Page 12 of I Don't Need Your Romance

She watches me for a bit. “Haven’t you ever met someone who wants to help you because they care?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “You don’t care, you just don’t want to disappoint my mother, whom you worship like she’s God.”

“I told you yesterday that I’m not Harrington’s biggest fan. But can we just get to the lesson? I don’t have all day.”

I nod. “Yeah, okay. The sooner we finish, the better.”

She continues with math and I listen to every word, even though I let my eyes wander around the library, pretending I don’t care. There are a few kids checking out books and some on the computers, but it’s mostly empty.

I return my gaze to her when I realize she stopped.

“What?” I ask.

“Do the problems from yesterday now. I want to make sure you understand it before we move on to the next chapter. Start with number one and explain to me exactly what you’re doing.”

I give her an are-you-kidding-me-face. She gestures for me to get to it. Mumbling under my breath, I grab my pencil and begin with the first problem. She listens to every word like they’re the candy she has been waiting for all year. When I’m done, she smiles. Such a bright smile that it makes her face shine. And oddly, it lifts something in me. Something tiny, but strong enough that I feel it.

“So you were listening to me yesterday,” she says.

I don’t respond.

“And you did that problem quickly,” she muses. “Like…you did it already.” Her eyes grow a little larger. “Youdiddo those problems last night, didn’t you?”

She’s smart. And good.

Her smile fades. “Why did you lie when I asked you?”

I lean back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest. “Why not?”

She stares at me for a bit, as if she’s not sure how to respond, then holds out her hand.

“What?” I ask.

“Hand them over.”

“Hand over what?”

She gives me a face. “I know you have the completed math problems with you. So hand them over.”

“Left them at home.”

She lifts a brow, then snatches my closed textbook from my side of the table. She rummages through the pages until she finds the folded paper I placed between random sheets. Sending me a triumphant smile, she unfolds it.

I’m not going to lie. It feels good when she grins and tells me I got them all right. But of course I’m not going to admit that to her. Don’t need her telling Mom I kind of care.

“You know, you’re very smart,” she tells me. “And you clearly care about your schoolwork. Why do you pretend that you don’t?”

“Are you my therapist?” It leaves my mouth before I can stop it. I don’t know why I keep snapping at her. Maybe because I don’t like people analyzing me or getting too close. Or complimenting me when I don’t deserve it.

“Just saying you should be proud of yourself,” she says.

“I’m not.”

“Fine. Are you okay with doing more math problems tonight?”

I lift both brows. “You giving me a choice?”

“I already told you I’m not forcing you to do anything. I’ll give you the problems and you’ll decide if you want to do them. But you’ve clearly seen how helpful doing the homework is.”