2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

"Do you think physicians ever actually use calculus?" Savannah inquires as we exit the lecture hall. "When you become an OBGYN, or when I become a pediatrician, do you think we'll ponder higher-order derivatives as we make clinical decisions about our patients?"

"Admittedly, I've never witnessed any doctor I shadow incorporate continuous random variables into their medical decision making―just like I've never seen them balance organic chemistry equations or work on physics problems." I laugh while pushing open the door that leads outside. "However, I like to think these subjects we stay up painfully late to study are providing a foundation for us to understand the topics we'll be taught in med school that do directly pertain to patient care."

"That's a very diplomatic answer, and I appreciate it." Savannah snickers as we venture into the afternoon sunshine. "After a test like the one we just took, it's nice to be reminded that there's a noble reason why we're putting ourselves through this academic torture. It's good to know it has been for more than merely acing the MCAT and ticking off boxes to graduate from college."

We break off from our conversation when we reach the outdoor coffee stand that's here on campus. The guy who's working the stand knows us so well that he starts prepping our usual beverages before we even place our orders. After we pay the guy, we pick up our drinks and resume walking. I start enjoying my pumpkin-spice deliciousness while sensing the weight of this morning's exam lifting off my shoulders. At last, I can focus on this beautiful autumn day, which is truly one for the record books. Leaves are dotting the brick pathways, the university's majestic buildings appear especially grand with the fall-colored trees rising up around them, and students are lounging on the grass and seated on park benches while enjoying the crisp air and sunlight.

Savannah takes a drink of her hot chocolate before inquiring, "So how did the exam go for you, anyway? Not that I really need to ask. You knew the material better than the professor."

"I'm not sure about that, but I'm grateful to say it went all right. How did it go for you?"

"Fortunately, I think I did fine, too, which I'm especially thankful for since I got home late from the Coffee Loft last evening and didn't have much time to study."

My face heats up. "Ugh. Do not remind me about the Coffee Loft yesterday."

"Aw, it wasn't so bad." Savannah nudges me. "Yes, you had a slightly awkward encounter with the most famous guy on campus, but at least you got to talk to him. Lots of people would have paid big bucks for the opportunity to spill a scalding beverage all over his table."

I shoot her a look. "You're not helping."

"Sorry." Savannah laughs and finishes her drink. "Hey, now that we've conquered the exam, would you like to go grab an early dinner somewhere?"

"I would love to, but I can't." I hand my drink to Savannah to hold while I pull my green puffer coat from my bag and put it on over my black turtleneck. "I picked up an extra shift at the tutoring center this afternoon, since they're short-staffed today."

"That was nice of you."

I take my drink back from her, and we keep strolling. "I figure it's a good way to earn a few extra bucks to help cover the costs of traveling to med school interviews this winter."

"I signed up for an additional shift at the Coffee Loft tomorrow for the same reason." Savannah looks ahead to where the walkway splits in two directions. "Well, I suppose this is where we'll part ways. Good luck with work. I'll head to the apartment to see if I can whip up something reasonably nutritious for us to have for dinner when you get home." She pauses. "Actually, after today's exam, I think we deserve pizza. And homemade cookies for dessert."

I show another smile. "Definitely."

Savannah waves and departs in the direction of the campus bus stop. I go the other way to the Student Academic Center. It's my favorite building on campus. It's four stories tall, so it's large but not too huge, and its columns, stonework, and arched windows give it an elegance and old-fashioned academic feel that I adore.

I head up the building's stone staircase, tug open the front door, and go left down a wide hallway to the wing of the building where the tutoring center is located. The spacious main room of the tutoring center is brightly lit, has windows lining the entirety of the far wall, and has cubicles and tables scattered throughout. This afternoon, like usual, there are a lot of people in here, and the air is buzzing with quiet conversations as everyone works.

"Hi, Danielle. Thanks for coming today," I hear someone say.

I turn and smile at Rebecca, one of the graduate students who helps run the tutoring center. Rebecca has jet-black hair, light eyes, fun glasses, and several piercings in both ears. She radiates brains and coolness—and she gives off the vibe that she could destroy anyone in a scholarly debate.

