Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 81248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
I smile at her, and she eyes me suspiciously before returning it, then turns her attention back to the screen in front of her.
“You’re the professor?” Rhys asks, watching me take off my coat and scarf.
“Sure am.”
“You don’t look like a professor.”
“Oh, yeah?” I glance at West, who’s hovering like a mother hen. “What does a professor look like?”
“Old.”
“I like you. Would it have helped if I wore my tweed jacket?”
“What the hell is tweed?”
West laughs, and there I go feeling ancient again. I point to the book. “This your homework?”
“Yes.” Rhys scowls at his sheet of attempts, and I pull out the chair beside him.
West is still hovering. I nudge Rhys. “Do you think he’s hoping if he stands there long enough that he’ll become a math genius like us?”
Rhys smirks at West over his shoulder. “No chance. He can’t even manage the numbers on the oven.”
“Hey.” West feigns hurt. “No ganging up on the dumb hockey player.” He turns and leaves us to it.
I get Rhys to start by taking me through the last thing he understood in his textbook and what he’s struggling with now. West has mentioned before that he’s smart, and he’d need to be in order to be taking advanced math, but I thought a lot of that was “my kid is so talented” speak. It always makes me uncomfortable when parents push their kids in an area they’re barely above average in because by the time they get to college, they think their talent gives them the right to coast, and then I’m the one responsible for that taste of reality.
Rhys though … as he talks through linear equations, the back of my neck starts to prickle.
“Algebra I isn’t usually taught in seventh grade,” I comment lightly.
“Yeah, the school said I’m gifted or some shit.” He glances at me like I’m going to say something about the swearing.
“And who teaches you there?”
“Our math teacher.” He looks confused. “No one else is taking it, so I usually wait for her to set up the class before she helps me through this.”
I nod and turn the conversation back to the part he needs help with, not wanting to say too much more. I take the time explaining to Rhys how functions work, and then I write out a few easy ones for him to practice with.
The whole time we’re working, loud noises and bickering come from the front room. I don’t need to see them to know it’s the twins. It’s distracting to me, and I’m not the one attempting to learn something new.
Still, it’s obvious the exact moment he gets it. His whole posture changes, and an easy smile slips across his face. It reminds me so much of how West is when he relaxes.
“You don’t use a calculator.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway.
“Sometimes they’re slower. Like, if you hit the wrong button or whatever. I need them for big numbers, but most of the time …” He trails off like it’s no big deal.
I rub my mouth to stop myself from saying anything before I talk to West. “Have you ever had a tutor?”
“Yeah, for English because I suck at that. But it didn’t help.”
If I’m right about Rhys, English isn’t something he needs to worry about.
“How do you think you’re doing now?” I point at the textbook. “Think you can manage those?”
“Yeah, easy. Once I understand them, it’s piece of cake, but my teacher didn’t explain it like you did. Thanks.”
The sincerity of his gratitude blows me away.
I get up to go find West. I’m not surprised Rhys’s teacher didn’t explain it—public schools are way too underfunded to properly deal with a student like Rhys. Kids like him slip through the cracks every day, but there’s no way I can let that happen here.
West is in the kitchen, plating up dinner, and seeing that many plates on the counter makes me think of an all-you-can-eat buffet.
“Wow.” I nod toward him.
“Yeah. I used to put everything in the middle and let them help themselves, but there were too many fights over who got what.”
I can’t stop from blurting out, “I want to tutor Rhys.”
West blinks at me for a moment before he smiles. “That’s a great idea. If you’re his tutor, that gives you an excuse to be here.”
“As much as I love seeing you, I actually want to tutor him. For real. Preferably at CU where there isn’t a wrestling match happening a room away.”
“What? But … why? He already knows math.”
I chuckle. Sweet, naïve West. Knows math. Adorable. “Can I be honest for a second? He’s slipping under the radar. And I’m not pointing fingers because it happens all the time, but I don’t think you—or the school—have actually picked up on just how smart Rhys is.”
West frowns. “We know how smart he is. He’s in advanced classes.”