In The Backseat

Chapter 3: Numbers Don't Lie

A week later, the strange, unspoken competition between me and Calitrope was still very much alive. Every day, we found new and inventive ways to one-up each other—whether it was in class, at the gym, or even something as simple as who could grab the last cup of coffee in the dining hall. It had become our thing. Annoying? Yes. Exhausting? Absolutely. But weirdly enough, I couldn't imagine our days without it now.

Which is why I was completely thrown when, on a quiet Tuesday evening, Calitrope asked me for help with her math homework.

I was sitting at my desk, textbooks spread around me like a fortress of academic knowledge, reviewing notes for an upcoming test. Calitrope, as usual, was sprawled out on her bed, flipping through a textbook in the most half-hearted way possible. I didn't think much of it at first—after all, she was the queen of looking like she was doing something while actually doing nothing.

But then, out of nowhere, she groaned dramatically and dropped the book on her face. "This is hopeless."

I glanced over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "You okay over there?"

"No," came her muffled reply from underneath the book. "This is garbage. Math is garbage. Numbers are garbage."

I smirked. "Well, that's one way to look at it."

She sat up suddenly, letting the textbook fall to the floor with a loud thud. "No, seriously. I'm going to fail this class. And then I'll probably get kicked out of school, and then I'll have to live in a box on the street, and I'll die of exposure, all because I couldn't figure out how to find the derivative of some stupid function."

I couldn't help but laugh at her melodramatic performance. "Calm down. I don't think the university kicks you out for one failed quiz."

She sighed, running a hand through her messy black hair. "Yeah, well, this isn't just one quiz. I've been behind in math since forever. It's like numbers physically hate me."

I turned back to my notes, shrugging slightly. "You just need to study a bit harder, that's all."

"Or... you could help me." Her voice was casual, but when I looked back at her, there was a hint of mischief in her eyes, like she was daring me to say no.

I blinked, caught off guard. Calitrope, asking for help? I wasn't sure if this was some kind of new tactic in our ongoing rivalry, or if she was actually serious. She didn't seem like the type to admit she needed help, let alone ask for it.

"You... want my help?" I asked, just to be sure.

She gave a dramatic sigh and flopped back on her bed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You're probably loving this. 'Oh, look, Calitrope can't even handle basic calculus,'" she said, mimicking my voice—badly, I might add. "But I'm desperate here."

I couldn't stop the smile from creeping across my face. It was kind of funny—seeing her, of all people, come to me for help. But at the same time, something about it felt... almost satisfying. Like I'd finally gotten the upper hand, even if just for a moment.

"Alright," I said, setting my notes aside and grabbing her textbook. "I'll help you."

Calitrope sat up, looking surprised for a second. "Really?"

"Really," I said, pulling up a chair next to her bed. "But don't expect miracles."

She grinned, leaning forward. "Miracles? From you? I'll take my chances."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the little spark of amusement that flared in my chest. I opened her math book to the page she'd been struggling with, scanning the problem. Basic calculus. Derivatives. Nothing too complicated—at least, not for me. But I could already tell from the way Calitrope was glaring at the numbers that this wasn't her strong suit.