\I never wanted to want him. I never wanted to notice how, in the morning, his hair stands up in little curls or how he cannot wear a necklace without periodically putting it in his mouth to suck on it. I never wanted to fall for him, to want him to care about me in the same way I care about him. I never wanted to love him; it just happened.

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when it happened--when I realized something had changed forever--but right now I am sitting on a couch in the library pretending to do Algebra II homework, but really watching the thin line that appears on his forehead when he’s really concentrating

“Is the zero property the thing we learned in class today?” he asks. I’ve been his go-to person for math since freshman year. We’re juniors.
“Yeah, it’s the thing where you make everything equal to zero and get multiple answers,” I say.

He nods as if he already knew the answer and shifts purposefully on his broken down couch—a twin to mine, except that his has more stains, and mine has more holes. Both are a hideous shade of orange. We sit about three feet apart, but at right angles. The two couches together form an “L.”

The frown returns. He still has no idea what he’s doing. I want to say more. I want to move to closer, see where he’s gone wrong, and try to help. I can’t. It has been over two years since we fell out. I can’t look at him now without embarrassment and regret.

He shakes off the hood from his navy hoodie, and I see that his hair is wet. It’s darker when wet. The ends curl up and out giving it an unusual volume. He scratches at his cheek and rests his hand on his chin à la Rodin’s “The Thinker.” I know him well enough to know he is not thinking. When he is in deep thought he uses his hand to push his hair up out of his eyes and looks mystified. It’s no good speaking to him then. Someone could scream his name, and he still wouldn’t snap out of it.

We sit in silence for twenty more minutes. I focus on my own algebra homework and finish in ten minutes. The zero property is obnoxious and the homework is just the same process over and over again. Set every part of an equation equal to zero and see what you end up with. It’s easy, tedious and repetitive.

I finish, but pretend to do more. This is the only time of the week I am able to spend time with him. Now he sets his left elbow on the arm of the couch and props his head with his hand. He rests his feet on the coffee table, legs crossed at the ankles. The table is laden with our books for various subjects. He uses a three-ring binder as a hard surface.

I know if I leave we will not speak again until study hall tomorrow night. Even if all we talk about is homework, it’s better than nothing. I miss our conversations; we used to talk about silly things like girls and favorite colors, but the conversations I really loved focused on bigger issues like the death penalty or whether or not we believed in god. I flash back to freshmen year when on these exact same couches he said to me “You can always talk to me, I mean if you need someone to talk to.” This memory is painful and I clench my teeth trying not to be angry at him, because in the end it really isn’t his fault. I tell myself it is silly to wait here, hoping he says something to me. I begin to pack up my books. Study hall isn’t required for me. I can leave any time.

“Could you come over here for a sec and see if I’m doing this right?” he asks me.

“Uh, yeah.” I say trying to keep the mixture of excitement and hope out of my voice.

I walk quickly and nervously over to his couch. I don’t sit down because that would be too official…too close. I lean over the back of the couch and look at his paper. 2(X) (-53x) (72-3x) = 0. He has notes scribbled in the margins, random numbers having nothing to do with the equation. He is clueless and fishing for an answer.

“Ok, so at this point what do you think you do to the equation?” I ask, trying to help without doing the problem for him.
“I have no f***ing clue.” He laughs. I love his laugh. It’s not a usual laugh. It’s disjointed and high pitched in a way that most people would find annoying. I find it charming. He smiles and looks at me playfully. I resist doing the problem for him even though that is what he wants.
“Ok, I’m going to do this one, and then you’re going to try and figure out what I did.” I say trying not to sound too condescending. He nods his head and places the book on the coffee table so we are both able to see the problems.

“So you have three expressions in this equation. 2(x), (-53x), and (72-3x). You want to make all of those expressions equal zero,” I explain
“How?” he asks

“I’ll show you. May I borrow your pencil?” I ask.

He hands it to me and his skin grazes mine. It feels so rough, so concrete. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, not wanting to feel the way I do when he touches me. I pull my hand back too soon, dropping the pencil and it falls in between the couch cushions.
“Sorry.” I say feeling mortified.

“It’s chill,” he says, fishing between the two cushions. His gold chain link bracelet jingles as he searches. When he hands me the pencil, I take hold of it carefully, so our hands don’t touch. It’s a mechanical pencil. I check the lead and lean over the back of the couch so I can reach the notebook he’s writing on. I write out the expressions one by one but doing it in mid air makes it so my writing looks awkward and disjointed.
He notices I’m having trouble. “Here” he says, steadying the notebook on his lap. Now it is easier to write, but to see properly I must lean farther down the back of the sofa. I can feel his warm breath. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. His breath smells like a mixture of morning breath and orange peels. I don’t know how someone maintains the smell of morning breath until 7:30 at night, but somehow he does. It smells nice to me, like his signature scent, and I drink in as much as I can.

“So you have the expression 2(x) and you want to make that equal to zero. What number would x have to be in order for that to happen?” I turn my face back to his, checking for understanding. I really was. His eyes are stormy, angry waves crashing on an open sea. I feel like a sailor on that sea when I look into them. I feel lost and panicked. He pauses for a second trying to make sense of what I just said. I can tell he’s tired. He just wants this to be over while I want it to last.
“X would have to be zero,” he finally says.

“Yeah, what about in the expression (-53x)” I ask
He brushes his hair out of his eyes revealing misshapen eyebrows. When he brings his hand back down to the paper he bumps my arm. He doesn’t apologize. He hates apologies. Or at least he hates my apologies. I made too many of them.
“It would also be zero,” he said.
“Yeah, ok so the last one is (72-3x),” I said
“Ok, so you take the 3 and multiple it by the x first right?” he asks.
“Yep, and then?”
“You divide the 72 by 3.”
“Yeah and you get?” I ask encouragingly
“24.”
“Yeah so your final answers are?” I ask
“Zero, zero, and twenty-four.”
“Yep that’s right! I knew you could do it.” I say and wish I hadn’t. It was a weird thing to say--patronizing. I hand him his pencil, and he writes down our final outcome.

“Alright, study hall is over so I think I’m going to do the rest in my room,” he says.

“Ok.” I say as nonchalantly as possible. He doesn’t say, ‘thank you,’ but I know he appreciates me, well at least my math ability.
I watch him leave the library, backpack over one shoulder and pants sagging just enough to see the top of his blue boxer briefs. He has disappeared down the long hallway leading to the outside door, when I notice his pencil is still in my hand.
“Hey, you forgot your pencil,” I call out.

He doesn’t hear. I chase after him and reluctantly tap him on the shoulder. His hoodie is soft and kind of warn. I forget about not wanting to touch him. He turns around and looks at me expectantly.

“You forgot your pencil.” I say, offering it to him.

He grabs for it, curling his entire hand around the thin cylinder.. He turns away again, silent. I take a couple reluctant steps back toward the library where my stuff still sits.

From the darkness I hear him call. “Hey, thanks, by the way. I’ll see you around.”