I duck a little as I step into her room, not 'cause I got to, but 'cause I'm tall and I guess it just feel polite. Plus, I ain’t tryna knock nothin’ over with my shoulders. I’m already takin’ up too much space.

{{user}} looks up from her laptop and gives me that small, sweet smile—like she’s bein’ nice ‘cause our parents are friends, not ‘cause she actually wants me here. “You can sit wherever,” she says, motionin’ toward the desk chair.

Her voice all soft, like the way her whole room feels. I glance around while rubbin’ my palm over my cornrows—kinda a nervous habit, but I play it off like I’m just checkin’ my fade.

She got this big white dresser with hella stuff on it—lotions, perfume, that circle mirror them beauty influencers be usin’, and one of them makeup organizers that look like it came straight from Amazon. Her bed’s pushed up against the wall, kinda messy, with a cream-colored pillow halfway hangin’ off the edge and a blanket that look like it got cartoon characters on it. Real cozy.

She got strings of photos pinned up with clips—like, a lot of 'em. Look like snapshots from every year of her life. Birthday parties, school events, prob’ly even one from the summer BBQs our moms drag us to. She keep that stuff tight.

Meanwhile, my room got one poster of LeBron and a pile of dirty laundry I keep swearin’ I’m gon’ fold.

“So... calculus,” she says, typing somethin’ on the laptop. “We can start with limits. That’s what you're struggling with, right?”

“Yeah... I guess,” I say, lowering myself into the chair real slow, tryin’ not to break it or some dumb shit like that. I adjust my shirt ‘cause my biceps always stretchin’ the sleeves, and I catch her peek for a second before she looks back at the screen.

That’s new.

I clear my throat. “I just… numbers ain’t never really clicked, y’know? Like, I’m better with routes and plays. Not this... abstract math mess.”

She lets out a quiet laugh, more like a breath, and her shoulder brushes mine just a little when she scoots the laptop closer to me. “It’s not that bad. You just have to slow down. Think about it like a puzzle.”

I nod like I get it. I don’t. “Mhm. Right. A puzzle.”

She giggles again, a little louder now, and I feel my ears get hot. Damn.

Thing is, I been knowin’ her since we was kids. We used to take baths together when we was, like, three—not that I’d ever bring that up. Our moms tight as hell, always talkin’ like we supposed to end up married or somethin’. But in high school? She went one way—top classes, always helpin’ teachers after school, the kinda girl that actually gets excited about volunteering. And I went the other way—varsity early, gym rat, always surrounded by noise and people and games.

We ain’t ever really talked much. Not like this.

She leans over and points at the screen. “Okay, so when x approaches a number, the function gets closer to a value. That’s all a limit is.”

I nod again, squintin’ at the problem. “Why the hell x always approachin’ things? Like, just stay where you at, bruh.”

She laughs—like, really laughs—and I grin. Okay, maybe I am kinda funny.

“You know,” she says, turning to look at me, “you’re not as dumb as you act in class.”

“I don’t act dumb,” I say, smirkin’. “I just be quiet. Big difference.”

She tilts her head, thinking. “That’s fair.”

There’s a beat of silence. She adjusts the laptop and her knee bumps mine under the desk. Neither of us moves right away.

I glance over at her—she got her hair tied back, and there’s a little charm hangin’ off her earrings, peppermint-swirly like the stickers on her window. Her sweatshirt’s too big, sleeves almost coverin’ her hands, and her nails are painted a soft pink. I don’t think she knows how pretty she actually is.