water and I can’t breathe. This is not part of my plan.
“Can I take a look?” Macsen asks slowly.
A lot of things are happening inside me: fear, sadness, and anger. I’ve been waiting for him to talk to me, but not here, not where all my vulnerabilities are exposed for him to see.
He steps closer and snatches the paper from my hands. I flatten my lips together to keep anything from coming out. I watch his eyes scan the paper and my entire body is shaking. I stop looking at his face and stare at his white polo shirt. It showcases his muscles and makes them even more defined.
It’s a brief thought, but I wonder if this is what my sister saw.
He lifts his head and I’m snapped out of my thoughts. I get a whiff of his scent. He smells like the outdoors mixed with soap. Macsen nods and takes a step back. His clean scent follows. “Yeah, I can help you.”
Melissa chimes in. “He’s a math whiz—he’ll help you so much more than I ever could.”
Doubtful.
I give the two of them an awkward smile and scrunch my lips in thought. To anyone else, it’s just tutoring, but to me, it’s exposing too many of my insecurities … to the one person I loathe most.
On the other hand, this could be an easy way to talk to him.
Tosha’s words ring out in my head. I can be broken glass. I can make someone jump and this might be my time to do that.
“If you’re not busy, that would be great.”
Macsen crosses his arms and the material of his shirt strains as he gives me a dubious look. “I’m not busy. I just finished helping someone. It’s not a problem.”
I grind my teeth and give him a short nod. “Fine.”
Macsen points to a table in the far back corner. “My stuff is over there.”
My steps are slow as I walk to his table. He follows. I want to turn around and run right out of the doors and back to my car.
All of this feels wrong. But, then again, what do I know about wrong? I have upheaved my entire life just to bring someone down.
I drop my leather bag on the table and start to pull out my notebook. Macsen relaxes in the seat across from me and watches. It makes me nervous. I like seeing what is running through people’s eyes, but Macsen has blinders over his, making him impossible to read.
Awkwardly, he clears his throat. I slowly sit down and stare at him. “I’m Macsen, by the way.”
I know him, and I know he knows that.
My fingers lace together in front of me and I give him a fake smile. “Nice to meet you.” I deserve a reward for keeping the tremors out of my voice. “I’m Emil-”
“I know who you are,” he interrupts. “I heard you tell Chris in class.”
At the mention of Chris, I let out an amused laugh. He hasn’t said a word to me since the last time we talked, but in Psych class he gives me these cheesy winks and points to Macsen’s back.
Macsen cocks his eyebrow. “You know Chris?”
“If you consider talking to him one time as ‘knowing’ him, then sure.”
It seems like he’s going to say more but instead, he snorts and peers at my math textbook. “Where do you want to start?” he asks.
I settle in my chair and look at him. “Anywhere,” I say quietly. “It’s all a big blur to me.”
Macsen leans forward and slides my textbook closer to him. Before he even looks at the numbers, he pulls out a pair of glasses.
Macsen wear glasses. I never pegged him as a glasses kind of person.
Some females have a fetish for muscles, big, rough hands, or even just a handsome face. Not me. Glasses on a guy make my pulse race. My inner nerd freaks out over it.
His sharp green eyes look up at me. “Let’s just start with a few small problems.” His voice is gruff, and it’s easy to pick up on his bland tone. Somehow, he’s acting like he got roped into this. I want to remind him that he’s here because he volunteered, but I keep my mouth shut.
He points to an equation on the page and drags his finger down. “Just start with these few problems...” His hands are rough and calloused. I expected them to be well manicured. It throws me off balance to think that he might actually lift a finger and work. “Is it okay to start with that?” he asks.
I blink repeatedly, noticing his hand stops on number fifteen. God, I hope that’s where the problems end. I give him a short nod. “That sounds good.”
“Good.” Before he even finishes the sentence he picks up his book, opens it to his bookmarked spot, and I no longer exist.
I grind my teeth together and slowly start working on the problems. Nothing makes sense, but I work through them like I know exactly what I’m doing. More than a few minutes pass, I can only tell by my stiff neck. I rotate my head and look over at Macsen. His head is still down, concentrating on the thick book laying flat on the table. I go back to the impossible problems in front of me and try to figure them out.
It’s a complete failure. With a sigh, I drop my pencil. “I’m done,” I announce.
Macsen says nothing. He looks at me through his black eyelashes before shutting his book. “Hand them over.”
Right now, I want to be broken glass and cut the hell out of him. I want to wad up the paper and drill his forehead with my messed-up answers. My hand covers the notebook as I jerk it toward him. His dark brows furrow. He puts his palm flat on my textbook and drags it toward him.
Underneath the table, my left leg starts to bounce erratically. My eyes drift over to the wall where a clock is mounted. Forty-five minutes. It took me forty-five minutes just to do a few problems. If that isn’t promising, I don’t know what is.
I watch his eyes scan the paper methodically. I’m waiting for him to pull out a pen and start marking my paper with everything I did wrong. But his hands are pen-free. Nothing has been marked and I’m starting to worry, because I really do need a tutor. Not someone who’s just going to pretend they know what the hell they’re doing. I need help now.
Finally, he hands over my notebook. I raise an eyebrow. I’m not wildly self-confident. I know my struggles and I know, for a fact, that these answers are wrong. All wrong.
Macsen grabs a pencil next to his laptop and leans across the table. His face is close enough that if he glances up from the notebook, our noses will touch. Discreetly, I scoot my chair back an inch.
“So,” he announces, in that same gruff manner. “You get the idea, but I notice you get stumped right here.” Macsen points to one of the problems and I’m already frowning. He catches my expression and says, “It’s not so bad. We’ll go through it a few times and you’ll understand it better.”
I want to believe him, except he sounds so put off.
But this
isn’t new. Growing up, I had my fair share of teachers who were put off by my confusion.
My legs cross underneath the table at the same time my arms do. “What if I don’t understand it?” I ask.
He regards me thoughtfully and leans back in his chair. “You will.”
“You’re so sure...”
“Look, I know my way around math. And I’ll make sure you understand this.”
My foot taps against the leg of my chair repeatedly. “But everyone has a different way of learning.”
“And I’ll figure out your way.” He leans forward and taps a finger against my paper. “So, can I help you now?”
I bluntly nod. He explains the solutions with ease, and it’s almost painful for me to admit that Melissa is right. Macsen is a math whiz.
~
After my tutoring session, I drive over to Tosha’s. I need her advice. Talking and seeing Macsen feels impossible. I can’t focus or breathe. All I can think about is the past. If I have any chance in hell of fulfilling my Burn List, I need help.
There is no one better than Tosha.
Tosha separates her clothes into piles on the floor. I make a face.
“That’s gross. Do you know how many people have been on this floor?”
Tosha gives me a look and keeps separating. We’re in the laundry room in her dorm.
“Come help me,” Tosha calls out.
I walk over and grab the pile that doesn’t have her underwear and drop it into the washer. When the machine starts, I look over at her.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask quietly.
Tosha adjusts the knob on her washer and presses start. When she looks my way she nods. “Shoot.”
“When you’ve gotten back at someone ... how did you do it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know...” I pause and try to find the right words. “In school, when someone pissed you off, and you wanted to show them up. How did you do it?”
She stretches her arms above her head like she’s getting ready to work out. “I didn’t get back at them, it’s just called being a bitch.” She lowers her hands and smiles curiously at me. “Why? Do you want to be a bitch?”