A Longtime (and at one point Illegal) Crush Read Free Page A

in for tutoring.”
    “ I’ll be fine,” she said again. “I’m a straight-A student.”
    “I know. That’s why I’d hate to be the one to ruin your GPA.”
    He knew her GPA? That meant he’d checked up on her after yesterday. The thought made her feel breathless—even if he’d only done it because she was his friend’s little sister. “I can tell you’re a smart girl,” he said. “Sometimes it’s hardest for the smart kids to ask for help.”
    “Okay,” she said. “I’ll get help. I mean, I’ll ask for it. If I need it. From you.” She obviously needed help, although not in math. She needed help in knowing how to carry on a conversation with hot older men. She needed help acting like she wasn’t an immature teenager. “Um, thanks,” she finished and walked over to the nearest desk. One in the front row. It became her desk from then on.
    S eeing Kye every day became a sweet sort of misery. Elsie stared at him dreamily, relentlessly. Her eyes traced the lines of his hands as they swept markers against the dry erase board. His handwriting was a swirl of passion in numbers. Sometimes it was hard to pay attention to the calculus because all the old words about marrying Kye kept stirring themselves up and inserting themselves into the integrals on the board.
    Dx (uv) = u(dv/dx) + v(du/dx) = we will have children with brown hair, blue eyes, and your smile that quirks up at the side.
    The other girls at school declared math was much more enjoyable with Mr. McBride teaching it, but none of them were as devoted as Elsie. All year long, she excelled in math. She got perfect scores on her homework. Aced the tests. She lived for the moments when Kye handed her papers back with a smile and a word of praise.
    Every Monday she came to class early and brought him a bottle of applesauce. She didn’t even complain when her mother made her help in the applesauce canning marathon. Some of these bottles would be for Kye. That made the work delicious.
    Sometimes while waiting for class to start, Elsie would talk to Kye about Carson or her family, or anything—books she’d read or things in the news. In those moments he talked to her like she was a friend. At those times she was sure he felt an attraction to her too. He always held her gaze a little longer than normal, smiled more easily.
    B esides those unspoken moments, he never gave her an indication he saw her as anything else than a student. She knew there were rules about students and teachers. She didn’t want him to do anything to risk his job, but she wasn’t going to be in high school forever. She could have lived until graduation on a teaspoon of encouragement. And then after graduation, well, she and Kye would have an entire summer before she went off to college.
    Summer. The warmth of it continually swirled around in her stomach.
    Elsie let other boys flirt with her in class, even flirted back with them sometimes. She did this to show Kye that she could, that she was someone worthy of his attention. If he was jealous, he didn’t show it. As he told the guys to settle down and get to their seats, he only seemed annoyed they were wasting class time.
    Precious math time.
    Dx(u/v) = (v(du/dx) – u(dv/dx))/v2 = we will laugh about all of this on our tenth wedding anniversary.
    Things probably would have gone on that way, and she would have graduated with her dignity intact, if it hadn’t been for that night at the Mathematics Decathlon.
    It was a couple of weeks before graduation. Elsie was on the team and Kye was one of the advisors. They traveled to Montana State University, and it had all gone well enough—or at least as well as anyone expected. The team from Lark Field High didn’t win, but they made a decent showing. They had fun and got to joke around with other mathletes.
    “Why did the chicken cross the Mobius strip?”
    No answer was required. A Mobius strip only has one side.
    “Dear Math, P lease stop making me find your X. Just get over