Page 98 of A Stealthy Situation

I point to the door. “Your brothers know about you two?”

“Of course not. They just assume he’s me.”

Similar to how I did. Though, Em actually introduced himself as Benny to me, so maybe not the same thing.

“What are you doing here?” Benny’s voice is gravelly, and as hot as this look is on him, I can also imagine how shit he feels. Hell, I had bugger all sleep as well.

“You didn’t text me back.”

“I needed to think.”

“All day?”

His forehead flexes under his frown. “Was it all day?”

“Yeah. I messaged you yesterday morning.”

“Huh.”

“Benny … do you need me to remind you what happened when I was the one not writing back? You threatened to sleep with some other guy and broke your phone.”

“Can’t help but notice your phone is in one piece,” he snarks, not looking at me. “You weren’t that upset about it.”

“Or maybe I handle my emotions like a normal person.”

Benny takes his hot chocolate, then swings his desk chair around and sits on it backward. He’s hugging the back as he says, “I failed.”

I brace myself for him to point the finger.

“And now I’m really embarrassed about it and stressed because I’m running out of ideas. It was an open book one, and I still couldn’t do it.”

I wait for a moment. “You’re not mad at me?”

Benny’s mouth drops. “What? Why would I be?”

“Because it’s my fault Em isn’t taking the class for you anymore.”

He stands up, looking like a terrifying Chihuahua. Benny might have a hockey build, but he doesn’t quite reach my nose. It’s his attitude that makes him appear bigger than he is.

“That’s not your fault. You didn’t turn me in, are you kidding? I’m so fucking relieved you’re on my side and pushing me to do better. It’s why I’m so mad with myself that I can’t.”

“You just need?—”

“What? Time?” He looks a second away from pulling his hair out. “What the fuck even is time? Earlier, later, soon. Five hours from now? It might as well be a year. Or a minute. I don’t get it. Any of it. These books?” He grabs the stats book from where it’s resting on his bed. “Why do they even bother writing this shit in English? I don’t have enough fingers to count shit out, and when I use my calculator, it’s great until they start throwing in words like more or less. I can’t do it, Harrison.” He stalks closer, breathing loudly. “I. Can’t. Do. It.”

There’s so much blind panic on his face that it cuts off my automatic reply of taking it easy on himself until he learns. Because he will learn. Right?

My voice is a whisper when I answer him. “Do you need Em to go back to doing it?”

He shakes his head hard. “That’s not … No. Taking the easy way out is what got us into this mess—I’m not getting upset over that. I don’t want to rely on him. I want to know this stuff, want it to make sense. But I’m worried it never will. My brain won’t remember any of it.”

I eye him for a moment. “Any?”

His jaw sets. “I can memorize just about anything in most of my classes. I wrap my head around it, take it in, understand it. With this … there’s something wrong with me.”

I watch him blink back tears, that same niggling from the greenhouse taking over me. Then I grab my phone, find my clock app, and hold it up to him. “What time is it?”

His eyes fly wide. “I don’t … what are you …”

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