Page 20 of The Girlfriend Goal
His head snapped up, and for a second, naked vulnerability flashed across his face.
"Come to gloat about claiming the best study spot?"
"This is actually my usual spot, so technically you're the interloper." I moved closer, noting the chaos spread across his table. Multiple highlighters, all different colors but used without any apparent system. Pages of notes in handwriting that looked like a spider had gone on a caffeine bender. The sports psychology textbook open to a chapter we'd covered two weeks ago.
"I can move," he said, already gathering his materials with jerky movements.
"You're reading chapter six. We're on chapter twelve."
His jaw tightened further. "I'm aware. Just reviewing."
I knew I should leave it alone. Whatever academic struggles Lance had weren't my problem. We were project partners, not friends. I didn't owe him anything beyond our scheduled meetings.
But I thought about Marcus at the community center, how patient Lance had been. How he'd known exactly what to say to crack through that kid's defensive walls.
"Want some help?"
His eyes narrowed, pride warring with what looked like desperation.
"I'm fine."
"Clearly." I pulled out the chair across from him, decision made. "Chapter six is about cognitive behavioral interventions. The key concept is the relationship between thoughts, feelings, and behaviors."
"I said I'm fine."
"And I'm offering help anyway. Consider it protecting my GPA. Can't have my project partner failing the midterm."
He stared at me for a long moment, then laughed—a bitter sound that made my chest tight. "Right. Protecting your precious GPA."
"Would you rather I leave?"
"I'd rather..." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that should have looked ridiculous but somehow justmade him look vulnerable. "No. Stay, please. I have no idea what this chapter is saying."
I pulled the textbook toward me, scanning his highlighting. He'd marked nearly every sentence, turning the pages into a neon rainbow without any organizational logic.
"First problem—you're highlighting everything. That's the same as highlighting nothing."
"It all seems important."
"Okay, but look at the chapter structure. Main concepts are in bold. Supporting details in regular text. Examples in italics. You only need to highlight the main concepts and maybe one key supporting detail per section."
"That's not how my brain works."
Something in his tone made me look up. He was staring at the textbook like it was written in ancient Greek, fingers drumming against the table in an agitated rhythm.
"How does your brain work?"
"It doesn't. At least not with..." He gestured vaguely at the book. "This."
Understanding dawned slowly. The way he'd been recording lectures on his phone. How he always positioned himself in class to see the board clearly but never took notes. The fact that I'd never actually seen him read anything longer than a text message.
"You're dyslexic."
It wasn't a question, but he flinched like I'd slapped him.
"I'm not stupid."
"I didn't say you were."
