The Friendship Variable

Chapter 1

Claire

I love Monday mornings.

I know, I know—I’m a weirdo.

Today, I even beat the administrative assistants, which means I’ve had the office to myself—just me, my trusty to-do list, and a blissful couple of hours of uninterrupted productivity.

Now that it’s ten in the morning, I’m waiting for my student, Ellie.

She’s in my business calculus course, but she’s missing some of the fundamental algebra skills required for the class.

Unfortunately, she’s not alone. The state cut our basic algebra classes two years ago, and I’ve noticed the huge difference in our students’ ability to keep up.

So I’ve been setting aside extra time for Ellie and some other students to come get help so we can fill in the gaps.

But, as usual, she’s not here on time, so I take the opportunity to look up lame math jokes.

When I find the perfect one, I write it on a bright pink Post-it note.

What’s a surfer’s favorite function? A sine wave!

I chuckle to myself as I peel it off the stack and walk across the aisle to Ryan’s computer. Ryan Matthews, my best friend and fellow math professor, will love this one.

“Hey, Professor Beaumont!” Ellie’s cheerful voice sounds behind me. “Aren’t you in the wrong cubicle?”

“Oh, hey Ellie.” I turn and gesture to my office. “I was just leaving something for Professor Matthews.”

She grins widely. “He’s so cute. Are you guys together?”

“Oh, uh, no,” I stammer. “We’re just friends. I have a boyfriend.”

She arches a brow at me.

“Seriously,” I say. “Just friends.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know how you can just be friends with someone who looks like him.”

I guide her into my cubicle. “Okay, let’s talk about math!

” This conversation is highly inappropriate for me to have with a student.

Even if I did think Ryan was cute, with that brown hair that waves across his forehead and striking blue eyes, I’d never admit it to a student. Besides, I really do have a boyfriend.

“What are we working on today?” I ask, sinking into my seat.

Ellie plops into the plastic chair I have for students. “Factoring. I still can’t figure out how to get the answer when there’s a number in the front.”

“Right. Okay, let’s try a few examples together.” I write down some problems for her, and we spend the next fifteen minutes going painstakingly slow through the process. She’s definitely improving, but it feels like we’re moving at a snail’s pace.

My phone buzzes on the desk, and instinctively my eyes flick over to it.

“You can check your phone. I need a break.” Ellie sits back in her chair and folds her arms behind her head.

“Thanks.” I pick up my phone and see a text from my boyfriend, Zach.

Zach

Baseball game this Sunday?

I type a quick text back.

Me

I don’t know. I was kind of hoping for a chill weekend. I don’t really want to be around so many people.

Zach

Come on, my uncle got us free tickets. Our parents already said yes.

Well, I guess he’s not really asking then, is he?

Me

Sounds good

Zach

Also I have good news about the app. Tyson and I had a breakthrough today.

Me

That’s great. Can’t wait to hear.

I hate the hope that flutters in my chest at his words.

You’d think I would have gotten used to this cycle over the last eight years, ever since we graduated high school: first the new business idea, then excitement over its potential, followed by months of “hard work” with his best friend Tyson, and finally frustration with the details until another shiny new idea pops up. Rinse and repeat.

Hamster sitting, succulent plant depot, envelope sealing services—you name any weird, obscure concept, and Zach has tried to make it into a business.

His latest endeavor is an app that will allow you to reserve a parking spot on the street.

I’m skeptical, but did anyone ever think there’d be an app that allows you to pop a virtual bottle of champagne?

I think not. So I play my role of supportive girlfriend, hoping—despite my instinctual reservations—that one day, one of his ideas will take off.

I set down my phone and say to Ellie, “All right, let’s get back to it.”

But Ellie flops her head dramatically onto the desk. “Professor Beaumont, you don’t understand.” She turns her head to look at me, her brown eyes wide. “I need to pass this class.”

I nod my head, sympathetic to her struggles. Her math skills have been lacking since the first day of the semester, and while we spent the first month of class reviewing algebra before tackling calculus, it still hasn’t been enough to catch her up.

The problem is, I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard those exact words. I need this class. Or even better, My future depends on passing this class.

