Chapter Eight Applied Alistairatics
Briar
Si nce I was a little, I’d always been good with numbers. While that may have something to do with my father teaching me how to count cards when I was young, I still preferred numbers over anything else.
Two plus two will always be four.
The square root of one hundred and sixty-nine will never not be thirteen.
In math everything has a fixed resolution, sure there are various ways to get to the answer, but most of the time you follow a set formula and it will yield the same solution every single time.
Math is easier than things like English or people. Both are too complex, they could have multiple responses, eighteen thousand different possibilities of how to break down a poem or read into what someone means when they say, “I’m okay.”
In a world where everything has too many probabilities, I prefer numbers. Always.
I fiddle with the clean notebook in front of me, tapping the end of my pen onto the white sheets ready for class to start already.
Everyone else around me is socializing, finding their way to the seats that circled the lecture hall.
I’d picked a seat in the back to the left of the front because I hated feeling like someone was talking about me behind my back.
I also admittedly, loved people watching.
Making myself busy, I start to pull my computer out of my book bag sliding the brand-new MacBook onto the desk in awe that I even have one of these. Thomas bought it for me as a gift, I’d almost refused to accept it but I knew I’d need it for the courses I was taking.
“Briar, right?” I catch to my right, I unconsciously wince before meeting a pair of delicate blue eyes.
My brows furrow because I’m not sure what he is doing talking to me or how he knows my name.
“I’m Easton, Lizzy mentioned you were new in town.” He sticks his hand out to shake mine like it’s some lawful business conference. The smile he had when he arrived hasn’t dropped one inch.
I timidly return the gesture, grasping his warm hand in mine and following his movement of up and down.
I’d showered this morning, but something about touching him made me feel dirty.
He looks so clean, so poised and perfectly put together that I feel like sewer water next to him.
Worried that I’ll look down and see mud smeared on his unstained palm from my fingers.
“Uh, nice to meet you?” The way I say it, full of nerves, makes it sound more of a question than a statement.
He laughs effortlessly, his blonde locks sway with the force, his large chest shaking a little.
“My father might kill me if I didn’t give a formal welcome to a non-local. He’s been trying to get out-of-state students here for years now. You a math major?”
Talking to people is a skill he’d mastered over the years.
You can tell. In the way he holds himself.
The confidence in his shoulders and the natural energy he’s giving off make him seem easy to chat with.
I’m just not sure why he’s chosen to talk to me.
Considering I’m pretty sure I’m at the bottom of the metaphoric food chain compared to him.
“Statistics actually.”
“Intelligent and pretty. Quite a combination you have going on there.” His smile becomes more flirtatious.
I could’ve sworn Lyra said he had a girlfriend.
Maybe she was wrong?
“Hardly.” I mock, the tension in my joints easing up a bit, “What about you? Are you a math major?”
“Computer Science.” He wiggles his fingers like he’s typing, “I’m quite good with my fingers.”
I know he’s talking about his fingers on a keyboard, but I can’t help the strawberry blush that begins to heat my cheeks.
Even thinking about him with a pair of glasses on, white button-up rolled up to his sleeves, typing away on a computer, the glow of the screen illuminating the delicate points of his face.
It’s enough to make any girl blush.
I notice the seat next to me is empty at this moment, chewing the inside of my cheek I decided what the heck? The worst he can say is no.
I motion to the chair next to me, “Do you want to take this se—”
“Easton! Babe, I got our seats up front!” A sugary, sweet voice echoes in the room, both of our heads peering in the direction it came from.
Molly? No, Mary!
That’s his girlfriend, I warn myself. Knowing from what Lyra told me that I do not want to make an enemy out of her, even if she looks harmless with her Blair Waldorf-inspired wardrobe.
“You should probably grab your seat. I think it’s about to start.” I hurry out, not wanting any conflict between him and her. I do not need to be in the middle of an IT couple. Not on my list of things to do.
“Yeah, it was good meeting you, here,” He grabs my pen out of my hands, tugging my open notebook towards him and scribbling something down quickly, “Call me if you ever need anything or want to hit the library to study.”
He’s just being nice, Briar.
