Page 83 of Unloved

“Very hard,” Coach Ace says. “I don’t think I can say it, either, Matty.”

I laugh a little with them and smile. “What’s it mean?”

“You just have trouble with numbers sometimes, bud. Not a big deal, but it’s good to know so we can make things easier now.”

My mom nods in agreement with him. “Right, Matty.”

I can’t help bouncing my knee a little again. “But… I’m not good with words. I thought the numbers would be easier.”

We’re stopping, I realize, in front of my mom’s house. She unbuckles her seat belt and opens the door before the car has completely stopped—which I’m pretty sure is a big no-no, especially considering the bad word Coach Ace nearly shouts when he throws the car into park so hard I jerk against my seat belt.

My door opens, my mom’s beautiful face filling my vision.

“You are so smart, Matty, okay? Just because words and numbers might be hard doesn’t mean you can’t do it. You can doanything, understand? I need you to tell me you understand.”

She looks like she might cry—and I hate when mom cries, so I nod.

“I understand, Mom. Promise.”

I unbuckle myself just in time for her to grab me in a tight hug and kiss the top of my head. Coach Ace joins our hug for a moment before backing up so my mom can put me down and hold my hand to walk inside.

“Don’t do that again, Els,” I hear him whisper to my mom. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

But my mom’s not paying attention, only looking at me with a bright, wonder-filled smile. “No matter what, I’m so, so proud of you, Matty.”

“Matthew?”

I shake my head, focusing on the man in front of me—my adviser, though I can’t remember his name.

My feet shuffle back and forth, the toe of my sneaker lightly kicking at the table leg over and over as I try not to bounce my knee.

Focus. They asked you a question.

“Is it just math, then?” he asks, but his tone tells me he’s already asked it. My cheeks heat.

“Failing? Yeah—I think—”

Someone knocks at the door before opening it and letting themselves in.

My professors, specifically Dr. Cipher, followed by a living nightmare.

“Dr. Tinley,” my adviser says, surprise evident in his voice. “I didn’t realize you’d be joining us today.”

Carmen smiles, tucking her short, wine-red hair back behind her ears and shaking his outstretched hand.

“I just got Freddy’s weighted grades finished to estimate his semester average, so when I saw the email, I figured I’d pop by.”

Pop by. Sure.

Fists clenched at my sides, I eye both teachers as they settle across from me at the conference room table.

“I thought this was math-specific,” I manage to spit out, but my tone is gruff enough that it seems to land like a hit to Carmen. “I’m passing biology. She doesn’t need to be here.”

There’s a tension in the room now, and I immediately regret my words and the attention they might bring. But my desire for hernotto be here is remarkably greater than something unsavory being discovered about her student relationships.

“Freddy,” she says, clearing her throat and sitting up a little straighter in her sharp blazer. “I’m not here for negative reasons. If anything, I’m here as an advocate.”

Yeah. And I’m a Nobel Prize–winning physicist.Biting back the disbelieving laugh is a physical feat.

---