“Shit,” Noah says, looking up at me, startled. He pulls his collage against his chest, his eyes wide.
“Everything all right?” I ask, tilting my head at him. I raise my chin, trying to sneak a look at what he’s hiding.
“Fine,” he says, nodding vigorously.
He brushes a few clippings off of his bed and onto the floor. Which is surprising to me.
“You going to show me what you’re working on?”
“It’s not finished yet,” he says, collecting himself. Then, he just shrugs. “Maybe after it’s done, I’ll have something to show you.”
“All right …” I narrow my eyes in on him, wondering why he’s being so weird. But I refocus, my mind moving back to Statistics. “So, since you’re apparently a math genius, I was wondering if you could pretty please help me with this problem. Because, I swear, if this school messes up my GPA, among other things, I’m going to lose my shit.”
Noah laughs as I continue, “I’m going to need therapy regardless from this traumatizing exchange experience, and I have to admit, the fact that I’m going to cost my dad a small fortune in therapy bills almost makes it worth it.” I grin at him, teasing.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re dramatic?” Noah shakes his head at me, his eyes bright.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re observant?” I fire back, feeling smug.
“Touché.”
“But really,” I ask, pressing my palms together in front of my chest, “help me?”
Noah nods.
“Thank you,” I practically sing out, already in a better mood. Because now that I know Noah will help me, I can finally be done with this assignment. “I’ll go grab my book,” I say, getting up off his bed.
“No. I, uh … I’ll come to your room,” he says, his voice almost catching.
I look at him, wondering what has him so freaked, but I just nod. “Okay.”
Noah follows me out of his bedroom, closing the door behind him. When we get into my room, he plops down onto the bed, outstretching his legs in front of him. I hand him my paper along with the textbook and a pencil. He scans over the problem, his eyes moving quickly down the page.
And I have to give it to him; he must be really good at math.
Because I can barely make out one line of it, let alone just scanning along like that. I pace across the room, waiting for him to come up with a solution.
“Where are your notes from Friday?” he asks, looking up at me.
“I … didn’t take any,” I say, giving Noah my best I’m innocent smile. Because I know he’s about to scold me. I scrunch my head down, trying to hide from his gaze.
“Please just help me,” I whine, pushing out my bottom lip, fully pouting now. It’s the only thing I can do.
Noah’s face softens, and he disapprovingly shakes his head at me.
“Come here,” he says, scooting over on my bed, making room for me.
I sit down next to him, careful to keep my distance.
“What?” I reply, looking down at my tragic paper.
“So, this part right here,” he says, pointing to one of my formulas, “you have the formula right, but the solution is wrong. I think if you adjust that, you might actually have the correct answer.”
I glance over at Noah in shock. “Really?”
Because if I heard him right—and I think I did—he just said that I got the formula correct, all on my very own!
“Yeah.” He nods at me, his lips pulling up at the corner.
“Thank you.” I grin at him, taking the paper from his hand. I grab the pencil, biting on the eraser until I figure out which part to change. I erase away my work and adjust it to what I think is the right answer.
I glance over at Noah, and he nods at me.
Once I get that changed, the rest of it makes sense, and I finally make it to the end.
To just one answer.
“Oh my God,” I say, feeling relieved, looking down at my paper, “I did it.”
“Look at that,” Noah says, his eyes scanning over my adjusted work. “You actually did.”
He looks up at me, a smile on his face and maybe a touch of pride. And I have to admit, I feel it too.
“Thank you,” I say, wrapping my arms around him. But I quickly pull away, not wanting a repeat of this morning.
“Don’t worry about it.” Noah pulls away too, sitting up straighter. “So, you never said, how was it with Naomi?”
I get up and put my textbook onto my desk. “It was really fun.”
“I have to say, I didn’t expect these things,” Noah says, grabbing on to my hand and examining my nails. He holds them up in front of his face, taking in their new length and color.
“She insisted that I needed more feminine fingers.” I laugh.
“These are more like daggers than nails.” He chuckles, scrunching up his nose.
“Hey!” I try to pull my hand away, not wanting him to talk badly about my forty-pound manicure.
Noah’s eyes sparkle at me, and he bites into his lip, not letting go of my hand.
“What are you going to do?” he teases, looking up at me.
“Well, I’m not going to let you talk shit about my nails, for one,” I say, arching an eyebrow at him.
“No?” he asks, mimicking my look in challenge.
“No,” I state.
Noah pulls me down next to him, pinning me onto the bed.
“Noah.” I laugh, trying to push him off of me.
But he’s laughing now, too, and holding on to my hands, holding them both above my head. He peers down at me, a grin on his face.
“You know, I’m beginning to think you’re all talk,” Noah says, smirking at me.
“You’re such a jerk,” I say, trying to pull my hands free.
Noah tightens his grip, keeping my hands pushed into the bed.
“What am I supposed to do anyway? You have me pinned down,” I huff.
Noah lowers his head closer to my face, his lips brushing against my ear. “The question isn’t what you would do. The question is what you’d let me do,” he whispers.
I suck in a hard breath, trying not to freak out. Noah is holding on to my hands with only one of his now, his other hand slipping down across my ribs. He pulls his face back, looking down at me.
“But hey, if you want to be in control, I don’t mind,” Noah says, his gaze serious.
Suddenly, he rolls over onto his back, pulling me on top of him so I’m seated in his lap. He grabs on to my hands, making me pin down his own hands over his head. I’m so close to him that I can feel his breath against my cheek. And my heart is pounding in my chest. I look down at him, searching his eyes.
“See,” he taunts, “all talk and no action.”
I pull back, ready to slap him, but then he’s laughing and grinning at me.
“You’re so annoying,” I growl, pushing at his chest.
He holds up his hands in defense, but all I can feel is his stomach bouncing under me, matching his laughter.
“You have the best reactions,” he lets out mid-laugh.
I roll my eyes at him, irritated that he always seems to be the one with the power. I want to do something to wipe that smug smile off his face, but I can’t think of anything.