Chapter 26

BENNY

Sweat prickles its way down my back as I stare at my notes, begging for any of it to make sense. I'm not stupid, I'm not, but this is really making me think I might be. How the hell does anyone understand this shit? How the hell does anyone remember what the fuck all of these numbers mean?

"Benny?"

I jump at the dining room table and find Em leaning over me.

The house is dark and quiet, but I still look around to make sure none of my frat brothers see us.

"What are you doing?"

"Wondering where the hell my brother is."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

He smiles softly and taps my phone screen, lighting it up to show it's 3:00 a.m.

"And?"

"You've been at this for six hours."

"I have?" Jesus. No wonder my brain feels like it's been pressed through a strainer.

"You started at nine."

"I'll take your word for it." Other than being tired though, it's like no time has passed at all. I could spend days on this, and it wouldn't make any more sense to me than it does now. Tears press at the backs of my eyes. Why can't I do this? Why the fuck do numbers have to be so goddamn hard?

I press my fingers into my eye sockets, holding back the urge to scream. "We fucked up, Emmy."

"What do you mean?" The chair scrapes as he pulls it out to sit down.

"We never should have started this. We never should have …" I swallow back the panic. "I can't do it."

"It's confronting, I know that. I get it. But I'm here. I'll help with whatever I need to. It'll all be okay."

My laugh is bitter. "I still count on my fingers, Em. That's not normal."

"You just never learned. It won't take you long."

"I can't tell the goddamn time! Who do we know who can't tell the time?"

"You just told the time."

"Off of my phone. An analog clock makes no goddamn sense to me." I don't know why I'm voicing this. Don't know why all these insecurities are leaking out now, but I can't stop them. I've always been so careful to build up my copying strategies—life cheat sheets, in a way—to make sure the things I struggle with stay hidden. Harrison almost picked up on it today, though, and I've never felt more sick in my life. "I can't do the most basic shit, and I'm supposed to be able to understand all this? I don't even know how many times I've read this page, but I don't remember any of it. I have a test tomorrow. I'm going to fail."

"Stop. Breathe."

Kinda hard to breathe when I'm launching into a full-blown panic attack. I can't do this, and he's not listening. He doesn't get it. It'd be like me learning to speak fluent Japanese by tomorrow. By next week. Fuck, even this year.

I know why Harrison made this request. I know why he doesn't want us cheating. I've never regretted anything in my life more than I do this, but it's gotten to a point where I need it. Without passing my classes, there is no degree. No future. My brothers are going to kill me, and I'll be facing the repercussions of this choice for the rest of my goddamn life.

"It'll be hard," Em says. "But you'll get there. You're smart. Learning ten years' worth of stuff at once won't be easy, but a lot will be intuitive. I'll help you. Bowser will help you."

"I'm not going to him for help."

"He'd—"

"No. Goddamn it."

Emmett sighs, and sure, he thinks I'm being ridiculous—I can read it off his face—but I'm not going to the guy I've just started dating and being all, "Hey, I probably couldn't even pass a third-grade math quiz, but that's cool, yeah?"

How fucking embarrassing.

"Fine." He pulls my books and laptop toward himself. "Let's do this."

By the timeI get to class, I'm feeling one tiny bit more confident about my test. Harrison meets me at the door, and I try to return the happy smile he gives me, but I'm not sure I pull it off.

"Hey, it's just one quick test. It'll be over before you know it, and I bet you do better than you think."

I try to hold on to his confidence. "Yeah, we'll see, I guess."

I'm just trying hard to hold on to Em's voice in my head as he explained everything to me. Step by step, take my time, I've got this.

"I'll be waiting for you right out here when you're done."

"Why don't you have to take the test?"

"I'm auditing this class. I've already been through the tests, but none of the information really sank in, which is why I'm going for round two."

"That's a long way to say you like to punish yourself."

He laughs and gently nudges me toward the door. "I'll see you soon."

