Page 9

Lily

I t’s Friday night, and we’re back at my favorite table in the library for our second meeting. After we met the other night, I spent a few hours trying to sort through Luka’s classes and figuring out the most critical assignments based on points. Eventually, I came up with a loose plan to tackle everything in the most time and energy-efficient way.

“So, I think I have a plan on where we should start.” I shuffle around my color-coded study sheets in front of me.

“Lay it on me.” Luka spreads his arms out to the side in a playful gesture, and I catch myself smiling.

His knee is already bobbing, so either he’s nervous, or a theory I have is correct. I’m surprised he didn’t seem bothered at all about meeting me on a Friday night. All the other students usually find a party or something to go to on Friday and Saturday nights. The last thing they worry about is studying, and his willingness to meet me shows he’s serious.

At least, I hope I’m right about him being serious.

Internally, I wince because I’m unsure how he’ll take the next part, but I spit it out anyway. “I think we should meet three to four times a week in the beginning until you get the hang of things.”

Luka’s eyebrows pull together in confusion, shock, or a bit of both. “Three to four times a week? ”

I nod firmly. “Yes. We have to focus on the largest assignments. You can ace every ten-pointer they give you, but if you screw up the assignments surrounding midterms and finals, you’re absolutely screwed. That means we need to make sure all your work gets turned in and that you do your best on them, but that we work hard for you to pass midterms, finals, and the four big assignments surrounding them in each class.”

Luka’s silver eyes look like they might fall out of his head. “Do you understand what kind of commitment that is?” His tone isn’t condescending. Instead, it shows just how scared he is.

However , good lord, he is pretty. Distractingly so. I’ve been trying to ignore his eyes because every time I look at them, I get sucked in. It’s a magnetic pull that I can’t escape, so I try to avoid it in the hopes I don’t look like a complete weirdo when I can’t look away.

I nod again. “Oh, yes, I understand. Trust me. I debated over that for the past two days. I know it’s a lot for both of us, but I truly think this is our best chance to get you where you need to be.”

“I just don’t understand why.”

I quirk a brow. “Why what?” Does he think it’s too much for him? Does he think it’s not enough? “Is that a problem? Should we meet more often than that?”

Luka laughs, his head falling back to expose the long column of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs with the action. I swallow thickly. Holy moly. All I can think about is what the sensitive skin there tastes like.

“No, I mean, isn’t that a lot to ask of you? I expected one day a week, maybe two if you were feeling generous, but three or four seems like too much to ask,” he states.

I wave a dismissive hand. “I wouldn’t offer anything that was too much,” I say earnestly. I rarely do things I don’t want to. Life is too short to be miserable because you can’t tell someone no. “Is it a lot ? Yes. Is it too much ? No. So don’t use that as an excuse.”

He leans forward on the table, clasping his hands together. “Why would you do that for me? You don’t even know me, and saying Stella is your best friend isn’t a good enough answer.” I notice how strong his hands look, as well as a callus on his index finger. I wonder if it’s from hockey.

I pull my eyes away from his hands and make the mistake of looking at him directly. His eyes pull me in instantly. It feels like I get sucked into a wind tunnel, and his eyes are the only focal point. Goosebumps break out across my skin, and a prickling sensation takes root at the base of my spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling. Actually, it’s quite the opposite. Still, I don’t understand it, and that’s something I don’t deal well with. I’ve always had a burning desire to dissect something until I understand it completely, but I can’t do that with Luka and my dream.

At least, not until I talk to my grandmother. Maybe I can get the answers I need and settle this feeling I can’t seem to shake. It’s bugged me ever since I met him.

Why him?

Why me?

And what the heck does it all mean?

Luka’s expression has scrunched up into something that resembles a slight, adorable pout. It’s probably because I look like a wacko, and he doesn’t know what to say or do around me. Once again, I was just sitting and staring at him. For how long, I don’t know, but I really need to get control of myself.

I clear my throat and try to push that prickling sensation I feel still making its way up my spine. I rub my arms in an attempt to calm the goosebumps. It doesn’t entirely work, but the action does help to soothe me.

Opting to avoid his eyes, I pretend to go over my plan again as I speak. “I’ll admit that Stella is a small part of why I want to help you. She’s my best friend, and she asked me for a favor. Not just any favor, but one to help her twin brother. I know she didn’t make that request lightly, and I’d do just about anything for her.”

