Contradictions by Tiffany King Page A

in particular.
    “You pulled my grades?” My voice sounded shrill to my own ears. Tutoring or not, who the hell did he think he was?
    “Huh? Oh, no. Professor Nelson gave them to me this morning,” he answered, looking confused over my tone. My eyes met his for a moment. The difference was glaring. His look was questioning, while I practically had lasers wanting to melt off his face. It took everything inside me not to snatch the papers from his hands. After a second, when the more rational side of my brain took charge, I realized it wasn’t his fault my grades had been handed to him. Clamping my mouth closed, I silently counted to three to calm myself. Most people thought ten was the golden number, but if I forced myself to count to ten, I’d lose my patience all over again.
    After I was able to form a sentence without biting off his head, I answered him. “Math has been a pain in my ass for years. I’ll be the only senior in history that won’t be able to graduate because I can’t pass some math class.”
    “Not true. Statistically, no pun intended, hundreds of students drop out every year. Most are for economic reasons or a life-altering circumstance, but I’m sure you’re not the only one in history not to graduate because of failure to master a class,” he said in a dry tone.
    I stared at him incredulously. Was he fucking with me? The way he sat, waiting for another response from me, I couldn’t tell.
    “It’s better to analyze it like you would a puzzle,” he continued when I didn’t respond.
    Puzzle? What the hell did graduating have to do with puzzles? I swear, he was the freaking puzzle.
    “Statistics,” he clarified. “It helps people sometimes if they look at the problems like a puzzle that needs to be figured out instead of a complicated math problem,” he said, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.
    “Why don’t you get glasses that don’t do that?” I asked, momentarily distracted.
    He looked startled by my question, like I was the one talking in riddles. “What?”
    “Your glasses. You’re always pushing them up. Why don’t you get ones more appropriate for your face?”
    “I like these. They’re retro.”
    I snorted. “Just because they’re ten years old doesn’t mean they’re retro. They’re too big for your face. With your bone structure, you should have smaller plastic frames. Like the stylish ones all the guys are wearing. You look like Clark Kent from the old movies my dad likes. Is that what you’re going for?”
    “You got me. This is just a disguise for my alter ego. Now that you’re onto my secret, I’ll have to lock you away in a gilded cage.” He pulled a Tootsie Pop from a Spider-Man cookie jar that was perched on the end table.
    His words made me laugh. Who knew Nerd Boy would have a sense of humor. It was dry, but it was still there. His eyes sparkled behind the overly big glasses as he responded to my laugh. He pulled the wrapper off the lollipop and stuck the orange sucker into his mouth. His eyes never left mine. My laughter instantly dried up. No guy had ever looked at me like he always managed to. His intensity sobered me.
    He held out the jar filled with suckers. “Want one?” I wasn’t a big hard-candy fan, but I reached for one.
    “Thanks.” I pulled the wrapper off the Tootsie Pop and cleared my throat. “Okay, so are you going to teach me how this mumbo jumbo in here is a puzzle?” I asked, pulling my book out of my bag.
    My words had their desired effect. Trent abruptly switched his focus from me to the textbook in my hands like someone had hit a button. Within minutes, he was explaining problems that for the first time ever started to make sense. We worked for more than an hour until I felt I had a good enough grasp to take the first practice test online when I got home.
    During the second hour of tutoring, Trent set up a study schedule for me on my laptop to help me catch up on my other classes. He gave pointers that would