Guys are allowed to have friends who are girls. He’s just being courteous, don’t read into it too much. His girlfriend is probably fine with it.
“Thanks, will do.” I grab my stuff from him, pulling it back in front of me as he walks towards the front, sliding into his seat next to Mary. I’m assuming she’s asking about me, because her eyes swiftly dart to me, before she begins whispering in his ear.
He plants a quick kiss on her cheek that acknowledges whatever question she was asking because she smiles and settles into her spot next to him.
I don’t have much time to think about it because our professor walks in, his voice loud and controlling the room. Following close behind him, is a younger guy who takes a seat in the corner of the room at his own desk.
“Welcome to Applied mathematics. I’m Professor Sheridan and this is my TA, Mr. Crawford.
Assuming everyone in here is studying some field involving math it’s safe to say this should be a very straightforward course for you.
Any questions before we begin?” He clasps his hands behind his back pacing in front of the long green chalkboard allowing students time to raise their hands.
When silence follows, he nods, “Great, let's get started shall we?”
My first day had started the way most firsts started. Natural. I had a tough professor who talked fast and wrote even quicker. Meaning my pen was working double time, halfway through I’d decided to hit record on my computer, to catch anything I missed.
I’d gotten through the hard part, I think, the first day is always the most difficult and I’d made a friend. I think, so I take that as a win.
I mean I thought I’d made it through my first day without any obstacles. It was going so well, I was focused, I understood everything, I was satisfied, and then the air stirred.
We’d been in class for maybe thirty minutes when the door swayed open with a heavy creak.
Booted steps stomp across the boarded floor as the same scorned face I’d seen the past several days every time I shut my eyes, appeared inside the classroom.
This wasn’t confidence, he didn't carry himself in a charming light like Easton.
His smile didn't make butterflies flutter in my stomach. He torched them. It was defiance and the power of I don’t give a fuck.
He didn’t mind he was late, that he was infringing, or that everyone was staring at him. He didn’t care about anything.
The darkness I felt in the pit of my stomach that night comes back. It swells inside of me, eating its way up my throat.
I watch Professor Sheridan start to scold him for his tardiness but when he realizes who he is, all he says is a mere, “Please, take a seat, Mr. Caldwell.”
Alistair examines the room for a bit, stopping our teacher and his assistant for a second longer before shifting to the lecture hall, hunting for an empty chair.
The students in front of me have split reactions. Some of them, mostly girls, are moving their bags to clear a free spot next to them hoping he picks the seat beside them. Others are doing everything possible to evade his gaze.
Fear and admiration.
Two very diverse and very comparable emotions. Both of them are rooted in the same place, interest.
Watching everyone else means I’ve taken my eyes off him, so when they return to him, I see he’s already making his way up the steps towards my section of seating.
There are various vacant chairs before me. He has to pick one of those. If he doesn’t, it’s going to be very clear he chose the seat beside me for a reason. The rest of the class will notice. I don’t want to be known as the girl Alistair Caldwell picked out of the rest.
But good luck is too much to ask for because his body slides into the chair next to mine. His large body fills up the space, smothering me, making me feel so tiny. Like I’m confined in a corner and a wild animal is keeping me in my place.
My grip on my pen is so tight that my knuckles are white. I can feel my heart beating erratically, crushing so hard on my ribs that I think I'll pass out.
I foolishly look around watching people I hadn’t even got a chance to talk to begin to gasp and whisper. Making assumptions about why he would sit here of all places. Their hushed voices and less than secretive stares make me uncomfortable in my seat.
“Is there a problem?” The deep pitch of those few words is enough to tell me that his voice resembles everything else about him.
Alarming.
The ogling and gossiping students flick around so fast I’m surprised they don’t have whiplash.
Everything settles as our teacher proceeds to explain some formula that five seconds ago I fully understood and now I couldn’t even recognize what class this was.
It's his smell. It's rattling me.
Not just a glimpse of it like at the party, but his entire scent.
Spicy, like clove and carnal. It’s the smell of black magic at midnight. When witches stand around their brew at night with the moon and candles burning the room. Incents wisping in the air. Ancient spells and occult sorcery sting my nose. It’s smoke, timber and I hate how much I love this smell.