Wonderland

❄B7❄ You Can Be My Chem Tutor

Chapter Seven

Brayden

You Can Be My Chem Tutor

 

“I never got to ask you, but what math class do you take?” I asked Berkeley, as we made our way down the cluttered streets to the Asian restaurant she had suggested we eat at.

“Math 124,” Berkeley said. “I suck at math, though. First day, and already, I’m struggling.”

“Oh.”

She shrugged. “My friends take the same class as me, though, so I’m fortunate enough to have some study buddies with me. Although to be honest, parametric equations are kicking my ass.” Parametric equations are where you are given two different equations on a line, for instance. Those two equations may be expressed in terms of time, so then you’d end up getting equations, if they model a line: x = 3 + 2t and y = 4t, or something like x = rcos[theta] and y = rsin[theta] (if the points are on a circle) and you’d have to use angular velocity to find that theta value to get the x and y in terms of time to solve the problem.

To be honest, it took me a while to understand parametrics. They were probably the hardest thing I’d ever encountered in calculus.

“If you ever need help with math, you can always ask me,” I blurted, before I could think through my offer. “I like math. It’s really easy for me.”

“I kinda figured,” she mused. “Your enthusiasm for getting into Math 126 that day only said so much…” She smiled at me, her eyes seeming to glitter under the sunlight.

“Well…”

“Oh, we’re here!” she said, excitedly, when we reached the restaurant. She pulled me in and sat us down at an empty table. A few moments later, a host came over.

“Hello, would you guys like a menu to look over the food selections we have?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” Berkeley said.

The host pulled out two menus for us and set them down on the table before us. “Just walk up to the register when you’re ready to order.”

“Thanks,” Berkeley and I said, in unison. When we realized that, we gave each other weird looks before bursting out into laughter.

“Wow, didn’t expect that to happen,” she said, giggling.

“Me, neither,” I said.

We spent at least five minutes looking over the menu. In the end, I ordered a plate of chicken yakisoba, and Berkeley ordered sushi rolls. While waiting for our food to come, we lapsed into a casual conversation about our family and friends.

I learned that she had an older sister and a younger brother. Her parents were divorced: Her dad married someone else and had two children with her, while her mother ended up unmarried, looking after her children.

I didn’t say much about my family: Just that I had an older brother and a younger sister, a supporting father, and a mother that I barely knew anything about. The last thing I needed was to bring up my mother again. I hate her, and I don’t want anything to do with her right now. She used to call me every day since she left our family, but when she started picking up on the hateful vibe I was sending her, she stopped calling.

 I don’t think I’ll ever admit how much that hurt—and still hurts—me.

Of the hour we spent inside the restaurant, chatting, the more I got to know her, and the more I started to feel less annoyed of her. She may be giggly eighty percent of the time, but the other twenty percent of the time, she was serious. She likes dogs and she’s a big fan of Avril Lavigne. She wants to help people in the future, hence, why she chose medicine as her major. She smiles a lot, and there always seems to be a dreamy look in her eyes when she talks about the things she loves.