10. Late Night Walks
10
Late Night Walks
Carson
I truly didn’t think she was gonna say yes.
Technically, she didn’t say yes but I got a mumbled agreement out of her mouth as she started following me and a drunk Carly—who is slung over my shoulder, laughing her ass off at a squirrel that just wandered by—back to my house.
Since Carly is in no shape to drive back to her apartment, I’m taking her back to my house to sober her up and let her sleep it off. After spending the entire summer break stressing out about post-production for her film that premiered on Friday, she deserved to let loose and have some fun until her next project.
“I get knocked down, but I get up again,” Carly sings drunkenly while dancing. “You’re never gonna get me down!”
“Shhhh!” I cover her mouth with my one free hand. “You’re gonna wake up half the neighborhood!”
She bites my hand, causing me to yank it away. “What the fuck, Carly!”
I hear snickering come from behind us and when I turn around, Diana is covering her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking as she walks.
“Wow,” I tease. “So you only laugh when it’s at my expense.”
Diana doubles over in laughter. “I’m not a sadist, I swear,” she claims, still laughing like it’s breathing for her.
“You’re still laughing.”
The three of us reach a stop light. Diana presses the button and we wait for the little white stick figure to appear so we can cross the street.
“She just reminds me of my little sister,” Diana says as we stand by the edge of the crosswalk.
I raise a brow. “You have sisters, too?”
“Just one,” she corrects, fidgeting with her wrist. Is that some sort of nervous tick?
“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Is your hand okay?”
Just as the question leaves my mouth, both her hands fall to her sides. “It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t seem like nothing. You do that a lot for it to be nothing, Just Diana .”
She shrugs. “It’s just an old injury flare-up. No big deal.”
My eyes widen in shock. Even my fairly drunk twin sister finds that insane because she whips her head in Diana’s direction. “I’m sorry, what?”
Just an old injury flare-up? Coming from a human biology major, that’s not something one should downplay.
“It’s really not a big deal,” Diana assures us.
Carly turns to me with her dilated pupils, trying to see how I’m going to react.
“That’s not what I would call it.”
“What would you call it then, Doc?” Diana crosses both hands over her chest.
I’ve injured myself on multiple occasions in the past and I’ve associated a flare-up with two things: a real fucking bad injury or one that just never healed properly. She put me on the spot—and that’s not something I’m very familiar with.
Thankfully, the white stick figure flashes before I’m able to answer and I can switch the topic. “We should probably cross.”
“You know,” Carly slurs as I wrap one of her arms around my shoulders and guide her drunk self across the street. “You look a whole lot like Ana De Armas.”
“Who?” I ask.
“How are we related, Little Cars?”
I sigh. Do I really have to go over the logistics of how my twin sister and I came to be? Nope, I refuse to do so. “Carly, you seriously need some–”
But she refuses to listen. Instead, points to a stand in front of us. “Ooh! Tacos! We should get some.”
“Uh, Carly,” Diana interjects. “I don’t think it’s open at this hour.”
As we approach the stand, we find that Diana’s wrong. The truck is open and active without anyone waiting in line.
My sister turns to me, with wide blue eyes and lips out like a begging puppy. “Can we get some, Carson? Please?”
As if I’m asking for approval, my gaze moves over to Diana. She’s been walking to my far left, where my sister stands (or rather, hobbles) between us. That girl is willingly forcing space between us.
At least it’s only physical space. Diana isn’t avoiding any topic of conversation (that will be the day) because she responds with, “The tacos could sober her up.”
That settles it. We’re getting tacos.
The three of us approach the truck and list our order order, with Diana getting extra cilantro on hers. I shiver at the words, “extra cilantro,” but don’t say a word until she tries to pay with a wallet that I didn’t even know she was carrying.
I interject and try to stop Diana from paying but the girl is a strong fighter. “I am completely fine with paying, Carson!”
“Nope,” I insist, resisting her shove. “I’m not letting you pay.”
“Carson!”
I honestly feel bad for the guy running the truck but at least he’s enjoying the show. Eventually, I sneak around by putting both hands on Diana’s waist and turning her around so I can scan my card.
We wait a few more minutes before the guy brings out three plates of tacos.
“I’ve never seen a couple fight over a payment before,” the taco guy remarks.
“We’re not a couple,” Diana and I say simultaneously. The two of us exchange a glance, and I swear her cheeks turn as red as her lipstick. She hands me the plate that has considerably less cilantro and walks back to Carly, who sits on the sidewalk—or rather lays—and hums to a song I’m not familiar with.
I sit down next to her and munch on the first taco, nearly moaning in delight at how good it is. Man, I missed eating tacos.
The three of us eat in silence. Carly is the first to finish and she seems to have sobered up a lot in comparison to how she was when we ordered the tacos. After a minute, she stands up and wipes her hands on her grass-stained jeans. “I’m gonna get us some napkins.”
Placing my last taco down, I get up too. “Should you still be—”
“Don’t worry little Cars,” she calls back, already making her way back to the taco stand. “I can take care of myself.”
I sit back down.
“Little Cars?” Diana asks, with her grin still in place. If I knew it would take tacos for her to not act so standoffish around me, I would have showed up at her back door every day with a plate of them. Extra cilantro and all.