When he starts to protest, I hold my hand up to stop him. “Just a second there, king of the ice.” I see his smirk from the corner of my eye. “Let me finish, please. It isn’t just about her. I thought heavily about what you told me. About how math is so much easier for you, and I have some questions.”

The thought suddenly came to me when I was trying to go to sleep two nights ago after our first meeting, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it .

“Shoot,” he says, seemingly as curious to hear my question as I am to ask it.

“I’m sure this will sound wildly random, but humor me. Do you have bad handwriting?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “That’s what you want to know? You weren’t kidding—definitely random. I’m a dude, Lily. Of course, I have bad handwriting. My mom always says it’s the worst handwriting she’s ever seen.”

My interest is officially piqued. “Do you have excellent vision?” His eyes narrow a little as he simply nods his head. Excited, I continue. “What about when you were little? Did you have a lot of trouble with sight words or feel like the words were moving on the page?”

His eyes narrow even further, and I start to squirm in my seat with how intense his stare is.

“How do you know all of this?”

“So, that’s a yes?” I’m more excited than I should be, considering what I say next could really upset him, but I can’t help it. If I’m right, then we can come up with an even more solid plan to help him.

“Stella used to have to help me a lot with our sight words. I had to sit and listen to her say them over and over until they finally clicked. The words in a book or on my homework would move a lot, but that stopped as I got older.”

“What about talking? Were you quiet as a child?”

Luka’s mouth falls slightly slack as suspicion creeps into his expression. “I don’t know how you know all this, but yes. Stella used to do most of the talking. I think everyone just assumed I was the quiet one between us, but the truth is I had trouble finding my words. It wasn’t until I was older that it became easier.”

I cheer inwardly because I believe with all my heart that I’ve found his problem .

“Has anyone ever told you that you might have dyslexia?” I ask.

Luka’s eyes narrow as he studies me from across the table. He’s quiet for so long that I worry I may have overstepped. I tend to do that because I speak without forethought about how it may come across to another person.

“ No . ”

His one-word answer does little to settle my worry. Nice. You’ve gone and done it again. I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, biting it slightly. He follows the gesture as he continues to look at me with narrowed eyes.

“Ummm, well. I just thought maybe…”

“ What ? That I have a learning disability? That I actually am as stupid as they tell me I am?” His tone and body language tell me all I need to know. He’s pissed, but calling himself stupid pisses me off even more for some reason.

“That is not what I said!” I fume. His cheeks turn a deep red, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, but I don’t stop to think about what that means. “People with dyslexia are some of the smartest people in the world. Albert Einstein had dyslexia! Steven Spielberg and Walt Disney, too!”

Luka blinks slowly, his eyes taking in every part of my face. He scans left and right and up and down, but he still doesn’t respond. The intensity in his gaze is making that prickling sensation in my spine go haywire.

He sighs heavily through his nose. “Look, none of the teachers or any of the dozen or so tutors I’ve had have said anything like that to me. You’ve sat down with me once, and we haven’t even worked on anything together yet, so how in the hell would you know if I’m dyslexic or not?”

That’s a good point, but I don’t understand how no one else saw the signs. It blows my mind because it’s painfully obvious to me. I’m almost a hundred percent sure he has it after hearing his answers. I just need to prove it to him.

I straighten in my chair and almost risk looking him directly in the eyes so I can make my point clear. Instead, my eyes land on the bridge of his nose near the top, and I keep them there. “The symptoms fit. Plus, you’re only good at math, and you’re great at hockey. That’s what got me started down this road.”

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, staring me down with an unamused look on his face. I squirm in my seat, regretting that I didn’t think through this conversation a little better because I’m screwing it all up.

Luka scrubs a hand down his face, groaning as he drops it back down on the table. “I’m trying to follow you here, Lily, but you’re talking in pieces. You’re saying I have dyslexia because I’m good at math and hockey? Seriously? So are half my other teammates. I can tell you’re nervous to say anything. Take a breath and explain it because this is news to me.”

Okay. Fair point. I’ve done a crap job of explaining myself.

After clearing my throat, I straighten further in my chair and excitedly lean forward. He hasn’t shut me down and, instead, just needs me to prove it to him.

I offer a warm smile in an attempt to knock the chill off the conversation. “When most people think about dyslexia, they only think about it taking more time to read or write, confusing similar words, or having trouble organizing thoughts on paper. It’s true those are the most obvious symptoms, but it’s a whole spectrum. There is so much more to it than that.”

