Chapter 59
Summer's POV
I wasn't finished. Leaning forward, eyes bright, I kept my voice low and steady. "He's just Tyler Ashford—a legacy kid with a $300-an-hour tutor. But you're Kieran Cross."
He slowly lifted his head. Those deep gray eyes locked onto mine, searching for any hint of a joke. Several seconds of silence stretched between us. Then his throat bobbed, and his ears turned bright red. He looked away, voice slightly hoarse. "You're that sure I'll beat him?"
I nodded without hesitation. My eyes held no doubt whatsoever.
Kieran stared at me, at the light in my eyes, and his heartbeat lost its rhythm. He wasn't used to hearing his own name spoken like that—not with pity, not with charity, but with something almost like reverence, like certainty.
"Wait." I caught myself, suddenly worried I'd put too much pressure on him. My words came faster. "I'm not saying you have to—I mean, Southie's physics curriculum might be different from St. Jude's, right? And you haven't been in regular physics class for a month. Cramming now might be—"
"Mm." He cut me off with a noncommittal sound, expression unreadable.
Under the table, my knee accidentally brushed against his. We both froze. Kieran's left hand tightened around his pen, but he didn't pull away.
I felt my face heating up and quickly leaned back, putting some distance between us. But the air still felt charged, like static electricity before a storm.
"I should let you study," I mumbled, gathering my things with shaky hands.
He just watched me, shoulders tense, jaw working like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
---
That night, I couldn't sleep.
My room felt too quiet, too empty. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Back Bay skyline glittered like scattered diamonds, and far off I could see the faint lights reflecting on the Charles River. My desk was buried under notebooks, textbooks, and Kieran's physics book with all his pencil marks still visible.
On my MacBook screen, a Khan Academy video on electromagnetism sat paused mid-lecture.
I'd been at this for hours.
The Starbucks Venti Double Shot Espresso sat mostly empty on my desk, ring marks from my lips staining the white cup. The clock on my phone read 11:47 PM.
I flipped through Kieran's book again, studying the stars he'd drawn next to certain formulas, the notes he'd scribbled in his left-handed scrawl—messy but clear, like he'd fought to make each letter legible. Some problem solutions had tiny annotations in the margins, shortcuts I never would've thought of on my own.
I copied them into my notebook, whispering the formulas under my breath like prayers.
I knew the gap between us was massive. Kieran could solve these problems in his sleep. But I needed him to see that I took his help seriously, that I wasn't just some rich girl who expected other people to do the work for me.
I wasn't that person anymore. I refused to be.
By 1:15 AM, my heart was racing from too much caffeine. When I stood up, the room tilted sideways. I gripped the edge of my desk, waiting for my vision to stop doubling, watching the formulas blur and overlap until they didn't make sense anymore.
I crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, but my brain wouldn't shut off. All I could hear was Kieran's voice, low and rough, saying: "You're smarter than you think."
I tossed and turned for what felt like hours. Finally, I gave up, climbed back out of bed, and grabbed my notebook. I propped myself against the headboard and kept studying, the pages spread across my lap, my eyes burning as I forced myself to memorize the problems Kieran had circled.
Outside my window, the sky started to lighten, turning from black to deep blue to pale gray.
I finally passed out somewhere around 3 AM, the notebook still open on my chest.
When my alarm went off at 6:30, I jolted awake, formulas spinning through my foggy brain. I looked at myself in the mirror—dark circles under my eyes, hair a tangled mess—but my gaze was steady.
I could do this.
I had to do this.
---
Downstairs, Mom was already dressed for work in a sharp Chanel suit, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she moved around the kitchen. She'd set out a croissant and fresh-squeezed orange juice for me, but I couldn't stomach the thought of eating.
"You look terrible." She frowned, studying my face. "Did you even sleep?"
"I'm fine," I mumbled, sliding into my chair. "Just reviewed a bit."
Mom sighed, pouring herself coffee. "Listen, the lower-level exam rooms... I heard they put students with attendance issues or behavioral probation there. If anyone tries to copy your answers, cover your paper. If they threaten you, raise your hand immediately and call the proctor."
I almost laughed. She thought I'd be stuck in the "bad kid" room. She had it all wrong. For placement tests, the school mixed everyone together, which was why 309 was likely full of both overachievers and students like me.
My stomach flipped at the thought.
"I'll be fine, Mom. Really."
She reached over and smoothed my hair back, her expression softening. "Just do your best. That's all I ask."
I nodded, but inside, my thoughts were a mess. What if I bombed the test? What if Kieran saw how far behind I really was? What if he regretted spending time helping me?
What if he was nervous too?
That last thought caught me off guard. I tried to picture Kieran anxious about a regular physics test and couldn't. He probably thought it was a waste of time.
But then I remembered the way he'd looked at me yesterday when I said I was on his side. The way his ears had turned red. The way his voice had cracked when he whispered, "Okay."
Maybe he did care what I thought.
Maybe that was why my hands wouldn't stop shaking.