Page 11 of The Equation of Us
And for the first time in months, I feel something crack inside me—something I’ve kept carefully locked away.
Something that feels dangerously like hope.
Chapter Five
The First Glitch
Nora
Pain is clarifying.
That’s what I tell myself as I throw one last punch at the heavy bag, my knuckles stinging despite the wraps. The impact sends shockwaves up my arm, sweat dripping into my eyes.
“Time!” the instructor calls, and I drop my hands, sucking in air that tastes like rubber mats and desperation.
Strike class at the rec center is the only place I let myself be messy. Here, in this windowless room with pounding music and twenty other women who look like they’re exorcising demons, I don’t have to be meticulous Nora Shaw with her study plans and careful control. I can just hit things until my brain goes quiet.
“Jesus, Nora,” Sadie pants beside me, doubled over. Her pink hair—now dark with sweat—sticks to her forehead. “What did that bag ever do to you?”
I wipe my face with a towel. “Existed in my general vicinity.”
“Remind me never to do that.” She straightens up, grimacing. “I’m pretty sure my abs just sent me a death threat.”
“Your abs will thank you when we’re running from zombies in the apocalypse,” I say, unwrapping my hands. The skin beneath is red and raw. Good. I need the reminder that I’m still here. Still solid.
“So,” Sadie says as we reach the locker room, “how’s the dating wasteland? Any new disasters on the horizon?”
I snort, dropping onto a bench. “Dead on arrival. I’m not even looking anymore.”
“Liar.” She pulls her shirt over her head, unembarrassed as always. “You’re just setting impossible standards so you never have to risk it.”
“Is ‘basic respect for my thoughts’ an impossible standard now?”
“You know what I mean.” She gives me a pointed look. “You’ve been doing this since freshman year. Find something wrong with every guy, push them away before they can get close, then act surprised when you end up alone.”
“That’s not—” I start to argue, then stop myself. Maybe she’s not entirely wrong. “I just don’t see the point in wasting time on people who don’t want the same things I do.”
“And what do you want, Nora?” She asks it softly, like she’s genuinely curious.
I shrug, uncomfortable with the question. “Focus. Someone who actually pays attention. Someone who doesn’t treat intensity like it’s a disease.”
Sadie studies me for a moment, then shakes her head. “You’re scared.”
“I’m practical.”
“You’re terrified of letting anyone see the real you.” She tugs on a clean t-shirt. “Admit it—you’re afraid if someone actually saw all of you, they’d run.”
The words hit harder than they should. I busy myself with my gym bag, not looking at her. “This conversation is getting way too therapy-adjacent for a Tuesday morning.”
“Fine, deflect.” She grins, the momentary seriousness gone. “But one of these days, someone’s going to see right through your shit, Shaw. And I can’t wait to watch you panic.”
If she only knew.
Dean Carter’s face flashes in my mind—the way he looked at me yesterday in the tutoring center. The way he saidBe careful what you ask forright against my ear, his voice low enough to make my skin prickle.
Like he could see right through me.
Like he already knew what I was afraid to want.