Over the summer, I read an article about how it’s commonly missed because people don’t show the usual signs. It’s also vastly underdiagnosed when up to twenty to twenty-five percent of the population has it, and most of those people were misdiagnosed to begin with. That’s exactly what I think has happened in Russo’s case.

I’m practically bouncing in my seat. If I’m right, we can find different ways to teach him so he can understand the material easier.

He isn’t slow, stupid, or a big dumb jock. He’s actually pretty dang smart. I just need to show him.

“When you play hockey, do you see things that other guys on the team can’t?” I ask.

His mouth pulls to the side, and his eyes narrow on me. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you see plays before they happen? Or can you determine a player’s speed or where the puck will go just by looking at them and their body mechanics?”

Dyslexic people are more likely to be extraordinary at sports because of the way they see things. Their spatial awareness is off the charts, and their vision is exceptional. Their brains can calculate speed, motion, and angles in such a way that they can almost predict the outcomes, hence some are so good at math.

He stares at me in disbelief and shakes his head before answering me. “I’ve never told anyone that. Not even Stella.”

“Relax. I made an educated guess, and I hoped I was right. I only asked all those things to confirm my suspicions.”

“Great. So, if you’re right, I most likely have a learning disability,” he huffs.

I lean forward on the table, directly catching his eyes before continuing. My heart rate kicks up, and that prickling sensation ramps up. I notice it’s always present when I’m around him, but it’s more intense and electrifying when we make eye contact.

“This changes everything, Luka. It changes how we approach your classes and the way we study. If I’m right, and you have dyslexia, it opens a whole new way to help you. It may very well be the answer you’ve been searching for your entire life.”

I don’t claim to know everything, and I very well could be wrong, but what does he have to lose? It’s at least worth looking into, and I think he realizes that when he finally relaxes back into his chair. His shoulders drop, and instead of looking pissed, he seems contemplative.

“What do I need to do to find out if I have it?” he finally asks.

“There are specialists who can perform a series of tests. It may take some time and more than one visit, but I think it would be worth it to know.”

He shakes his head adamantly. “No. I don’t want to talk to another stranger just to have them tell me something is wrong with me, too. Not interested.”

My eyebrows scrunch together, and I nibble on my bottom lip again. “ Why ? Why won’t you do it if it can help you?” His refusal after having a lifetime of issues is surprising and confusing, to say the least.

“My entire life, I’ve felt like I wasn’t good enough or like something was wrong with me. I could never live up to Stella. She was always smarter and excelled in school when I could barely get by with passing grades. Tutor after tutor told my parents they’d done everything they could to help me, and they didn’t know why I wasn’t getting it. The look of disappointment from my parents when they thought I just wasn’t applying myself—when I practically killed myself trying to do better—was painful. ”

Tears gather in the corners of my eyes. That must have made him feel terrible to try his very best and it still not be good enough. I can’t imagine what that must have felt like, but I can suspect he felt pretty lonely and inadequate.

“I’m sorry,” I say, as my voice gets caught in my throat.

A sad smile. “Don’t be. I found hockey and realized how natural it felt and how good I was at it. It became my saving grace and an outlet. It was a way for me to show everyone that I was good at something.”

I stay quiet as I watch him. He turns his head and swallows thickly before continuing. “I don’t know when I first noticed that I was good at predicting the plays before they actually happened. I could just see it. I couldn’t explain it; it just felt natural. My body moved on instinct in the direction I knew the puck would go. My feet would speed up or slow down at just the right time to be where I needed to be when the puck came my way. My coaches showed me moves, and I always got it perfectly on the first try. It’s just something I’ve always been able to do.”

I offer another warm smile. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. With dyslexia, your brain makes different pathways. It allows you to access parts of the brain that don’t normally talk to each other and do it rather quickly. Luka, it’s a gift , not a curse.”

His eyes snap to mine, and this overwhelming urge to comfort him takes over. “You really believe that? Because from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t feel that way.”

My brows furrow, and I can’t resist the twinge of sadness in his voice. I reach out and take his hands in mine. The moment we touch, chills race up both my arms, and I struggle to keep myself from outwardly showing signs of it.

Forcing myself back to the present, I squeeze his hands slightly. “I know it is, and I’m going to prove it to you. Just wait and see.”