The library looms ahead, its windows glowing warmly against the darkening sky. I check my watch—6:55. Perfect. I climb the steps two at a time, my heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with the climb.
I spot her immediately, tucked away in a corner table, her dark hair falling in waves around her face as she bends over a textbook. For a moment, I just watch her, drinking in the sight of her furrowed brow, the way she nibbles on her bottom lip when she's concentrating.
"Hey," I say softly, sliding into the chair across from her. Madison looks up, her hazel eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before flicking back to her textbook.
"Hey," she responds, her voice quiet but not unfriendly. "I was starting to think you'd changed your mind."
I glance at my watch. "It's 6:59. I'm early, actually."
The ghost of a smile tugs at her lips. "Alwaysso precise."
I shrug, pulling out my own textbook and notebook. "Some things never change."
We settle in to study, me taking the chair closer to her instead of across the small table. Madison chews on the end of her pen like it personally offended her. She’s staring at the same equation she’s been stuck on for the past ten minutes, eyebrows drawn tight, hair falling in her face, with a scowl so fierce, I’m ninety percent sure the numbers are scared to rearrange themselves.
“You know the variables won’t change just because you glare at them,” I say softly, nudging her elbow with mine.
She exhales sharply through her nose. “I was good at literally every other subject. Why is math the one that makes me feel like a dumbass?”
“You’re not a dumbass.” I tap her notebook. “You just keep overthinking it.”
“I’m not overthinking,” she mutters. “I’m strategically panicking.”
I chuckle under my breath and slide my chair a little closer. Our knees bump. She doesn’t move away.
“Okay. Walk me through it,” I say, nodding at the problem. “What’s the first step?”
She huffs, leaning forward with her cheek resting in her hand. “Distribute the negative. I think. Maybe. Possibly.”
“Definitely,” I say, trying not to smile. “Here—” I take her pencil and rewrite the expression. “Negative times a positive equals...?”
“Negative,” she mumbles.
“Good. Keep going.”
She walks through the rest of it slowly, and when she gets to the right answer, her entire face lights up—briefly. Then, she immediately shakes her head like it doesn’t count.
“I had help,” she says.
“Everyone needs help sometimes,” I say quietly. “Especially when it comes to things that suck.”
Madison looks over at me, and something shifts. Her gazesoftens just a fraction, like she’s letting me in even if she doesn’t mean to.
“You’ve always been annoyingly good at this stuff,” she says. “Math. People. Getting under my skin.”
I lean back in my chair, grinning. “I’ve still got it then?”
She rolls her eyes—but she’s smiling, and for just a second, everything feels like it used to. Her notebook filled with my messy handwriting. Her laugh buried behind sarcasm.
I’d live in this moment if she’d let me.
But she clears her throat and leans away a little, tugging her sleeves over her hands. “Thanks for helping,” she says, voice quiet.
“Any time,” I reply.
We settle into a comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft rustling of pages and the scratch of pencils on paper. I steal glances at Madison when I think she's not looking, noticing the way her brow furrows when she's stuck on a problem, the little sigh she lets out when she finally figures it out.
After about an hour, I clear my throat. “Soooo…”