"It's no problem." I unzip my jacket. "I assume you want me to take any walk-ins this afternoon?"

"Actually, no. I've got a specific assignment that you're perfect for."

Rebecca motions for me to follow her into her office, which is connected to the main room. She goes around behind her desk, wiggles the mouse of her computer to wake it, and reviews something that she has up on the monitor. She then looks at me and explains:

"A couple of days ago, a student reached out to me to set up his first-ever tutoring appointment. He's looking for help in the sciences, and since you're the pre-med guru on staff, I thought you would be a great help for him."

I nod. "Sure. What time is he coming in?"

"Well, that's the catch: he called this morning and requested to have his tutoring sessions held off-site."

I don't hide my expression of surprise. We don't often get requests to host tutoring sessions away from campus, though it's an option we offer as long as the student is vetted by Rebecca and the requested location is an approved public place that's not too far from the university.

I zip up my jacket once more. "Where does he want to meet?"

"At the Coffee Loft."

I do a double take. "The Coffee Loft?"

"Yep." Rebecca smiles. "I know how much you like that place, so it was yet another reason why this assignment seemed ideal for you. We'll reimburse you for travel time and any other expenses you accrue to get there from campus, of course."

"Okay. Should I venture over there now?"

Rebecca checks the clock on the wall. "Yes, that would put you there right on time." She gives me another smile. "I'm so glad you were able to work today. Thanks again, Danielle."

"You're welcome." I start moving for the door. "By the way, what's the student's name?"

"Bryant Larson. I'll text you his number, so you can let him know that you're on your way." Rebecca picks up her phone and types with rapid-fire speed. "I'll also leave it to the two of you to schedule further tutoring sessions according to what works best for your calendars."

My phone pings with the text from Rebecca. I give her a salute and depart the office. I leave the building and follow the familiar route to the campus bus stop. While waiting for the bus to arrive, I shoot Bryant a text:

Hello. This is Danielle Gillespie, your assigned tutor. I'll meet you at the Coffee Loft shortly.

A moment later, Bryant texts back with only:

Thanks.

I hear an approaching bus and raise my attention from my phone; it's a bus that will take me to the adorable area of town where the Coffee Loft is located. When the bus stops at the curb, I board, grab a seat, and go through my well-practiced routine of tugging my laptop out of my bag in order to use my commute time to study. I don't look up from what I'm doing until the bus reaches the stop I need. I shove my laptop back into my bag, disembark, and stroll to the shop. I pause outside the door to adopt my professional-yet-friendly tutor-ish demeanor, and then I go inside.

The barista, Nathaniel, gives me a welcoming smile; all the employees know me well, since I visit Savannah so often. I smile back at him and then peer around, trying to identify my client. There are a few people seated alone at different tables, yet none of them are college-aged. There's a couple by one of the windows, but they're gazing at each another in a way that makes it clear they're barely aware that the rest of the world exists. I'm hit with an unexpected prick of longing as I observe them; I hope that I'll find a man who gazes at me like that one day . . . in another eight years or so . . . when I finally have time for romance.

I sigh.

My phone pings, jarring me back to reality. I check the new text. It's from Bryant's number, and it says:

I'm seated in the back corner.

My cheeks scorch as memories of yesterday flood my mind. The back table. The table that isn't easily visible from the front door. The table upon which I spilled a whipping-cream-slathered drink in front of the most handsome, buff, famous man in the region.

I shake my head at myself. I need to get over yesterday's debacle. That was then, and this is now. Today, I'm here to tutor. I'm not here to pretend to be a barista. That humiliation is behind me.

I roll back my shoulders and walk toward the alcove. When I get past the fireplace, the man who's seated at the little table comes into view. As our eyes meet, the floor drops out from underneath me.

It's not some guy named Bryant who's at the table. It's Joel. Joel Lambert. The insanely hot, muscular man who makes my breathing get shallow. The guy I totally humiliated myself in front of yesterday. The undoubtedly arrogant athlete I want nothing to do with. Ever.

What is he doing here?