Chapter 57
Summer's POV
My jaw tightened. "He's proving he can excel in both competition physics and regular coursework. That's not overkill. That's called being well-rounded."
Ava blinked, clearly not expecting me to defend him. "I guess. I just think it's weird that someone like him would even bother. I mean, it's not like the rest of us have a chance of beating his score anyway."
"Maybe that's the point," I said quietly. "Maybe he wants to show everyone that he belongs here. That he's not just 'the scholarship kid' or 'the competition student.' He's both. And he's better than most of us will ever be."
She stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "Wow. Okay. I didn't realize you two were, like, friends or whatever."
"We're classmates," I said, but the words felt hollow even as I spoke them. Because we were more than that now, weren't we? Even if I couldn't name what "more" meant.
Ava's smile turned sharp. "Right. Classmates. Well, good luck on Thursday. You're gonna need it."
She flounced off, leaving me standing there with my fists clenched and my heart pounding. God, I hated this place sometimes. Hated the way everyone watched and whispered and judged. Hated that Kieran had to deal with it every single day.
I pulled out my phone, scrolling to his contact. My thumb hovered over the call button.
Don't.
He'd made it clear he needed space. Pushing him would only make things worse.
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and headed for the exit, trying to ignore the hollow ache in my chest.
---
The next day, the lunch bell rang like a starting gun, and half the classroom emptied in seconds. I stayed behind, alone in the classroom for a while. I just wanted some quiet time to clear my head.
My stomach growled. I ignored it.
Mia had already left for the music wing to practice her flute piece for the winter concert auditions. The classroom felt cavernous without the usual chatter, just the distant echo of lockers slamming and someone's laugh ricocheting down the hallway. I hunched over my notes, pretending I was actually absorbing something useful, when I heard footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate. Stopping right beside my desk.
I looked up.
Kieran stood there, backpack slung over one shoulder, dark hair falling into his eyes. He looked like he'd been debating whether to come over for the past five minutes—jaw tight, shoulders rigid, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets. He stared at my physics book like it had personally offended him.
Several seconds passed. My heart hammered so loud I was sure he could hear it.
"You went to Quantum Tutoring over break?" His voice came out flat, almost accusatory. "For Thanksgiving?"
I blinked. "I—yeah. How did you—"
"Logan mentioned it." He shifted his weight, still not quite looking at me. "Said you were in the Saturday afternoon session. With David Moore."
Oh. Oh.
I set my pencil down carefully, trying to read his expression. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, eyebrows drawn together in that way that meant he was either annoyed or uncomfortable or both. The tension in his shoulders screamed I shouldn't care about this but I do.
"David's good," I said slowly, watching his reaction. "He explained torque really well. But honestly?" I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice even though we were alone. "He's not as clear as you."
Kieran's shoulders dropped half an inch. His ears turned pink.
"He's an actual teacher," he muttered, finally meeting my eyes for half a second before looking away again. "I'm just—" He stopped himself, jaw working like he was chewing on words he wouldn't let out.
"Just what?" I asked gently.
He shook his head, deflecting. "Did you see the notes I left? In your textbook? The marks I made?"
My pulse kicked up. "Yeah. The checkmarks and triangles and X's." I flipped the book open to show him, where his left-handed scrawl had annotated the margins in pencil. "I wasn't sure what they meant, though."
For the first time since he'd appeared, his expression softened slightly. He pulled out the chair next to mine—the one Mia usually sat in—and hesitated before sitting down. Or maybe half-sitting, half-crouching, like he might bolt any second.
"Checkmarks are the basics," he explained, voice quieter now, almost careful. "The forty-percent foundation problems. You have to get those right, no matter what. Triangles are application questions—look at the first step, see if you understand how to translate the scenario into an equation. If you do, try it. If not, skip it and come back." He tapped one of the X marks with his index finger. "X's are too hard. They won't show up on a placement test. Don't waste your time."
His voice was so different from the cold, clipped tone he used in the cafeteria or the gym. Softer. Patient. Like he actually thought I was worth the effort.
He's always like this with me, I thought, chest tightening. Like I'm worth something.
"You wrote something else," I said quietly, flipping to the inside cover where he'd scrawled in tiny letters: You're smarter than you think you are.
His entire face went red. He jerked his gaze away, staring hard at the whiteboard like it held the secrets of the universe.
"It's just—literal," he mumbled. "Don't read into it."
"Kieran—"
"You should eat lunch." He stood abruptly, slinging his backpack over his shoulder again. "You're gonna be starving by sixth period."