But I groan at the nickname. “She’s one of those people who doesn’t let go of the fact that she’s older than you.”
“Is it a big age difference?”
I shake my head. “Try five minutes.”
She winces. “That’s rough, doc.”
“A little.” I finish my last taco and put the white paper plate in the empty spot that Carly occupied. “I’m used to it.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?” She takes another bite of her taco. “The nickname?”
I shrug. “Not really, anymore.”
“Really?” Her brows furrow. “It would bother me if I were you.”
“It did,” I tell her. Carly isn’t ill-minded—except for the ADHD—but her nicknames sometimes show how much she cares.
“What did?” Carly asks as she sits herself back down. I quickly grab my empty plate before she reaches the cold concrete, somewhat soberer than thirty seconds ago.
“Eh, nothing important,” I dismiss.
She eyes me before whipping her head towards Diana, who polishes off her last taco and folds the paper plate in half. “You ready?”
“Sober already after three tacos?” I laugh.
We stand up and continue the journey. “Nah, I’m still drunk as hell,” Carly laughs. “Do you really think a few tacos would sober me up completely? Oh, Little Cars, you are so naive.”
“Well, neither of us drink,” Diana interjects. “So how would we know?”
Carly shrugs and starts singing that song again as we continue the walk home. One thing my sister sucks at is singing, so I try not to laugh at her so-called singing abilities—I also can’t sing to save my life so who am I to judge?
I glance at Diana and her eyes are filled with laughter. Yeah, she’s trying not to laugh as well.
I smile to myself. She’s starting to tolerate me a whole lot more. It gives me hope that we can get through the rest of the tutoring sessions.
“Oh, thanks by the way,” she tells me.
“For what?”
“Paying for the food.” She tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Funny how you thought I would let you pay,” I smirk, which causes her to let out a laugh.
Yeah, I think we’ll be fine.
“How the fuck am I supposed to remember this?” She exclaims angrily, a little too loud for the study room we’re in.
Our sessions have been going off without a hitch for the last few days but the moment we reached optimization, all hell broke loose. To be fair, out of everything we’ve learned in this class, optimization was my least favorite. It’s the literal hell we’ve been fighting over.
Today, we had only thirty minutes to go over this topic because we both had to work. I may have finished assisting with a class for the evening but Diana has a night shift at the library so we took some time during her break to start looking over a new chapter that we will continue tomorrow.
“The context of the problem,” I try to explain. “The arch is the same as a parabola that opens down.” I draw it on the whiteboard, pointing to the curved end. “This is the midpoint.”
“Ohh,” she groans, rubbing her wrist for the umpteenth time. Some people rub their heads when math troubles them—Diana Blanco rubs her wrist. Singular, because it’s always her right wrist and never the left. “I hate word problems.”
“Me too,” I agree.
“We better get a cheat sheet of equations.” Diana lets go of her wrist. “There’s no way we’re expected to remember any of this like last time. No wonder everyone else failed. Speaking of…” Her gaze meets mine with curiosity. “How did you not fail?”
“It’s not a big deal, Just Diana ,” I answer.
“You managed to remember all of those equations for the midterm just because? I don’t believe that. You don’t have a super brain or something. Do you?”
So I’ve never had trouble remembering a lot of things growing up. That’s just how I’ve been. But I’ve never been asked about it before until now. “It’s eidetic.”
Diana raises a brow, clearly not knowing what it means.
“It doesn’t take a lot for me to remember details,” I explain.
“So, you have a photographic memory?”
“No. I can still forget things.”
She wrinkles her nose in this adorable manner. “Man, you’re lucky. If I had an eidetic memory, I wouldn’t be struggling with this stupid class.”
“My memory is not getting me an A in this class.” I’m running on sheer luck, expensive-ass coffee, and a small will to live.
She scoffs, crossing her arms. “Yeah, right. You and your pretty little eidetic brain are breezing through this class just fine.”
I raise a brow curiously. “Oh, so you think I’m pretty?”
She narrows her hazel eyes at me, and I swear I saw a tinge of pink in those cheeks. “Really? That’s all you heard?”
I chuckle at her frustration—she’s cute when she’s annoyed—but before I can say anything else, a knock on the study room door shifts her attention from me. Through the windows, I notice a very tall guy with dreadlocks and deep bronze skin, standing next to a cart of books. “Hey, D. Lottie said your break ended ten minutes ago.”
“ Mierda ,” she mutters to herself. “I gotta go.” She starts packing up her things.
“When does your shift end?” I ask her.
She freezes in her chair for a minute before answering me. “Ten-thirty. Why?”
I check my phone, looking at the time. It’s only about two hours from now, so I can get a whole lot of work done if I focus hard enough while I wait. “No reason.”
“You’re not waiting for me, are you? I’ve told you many times, Carson. You don’t have to do that.”
“But I’m offering,” I assure her. “Besides, it’s dark out and you shouldn’t have to walk home alone.”
Her face softens and she doesn’t say another word before grabbing her bag and walking out the door. The guy waiting there eyes me like the newest edition of a book before turning around and following behind Diana, pushing the cart of books with him.
I stay for as long as required before packing up my things and moving over to an empty table out in the open.
Looking back at the textbook equations, I groan internally.
At least I’m trying, D.