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Response Bias

Dean

I don’t look back when I leave the tutoring center.

I don’t need to. I can still feel her.

Nora Shaw.

Precise, sharp-edged Nora, with her tight ponytail and that perfect, disapproving mouth. The straight-backed posture. The clipped, no-room-for-bullshit words. Even her silences—that somehow say more than most people’s shouting ever could.

She doesn’t smile once during our session. She doesn’t flinch either.

And that’s what messes with me the most.

I’d expected judgment. Thinly veiled pity. Maybe an exasperated sigh about how guys like me shouldn’t be anywhere near upper-level STEM classes if we’re just going to drag the curve. What I didn’t expect was to be seen.

Really seen.

She clocked the exact moment my vector logic went sideways. Called it out without flinching. Looked me right in the eye and said, Focus.

Not like I was a disappointment. Not like I was a problem. Just like she expected more—and knew I could give it.

I grit my jaw and step into the cold.

The wind’s sharp enough to burn through my hoodie, but I barely register it. My skin’s already wired too tight, buzzing under the surface. I’ve been here before—too many times. Just a little crack in the guardrail, and everything starts slipping.

It’s always the same.

I let my guard down. I get close. I give more than anyone asked for. And then they leave.

Too much. Too serious. Too focused.

Daphne never used those exact words at first. Just said she wanted “more fun.” That things felt “heavy.” That maybe we should cool it. But it turned real cold real fast, and one night—right after I’d cooked her dinner and tried to talk about something actually important—she finally dropped it on me.

“You turn sex into a responsibility. Like I’m something you’re trying to manage.”

And maybe I was. Maybe that’s what I do. Because when I’m in control, when I’ve got someone under me, open, honest, asking for something only I can give—That’s the one place I don’t have to pretend. Don’t have to guess. That’s when I can be exactly who I am, and it actually works.

I exhale hard and watch my breath bloom in the air.

Nora wouldn’t want that. Wouldn’t want me like that.

I shut the thought down before it blooms. Tighten every wall I just let slip. Remind myself this is tutoring. That’s all.

Nothing more.

But my pulse? Still hasn’t slowed.

The hockey rink is almost peaceful at this hour. Practice won’t start for another thirty minutes, but I always come early. I like the silence. The clean smell of ice. The emptiness.

I tie my skates methodically, muscle memory taking over. Sixteen years of doing this exact sequence—right foot first, then left, bottom to top, tug, knot, double-check.

“Yo, Carter.”

I look up to see Gavin leaning against the boards, already suited up. “What’s up, Gav?”

“You’re early,” he says, eyebrows raised. “Again.”

I shrug. “So are you.”

“Yeah, but I’m captain. I’m supposed to be responsible and shit.” He drops onto the bench beside me. “You’re just a freak who likes empty ice.”

I don’t deny it. Gavin’s been my friend since freshman year—one of the few people who doesn’t seem bothered by my intensity. Maybe because he has plenty of his own.

“Heard about you and Daph,” he says casually. “That true?”

I keep my eyes on my laces. “Depends what you heard.”

“That it’s over.”

“Then yeah. It’s true.”

Gavin nods, doesn’t push. That’s what I appreciate about him—he knows when to shut up. “You good?”

“I’m fine.”

“You say that a lot, man.”

I look up, meeting his eyes. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Something real, maybe.” He shrugs. “Like, ‘Gav, I’m fucking miserable,’ or ‘Gav, I’m actually relieved,’ or ‘Gav, I need to get hammered and talk about my feelings.’”

A laugh escapes me despite myself. “Not happening.”

“Worth a shot.” He stands, stretches. “Just don’t shut down, alright? Team needs you focused. Big game this weekend.”

“I’m always focused.”

“Yeah.” Gavin gives me a look. “That’s what worries me sometimes.”

Before I can respond, the rink doors bang open, and the rest of the team starts streaming in, loud and rowdy. The moment for quiet conversation passes.

I finish tying my skates and head for the ice, grateful for the familiar bite of cold air against my face. Out here, everything simplifies. Physics and muscle and breath. Action and reaction. Cause and effect.

No misunderstandings. No disappointments. Just the clean certainty of knowing exactly what I’m supposed to do.

As I begin my warm-up laps, my mind drifts to Nora again. To that moment when she looked at me, really looked, and asked me what had distracted me from my work.

You , I should have said. The way you see everything and don’t look away.

But I didn’t say it. I kept quiet, kept control. The way I always do.

Be careful what you ask for, I told her.

I just wonder if she knows what she’s really asking for.

Or if I’m the one who’s too afraid to find out.