Page 19 of Campus Crush
“Maybe I don’t smile like that because we’re not friends. I’m working. Just because I don’t fall all over myself around you?—”
He held up his hands. “Woah, I didn’t mean I expected that. Maybe I’m not as articulate as I thought I was. All I’m saying is I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I’m not sure why, but I’d really like to correct it. And maybe we can become friends.”
“I think right now we should focus on this math,” I said, tapping my pencil against the sheet between us. “Talk me through your thought process on this one.”
Foster let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his dark brown hair. He was distracting when he did that.Distracting in general, really. But now was not the time to let my brain wander.
He talked me through where he was getting stuck and just continued to confirm what I already suspected based on research I’d done.
Because I was a thorough tutor—not because I cared about him.
“Okay, let’s try something different.”
I grabbed a blank sheet of paper and slid it toward him. “Rewrite the problem, but say it out loud as you do.”
His eyes flicked up to mine, wary. “Rewrite it?”
“Yeah. Just copy it exactly. And say each number and symbol as you write it.”
He sighed again but picked up his pencil and complied. “Okay…um. Three point five, divided by…wait, no, times—” He stopped, frowning at what he’d just written.
I gently nudged the textbook toward him. “Check it against the original.”
His frown deepened as he compared the two. “Shit,” he muttered. “I flipped the division sign and multiplication sign.”
I nodded again. “Do you mix up symbols a lot?”
“I…I guess?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, numbers always look jumbled to me. Sometimes I think I read them right, but then when I go back, I realize I swapped them around.”
“Foster,” I said carefully. “Have you ever heard of dyscalculia?”
His brows pulled together. “Is that like dyslexia?”
“Sort of. But with numbers. It’s a learning difference that affects how people process numerical information. A lot of people who have it struggle with recognizing patterns in numbers, mixing up digits, or having trouble holdingnumbers in their short-term memory for calculations. Does any of that sound familiar?”
He blinked at me, silent for a long moment. I watched as something flickered across his face—reluctance, maybe. Or maybe something deeper.
He exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “Are you suggesting that’s the reason I’ve always struggled with math?”
I nodded.
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion and vulnerability shining in his eyes.
The urge to reassure him kept me talking. “Your brain just processes numbers differently. We can work around it—with smaller steps, visual tools, things like that. And if you want, you could even get tested for accommodations.”
He stared at me, his expression shifting again to something between relief and something else. The usually confident, easygoing facade was gone, and my chest tightened at the sight of this version of Foster Kane.
“You’re saying…this isn’t just me being stupid?” he asked quietly.
I reached across the table and couldn’t stop myself from covering his hand with mine. “You’re not stupid, Foster. Far from it. I promise.”
He held my stare, and the weight of understanding that passed between us had me holding my breath, afraid to break the moment.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Let’s try again.”
And for the first time since we started tutoring, I saw something new in his eyes.
Hope.