I get it. When you’re twenty years old, timing is everything. You have to pass the class on the first try. You have to transfer to a university by this date. And any delay ruins your chances of a successful future.

But if I’ve learned anything in my twenty-seven years of life, it’s that sometimes things don’t happen when you expect, and that’s okay too.

“I understand,” I say to her, hoping my voice conveys how much I truly sympathize with her. “I know it’s really hard when you have to plan for your future.”

“So you get it!” She sits straight, a grin filling her face and lighting her features.

“But you have to understand that I have a job, too. And that job is to make sure my students can, you know, do calculus by the end of the semester.” I put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing great, though. I think you can get there.”

“I’m not a math person. I can’t do it.”

“Ah, my favorite words.” Ryan’s voice sounds behind us, and an instant grin fills my face.

I turn to see him standing outside my cubicle, leaning his elbow on the flimsy wall.

His dark green Henley and blue jeans fit his frame just right.

He gives me a huge smile and waves at Ellie, who looks like she’s about to melt in her seat.

But he doesn’t act like he notices her reaction. He’s probably used to it. If the student reviews on Rate My Professors are any indication, he gets this kind of stare from most of his female students.

Because how often do you get a math professor who’s a young surfer, incredibly brilliant, but also cracks jokes and makes math accessible? It would be like having Glen Powell give a lecture on trigonometric proofs. I’m shocked they actually learn math at all.

Ryan takes a step into my cubicle and gives Ellie a sympathetic expression.

“I know you think you’re not a ‘math person,’” he says, making finger quotes.

“But I don’t believe that’s a real thing.

Anyone can succeed at math. You just need the right teacher.

” He squeezes my shoulder. “And Professor Beaumont is one of the best.” He gives me a wink. “After me, of course.”

I roll my eyes and playfully shove his arm. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Seriously, though,” he says, turning his attention back to Ellie. “She’s fantastic. But you have to put in the effort, too. If you want it badly enough, you can make it happen.”

Ellie nods, wide-eyed at Ryan’s declaration and suddenly imbued with the desire to succeed. “You’re right. I can make it happen.”

“That’s the spirit.” Ryan checks his watch and grimaces. “Yikes. I’m a few minutes late for my class. Catch you ladies later!” He rushes to his office, and Ellie and I turn to watch as he riffles through a few papers.

“Do you even know what you’re supposed to teach today?” I ask him.

“Of course. It’s…uh…” He moves his finger down a page, then taps it. “Volumes of revolution using the shell method. No problem. I can teach that in my sleep.”

I snort a laugh, but he’s probably right. Not everyone can teach second semester calculus with his breezy attitude, but Ryan’s a genius. He got his PhD at the age of twenty-five, then decided to go into teaching because research would mess with his early-morning surf schedule.

Ryan waves at us with a hand full of dry erase markers. “Keep working on those factoring problems,” he says to Ellie, then switches his gaze to me. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yep.” I wave at him and turn back to my desk, but Ellie’s eyes are still on Ryan.

“He is so hot,” she says slowly. Her eyes snap back to me. “Seriously, you don’t see it?”

Of course I see it. I’d have to be blind not to see how hot he is. But that doesn’t mean there’s anything beyond friendship between us. So I just shrug a shoulder.

She sighs dreamily, then looks back at her work and picks up her pencil, writing some more numbers and variables.

My students really crack me up. This certainty that Ryan and I are more than friends is ridiculous.

We both got hired three years ago, a rare year where they needed two new full-time professors.

These jobs are really hard to get—there are at least a hundred applicants, about twenty who get an interview, and only a few get the final meeting with the president of the college.

The fact that I even got hired on my first attempt was a huge success, a life accomplishment I didn’t expect to happen for years.

My parents were thrilled, and so was I. And then to be hired with someone who clicks with me on a personal level?

The likelihood of that happening is…well, pretty improbable.

And I’m a math professor. I can run the numbers.

But something romantic between us? Absolutely not. Not only do I have a boyfriend, but Ryan is…Ryan. Confident, self-assured, handsome. He’s even got a sweet relationship with his mom, in a mature, manly kind of way. There’s no way he’d even be interested in me.

That’s just silly.