She stares at my comforter. “I was—am—surprisingly naïve even though my parents encouraged me to be a free spirit.” She touches her throat, rubbing it. “I never went to a real school, never got to spend time with people my own age. If my parents got the urge to go anywhere alone, they went and left me with friends, usually artists, writers, scholars. Most of the people I stayed with were wonderful. I learned some cool things, you know? I saw Mount Everest, the Great Wall of China, the pyramids in Egypt, the Colosseum in Rome…” She breathes in deep. “It sounds weird, me and Bryson, but just… I want you to know that I loved him, as much as a seventeen-year-old girl can, and I thought it was normal, because I didn’t know any different.” She lets her breath out slowly.

He hurt you.

“Talk to me, Anastasia.” I prop my elbows on my knees.

She dips her face and stares at my comforter. Her shoulders hunch. “Did he take advantage of me? Yes. He was thirty, and I was inexperienced.” She bites her bottom lip. “I didn’t know he was married. My parents didn’t know. His sister and another girl lived there at the beginning, otherwise my parents wouldn’t have left me. I could have called and told them I was alone with him, but I didn’t. The day I met his wife, my whole world fell apart. We never had any contact after he dropped me off…” She sighs. “Anyway, Donovan’s parents managed to dig all that up. It’s crazy. I didn’t steal his car, either. He let me have the keys. I thought I was his girlfriend.” A rough sound comes from her throat. “I didn’t know he got a divorce.” Her brow furrows. “He had a toddler. Maybe more kids, I don’t know. There’s a family out there that I messed up—”

“He messed up his family,” I say firmly. “And if I ever see him, I’m going to punch him.” My jaw pops.

She inhales a deep breath. “Wow,” she says softly as she stares at the floor. “Underneath your exterior, you aren’t what I thought at all. Just layers and layers.” Her eyes find mine. “You’re making me like you too much, Snake.”

“It’s impossible to resist me.”

“Hmmm, enough of that.” She glances back at the notes in her hands. “Let’s chat about Lady Chatterley’s Lover.”

Do we have to?

“Right. The book.”

That is why she’s here.

“I get that they used sex. Their passion covered up their problems.” I pause. “The issue is…” I can’t read these books fast enough and comprehend them. A long exhalation comes from my chest. “I struggle to put my ideas on paper.”

“What’s your reading comprehension level?”

Anxiety ripples over me. “Why?”

“It’s a difficult book, River. I just want to get an idea—” She stops, her eyes squinting at me. “Is there more than just the ADHD going on?”

My heartrate spikes. I jerk up from my seat. “You want a drink? I need water.”

She blinks. “Sure. Water is great.”

I leave the room and stop in front of the fridge. Unfocused, I open the door and peer inside. The football game plays in the background, and I’m not sure how long I stand there, my head tumbling. She and I… It feels as if we’re speeding closer and closer to something, and I’m on the edge of my seat with anxiety.

She’s so fucking smart. And I’m not.

She’s going to figure me out and—

“Everything good?” Hollis calls out.

“Perfect,” I mutter.

I grab two waters and head back.

She’s moved on my bed, propped up against the headboard as she gazes down at the notes. She glances up. “Just a guess—you’re dyslexic? It would explain your reluctance to read, the audio, and speech-to-text notes.”

My eyes flare as my mouth opens but nothing comes out.

“Judging by your face, I’m right, which means you didn’t tell me because you’re worried about what I think. You can trust me, River. I’ve done tutoring for athletes, and it’s not uncommon. Everything we discuss is confidential.”

My breathing escalates.

The silence in the room builds, and I’m aware, totally aware, that I’m backed into a corner.

She crawls to the edge of the bed and stands in front of me. “Wait—do you think I’d think less of you? If anything, I think more of you. Look at everything you’ve accomplished.”

“I don’t want pity.”

“It’s not pity. Your differences don’t define you. It makes reading harder, and probably a host of other things I can’t even imagine. It means you’re different, yes, but in a good way. You see things with a unique viewpoint, and honestly, the world needs more of that. I know we haven’t been…close, but I-I see a side of you that’s amazing and sort of beautiful. There’s a softness under your evil smile.” Her hands flutter in front of her, an uncertain look on her face.

I realize two things: she’s as nervous as I am, and she sees me.

I set the water bottles on the desk. “You’re the first person to say that besides my mom. Not the evil smile part—the beautiful part. Keep talking.”

She rolls her eyes, huffing out a laugh. “You do things for others, especially Benji—you bought him that lizard. You talk to Parker about his sister when everyone else is afraid to bring it up. You’re more in tune to emotions than facts. You’re one of the most creative people I’ve ever met. You dream up fun things for the pledges. The dance contest was brilliant. Others before you have taken dyslexia combined with ADHD and accomplished great things. Whoopi, Justin Timberlake, Michael Phelps, Tim Tebow. I’m sure there are more—”

“And dyscalculia. Tack that on too.” I pause, unsure how to continue, not sure if I want to. This is too revealing!

“No judgment. The more you open up to me, the better.” Her tone is soft. “I know you’re intelligent. Your IQ is off the charts, I bet.”

I swallow, and something that’s been buried deep loosens. What if, what if with her, I can just let go?

Then I remember my ex laughing at me.

I stalk around the room, pacing.

“Talk to me, River.”

I stop, my chest heaving as I rake a hand through my hair.

“Truth? My brain is wired like a crazy funhouse at a carnival. You walk in and don’t know what to fix first, so instead you hop on the rollercoaster that happens to be there and enjoy the ride. There are colors everywhere, dangling wires, uneven floors, and wacky staircases. That’s just my ADHD. The other stuff…I think in pictures rather than words.” A sigh escapes my chest. “I’m messy and disorganized. It’s the Bermuda Triangle, no shit, in my head. Reading out loud? Insanity. It will give me a panic attack. I can’t breathe, like someone has their hands around my throat. It feels like everyone is looking at me, waiting, waiting to see if I can read. I will run from the room. I did once in middle school. It took an entire day for my dad to find me hiding under the bleachers. Menus? I rely on pictures or order the same thing over and over. Overheads and PowerPoints? Forget it. They move too fast for me to keep up. Computer screens? A hassle. Elevator buttons? Hate them. Algebra? The numbers dance on the page, getting jumbled, and I can’t focus enough to make them stop. Road signs? I use GPS. Hospitals and big buildings here at school? I want to scream until, finally, I can make them stick in my head. I memorize football plays. I make these big flashcards and know them by heart. I just…fuck! These banned books are a goddamn nightmare—”