I instantly turn back to the notepad, but not before idiotic words fly out of my mouth. “I’m sorry…you are the tutor, right?”

He just laughs, folding his arms, and leans back in his chair. He looks up at the ceiling for a few seconds, giving me a break before settling back on me. “Yeah, I know. I don’t really scream math geek. I’m an engineering major. Almost done. The math part? Well…” He leans forward, urging me in as well, and looks side to side before he whispers to me, “I’m sort of a mathematical genius.”

I purse my lips and scrunch my brow out of instinct. I’m sorting him out, trying to tell if he’s genuine or just being an ass**le. He seems to sense my hesitation, because he puts the pen down and holds up one hand, like a boy scout, crossing his heart with the other. I tilt my head, and a small smile breaks on my lips. I’m about to relent and believe him when he pulls the notepad forward and starts jotting down numbers and symbols feverishly. Within seconds, he’s solved the first problem from my book. He smiles when he sets the pen down, and the crinkle is back in the corners of his eyes.

“Wow,” I say, my eyebrows lifting. “Rock-star-math-geek genius. Noted.”

He laughs hard this time, and I finally let go of the breath I’ve been holding and join him. “I’m Cody. Not a rock star. Just good with numbers,” he smirks. “What’s your name?”

“Charlie,” as soon as it leaves my lips I want to stuff it back inside. “Well, Charlotte, really. Charlotte, call me Charlotte.” He’s tapping the pen to his lip while I’m desperately trying to turn back time. I don’t want anyone calling me Charlie, and I haven’t said it in years. Why it came out now, I have no idea, but even hearing my own voice say it has my stomach sinking to the floor.

“Charlotte,” he smiles, somehow saving me. “Nice to meet you. How about we figure out what’s tripping you up here, huh?” His smile is soft, and I feel like I dodged some sort of bullet. I nod and lean forward while he guides me through about a dozen problems.

After two hours, I’m starting to understand the material, and I can even complete the work on my own. Cody has been at my table the entire time, despite four other tables full of students clearly needing his help. I’m glad he’s stayed, and I tell myself it’s because I need his help, and I’m finally getting the hang of the formulas. But the truth scratches at my gut, too, and the pangs from guilt are impossible to ignore. I like his attention—and I’ve never been more afraid.

He’s looking at his watch and chewing on his pen cap when I interrupt him. “You don’t have to stay,” I squeak out. “I’m getting the hang of this. You probably have a ton of students to see, and I know the session time is almost over.”

He pushes his lips closed tightly, making a hard smile, and I hear him take a deep breath through his nose. “It’s okay. Most of those students are regulars, and they’d call me over if they really needed something,” he says, glancing back at his watch.

“Oh…” I chew at my own pen now, not sure what to say. “Well…if you have to go, it’s okay. I’m about ready to pack up.” We’re staring at each other now, and the tension between us must be visible to everyone in the room. Afraid of being caught, I start to close my book and busy my hands.

“Yeah, yeah…” Cody starts, looking down and then back up. “I’ll walk you out?”

He’s waiting for me to answer, and I’m pretending to take longer with my belongings, looking deep in my bag and avoiding his eyes. I’m fighting with myself. When I finally pump myself up enough to stand and smile back at him, I notice it—the wheelchair. I don’t have one of those faces that can lie—a fault I inherited from Mac. Our expression cuts right to the truth, never a mixed signal. And I know Cody senses my discomfort, because I can sense his, too.

He rolls back from the table a little, twisting the wheels back and forth to make sure everything’s clear, to show me that he knows what caused my breath to hitch. “I just need it sometimes,” he says, shrugging and looking down at his lap. He lifts up his knees to show me that he can. I’m embarrassed by my gross behavior and my overt reaction. But, more than that, I’m embarrassed by the relief that floods me with the knowledge that he’s not completely disabled—and I’m confused by why I care so much.

“So, you…you can walk?” I ask, instantly slapping myself internally. Why can’t I shut up?