Probably too soon. Not having him here to sit next to me is both shit because I could have used his support and a blessing because he won't get to see me crash and burn in real time.

As soon as I sit down, Professor Brooks locks the door and sets his timer. He says, "You have an hour and a half to make it through. No talking, please."

An hour and a half?

Tests are one of the things I hate most about school. Even in subjects I know, it's a panic to make sure I get it done in time, and an hour is trackable; an hour and a half is not. With the analog clock up in front of the room, I can visually track a full circle, but anything over that leaves me lost.

He calls start, and the second he does …

Blank.

My whole brain is blank.

I try to set all the work out as I go, but I'm hyperconscious that time is slipping away. Pressure weighs down against me as I try to make it through. Most of the math-heavy ones I skip, but there are a few more logic-focused ones that I can muddle my way through. The working out is hard, and my calculator and notes are my best friend, but my chest keeps getting tighter and tighter every time I try to figure out how long I have left. It has to be close to running out. Half of the test is on paper, and the other is through the computer, which completely loses me before long.

I finally submit the computer side and glance around at everyone still working. The room is hushed; only muffled coughs and the rustle of papers and fingers frantically typing away on their computers keep my thoughts company.

It's tempting to get up, hand in my paper, and leave. I've done what I can, but I don't want to draw attention to being done early, so I turn back to the start of my paper test and try again with the stupid questions that don't make any sense.

This is all the Greek's fault. Probably. I think they're the ones who came up with math. Or maybe it was Cleopatra. She seemed like a smart chick.

Either way, whoever it was can suck a big one because math sucks. It's stupid and useless, and who even needs it anyw?—

"Time's up."

My exhale is less relief at this being over and more resignation at the big, fat F coming my way. I stay sitting right where I am as everyone breaks into conversation, grabbing their stuff and making their way out as fast as they can.

The room is emptier when I stand and pack my shit away. I'm not looking forward to handing this in. I'm not looking forward to facing Harrison. Technically, if I didn't hand it in, I'd probably score about the same. My gut is in knots as I drop the paper on Professor Brooks's desk and hightail it for the door.

Harrison's exactly where he said he'd be, and I can't bring myself to drop that happy look from his face. "How was it?"

"It was a test."

He chuckles, taking my bag from me and slinging it over his shoulder.

"I can carry that."

"I know. But you've had a stressful morning, and I can do it just as well as you can."

Instead of being a dick and arguing the point, I let it go. "I … I don't think it went well," I force myself to say. The last thing I want is for him to have hopes that I'll pull off some miraculous pass when there's no way in hell that will happen.

"I always feel that way after a test too. It's all the stress. But it usually turns out okay, and if not, you can always retake it."

That isn't the reassurance he thinks it is. The thought of having to go through that again makes me want to throw up.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I grab it as a way to avoid this conversation. But it's another one I don't want to face.

Em:

How did it go?

I groan and shove my phone away.

"Who was it?" Harrison asks.

"My brother."

"Then why the groan?"

Okay, I guess I'm not avoiding this conversation, then. "He also asked how it went, and it's not something I want to think about."

"In that case, I'll shut up about it, but one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"I'm really proud of you. Sure, you made some shitty choices that got you into this mess, but you're working to fix them. That's important. Maybe more important than people give credit for."

"Does it still count when the only reason I'm fixing my mistakes is because you called me out on being a cheater?"

Harrison thinks about it for a moment, pushing the door at the end of the hall open for me to pass. "It depends. How do you feel now you're not relying on Em?"

"Stupid."

"Benny …"

I roll my eyes at him, not liking that he can already read me. "Fine. I'm glad I've taken that pressure off him. And, sure, maybe now that I've realized just how behind I am, deep down, waaay deep, under all the fear and self-doubt, I'm kinda glad I'll be working on it. Better late than never and all that."

"Good." Harrison gazes at me with a type of look I don't deserve.

I ignore it. "Can you please feed me now?"