Blindness

But I don’t. I just look down, and nod slightly, unable to square up with his eyes. “It’s okay. I chose to stay,” I say, giving him just enough, hoping he understands. I force myself to look up, and when I do, I meet his eyes. I see that small glimmer in them, and I know he’s feeling the same thing I am. His smile almost appears, but it fades fast.

“That Trevor?” he asks, nodding toward my phone.

I look down at it in my hand, and toss it on the bed before I look back to Cody. “Yeah, he was just getting home,” I don’t know why I tell him that, like I’m making an excuse for Trevor not coming to find me in a jealous rage or something. Cody just stares at me, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“I won’t say anything,” he says after awhile.

I just nod in response, my lips in a tight smile. I can’t thank him—I’m not sure I’m thankful. Part of me wants him to put up a fight for me, to try to take me from Trevor. He’s about to leave, when he turns back to face me for one more question.

“So, you’re going to see him? This weekend?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose while he waits for my answer. He looks like he’s about to be pushed off of a high dive. I give him the shove he needs.

“Yes. I leave Friday,” I say, no longer thinking about the sexy bra and panty set in my drawer, but instead of reasons my flight might be cancelled, and wishing for the storm of the century. And for a fraction of a second, Cody looks at me with eyes that are begging me to stay. I can see the plea balancing on the tip of his tongue as he bites it with his teeth, stopping himself.

“Yeah, well…have a nice trip,” he turns abruptly. He’s down the stairs quickly, and seconds later I hear the back door slam closed. I’m at my window immediately, and I see him reach into his pocket for his keys, climb into his truck, and fly from the driveway.

I was hoping class would be a distraction. The seats are all full because midterms are approaching. I know I should be paying attention to Dr. Rush. I’ve managed to bring my grade up to a high C, and I’m sure if I took Cody up on his offers to help, I could be at a comfortable B. But I’ve been afraid of quiet time—alone—with Cody. And last night is proof positive why it’s a bad idea.

“Ms. Hudson?” my name sounds muffled, like it’s being announced from a tunnel. When I look to both sides, I realize the other students are all staring at me, some of them snickering. I’m sure he asked me a question, but frankly, I wouldn’t be able to get the answer right even if I did hear him.

“I’m sorry. I’m a little lost,” I say, hoping that my honesty will buy me a pass. It doesn’t.

“Yes, that seems to be your thing. Getting lost,” Dr. Rush frowns. He’s not going to let this go, so I shrink down a little in my seat to try to shield myself from the heat of everyone’s judgment. My shelter is short-lived, though. “Please, join me at the board.”

Oh God!

I poke my pencil under a few pages of my notebook and slide from my seat to the front of the class. It’s a large class—about 80 students. The tiered seating gives everyone a clear view of my hot, red face. My hand is sweating so much I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to hold the dry erase marker he’s about to hand me. I wipe it on my jeans and look to the side as I do. I don’t know what compelled me, what made me do it—but there he is.

Cody is sitting in the corner seat in the top row. He’s never joined my class. He’s known I was in this section since the first time I went to his tutoring session. Of all days for me to be called out for daydreaming!

“Ms. Hudson, can you please show us the first step in solving problem number seven,” Dr. Rush says, the tone of his voice clearly expressing his expectation for me to blow it. I take a deep breath, and glance at Cody from the corner of my eye. I see him sit up from his slouch and lean forward at his desk, folding his hands together in front of him. He’s waiting to watch me fail, too.

I look up at Dr. Rush first, and he only prods me on, to begin writing. I close my eyes, and then open to look hard at the problem. I stare at the F’s and C’s and the strange horseshoe symbols. I can almost hear Cody’s voice in my head. I decide to trust it, knowing it’s really the only thing I’ve got, and I start to write. Once I complete the string, I click the lid on the marker and put it down. Looking back up to the professor slowly, I say, almost in a question, “You start with the derivative, and first define its limit?”

My throat is instantly dry, and it makes me start to cough uncontrollably. I fight to hold it in. This happens to me sometimes when I get nervous, and I know in seconds I’m going to be virtually choking in front of my entire class, not to mention the man who’s slowly stealing away pieces of my heart.