Page 7 of The Equation of Us
“You say that a lot, man.”
I look up, meeting his eyes. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Something real, maybe.” He shrugs. “Like, ‘Gav, I’m fucking miserable,’ or ‘Gav, I’m actually relieved,’ or ‘Gav, I need to get hammered and talk about my feelings.’”
A laugh escapes me despite myself. “Not happening.”
“Worth a shot.” He stands, stretches. “Just don’t shut down, alright? Team needs you focused. Big game this weekend.”
“I’m always focused.”
“Yeah.” Gavin gives me a look. “That’s what worries me sometimes.”
Before I can respond, the rink doors bang open, and the rest of the team starts streaming in, loud and rowdy. The moment for quiet conversation passes.
I finish tying my skates and head for the ice, grateful for the familiar bite of cold air against my face. Out here, everything simplifies. Physics and muscle and breath. Action and reaction. Cause and effect.
No misunderstandings. No disappointments. Just the clean certainty of knowing exactly what I’m supposed to do.
As I begin my warm-up laps, my mind drifts to Nora again. To that moment when she looked at me, really looked, and asked me what had distracted me from my work.
You, I should have said.The way you see everything and don’t look away.
But I didn’t say it. I kept quiet, kept control. The way I always do.
Be careful what you ask for, I told her.
I just wonder if she knows what she’s really asking for.
Or if I’m the one who’s too afraid to find out.
Chapter Three
Paired Stimulus
Nora
It’s Thursday, and I’m sitting in the tutoring center waiting for Dean.
The last two days have been a special brand of torture. I can’t stop thinking about what Daphne said—about how her complaints sound more like confessions, about the words “he wants surrender,” and how they shouldn’t make my pulse kick.
When Dean walks in—right on time, not early like last session—I make myself look busy with my notes. Professional. Distanced. Like my brain hasn’t been replaying Daphne’s words on a loop.
“Shaw,” he says, dropping into the chair across from me.
“Carter.” I don’t look up from my laptop. “I made a study guide for the next exam. We should—”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
I glance up, startled by the directness. “What?”
Dean leans forward, elbows on the table. “After our session on Tuesday. You left the study center before I got out of class yesterday.”
I did. I saw him coming down the hall and ducked out the back entrance like a criminal. I didn’t want to face him—not with Daphne’s words still ringing in my ears.
“I had a meeting,” I lie.
Dean doesn’t respond immediately. He studies me with that unsettling focus, and I realize he doesn’t believe me. He’s waiting me out.
