Blindness (13 page)

Oh God!

I poke my pencil under a few pages of my
notebook and slide from my seat to the front of the class. It’s a
large class—about 80 students. The tiered seating gives everyone a
clear view of my hot, red face. My hand is sweating so much I’m
pretty sure I won’t be able to hold the dry erase marker he’s about
to hand me. I wipe it on my jeans and look to the side as I do. I
don’t know what compelled me, what made me do it—but there he
is.

Cody is sitting in the corner seat in the top
row. He’s never joined my class. He’s known I was in this section
since the first time I went to his tutoring session. Of all days
for me to be called out for daydreaming!

“Ms. Hudson, can you please show us the first
step in solving problem number seven,” Dr. Rush says, the tone of
his voice clearly expressing his expectation for me to blow it. I
take a deep breath, and glance at Cody from the corner of my eye. I
see him sit up from his slouch and lean forward at his desk,
folding his hands together in front of him. He’s waiting to watch
me fail, too.

I look up at Dr. Rush first, and he only
prods me on, to begin writing. I close my eyes, and then open to
look hard at the problem. I stare at the
F’s
and
C’s
and the strange horseshoe symbols. I can almost hear Cody’s voice
in my head. I decide to trust it, knowing it’s really the only
thing I’ve got, and I start to write. Once I complete the string, I
click the lid on the marker and put it down. Looking back up to the
professor slowly, I say, almost in a question, “You start with the
derivative, and first define its limit?”

My throat is instantly dry, and it makes me
start to cough uncontrollably. I fight to hold it in. This happens
to me sometimes when I get nervous, and I know in seconds I’m going
to be virtually choking in front of my entire class, not to mention
the man who’s slowly stealing away pieces of my heart.

“Right. Good, you
are
paying
attention,” Dr. Rush says, quickly calling out another name and
sending me back to my chair, back to safety. I nearly sprint up the
risers to the door at the back of the room so I can get a drink. I
manage to calm the tickle, and slip back inside without making much
noise at all. Once at my seat, I lean down for my bag so I can
sneak a look at Cody, but his seat is empty now.

I can’t deny the disappointment I feel at his
absence. I grimace and roll my eyes at myself for feeling downright
abandoned because my secret crush left a classroom. Pushing my book
open and deciding to follow along, I adjust my notepad to make
room. That’s when I see it—the makeshift business card Cody handed
me the first day we met. White paper, black pen, his name, and his
number—I slide it from the pages of my book and prop it up in front
of me.

I’m no longer listening. No, now I’m
considering. I tap my pencil on the card while I think, trying to
work up the courage. I know I can’t call him. I have no words, and
I’m pretty sure I would just start coughing again from my nerves.
And that’s if he would even answer. Calling is definitely out—but
texting
him?

As soon as the professor’s back is turned, I
reach down and slide my phone from my bag to my lap. I’m deep
enough in the classroom that I have some privacy, as long as Dr.
Rush doesn’t pace the aisles. I give it a few more minutes for him
to begin working out the rest of the problem I started with a new
student, and I start typing in my lap.

Where did you go?

I watch the cursor blink. I sound
desperate—and a bit like a stalker. I delete and start again.

Are you spying on me?

Now I just sound stupid.

I lean forward, chew on my pencil, making eye
contact with Dr. Rush once or twice so he’ll buy into the idea that
I’m paying attention. I know that if he calls on me again, I’m
screwed, so I take my time, even going so far as to pretend to take
notes. In actuality, I start doodling and writing down lyrics from
my favorite
Killers’
song.

Then it hits me.
The Killers
—that’s
it!

Do you like The Killers?

Send.

I wait, breath held the entire time. When my
phone vibrates, I almost jump. I lean forward, chew on the pencil
more, write more lyrics, and slide my phone to the end of my knee
so I can read over the edge of the desk. If someone were to give me
nudge from behind, I’d tip over.

Sure. And ???

I smile instantly. He sent me two words, but
they weren’t
good
or
bye
—they were an opening. I suck
in my lips to hold in a deep breath before I type.

I’m sure you noticed I need more tutoring?
Well, there’s an extra ticket to next month’s show in it for you.
Interested?

I wait again, my knee bouncing up and down
uncontrollably. I bought tickets to the show a few months ago,
before I knew Trevor would be gone. I was just going to sell them
on Craigslist, make a little extra money. But the thought of going
with Cody is
far
more appealing—as friends, of course.

Minutes pass, and soon it’s been the full
half-hour. I note the next round of assignments from the book and
slouch slightly in my seat—suddenly worried that I’ll be tackling
them on my own, or with the help of YouTube. I feel foolish, and
the thought of running into Cody at home is mortifying.

I tuck Cody’s card back into my book, and
stuff it and my notes into my backpack, and toss it over my
shoulder. I’m almost out of the room when I hear him say my
name.

“Charlie?” Cody says, standing by the seat I
just left, my portfolio case dangling by its straps from his hand.
“You forget something?”

I bite my lip as I smile, mostly to mask how
freaking excited I am to see him. I shrug as I walk back to
him.

“Thanks, I wonder how far I’d get before I
realized I left my entire life’s work here,” I say. He hands it to
me, and I tuck it under my arm, my shyness creeping back up on me
as I think about my texts.

“So
The Killers
, huh?” he says, half
squinting at me like he’s trying to tell if I’m telling the truth.
“You know…I didn’t know that was you texting me at first. It took
me a few minutes to figure it out.”

I’m washed with relief. Of course he didn’t
know—he doesn’t have my number. Or, at least, he didn’t until
now.

“Sorry, I guess I should have said that from
the start,” I say. Feeling clever, I hold a finger up and pull my
phone from my pocket to send him a text.

This is Charlie, by the way.

As soon as Cody pulls his phone from his
pocket and reads my message, he busts out laughing, then he types a
quick note back to me while we begin walking from the
classroom.

Phew! I was worried for a second there that
the girl who always wears the sweater-vest in front of you was
hitting on me.

I read his message and giggle. The girl he’s
talking about is an older student, maybe in her late 40s, and she’s
about as straight-laced looking as they come—bun, glasses chain,
pocketbook planner…the whole package. I lean into him with a poke
of my elbow to his side, and he reaches around to hug me sideways
instinctively, but he actually leaves his arm around me while we
continue walking. I know I should wiggle my way out, but I don’t. I
leave it there. I leave it there because I like it there. And even
though I know it’s not okay, I decide to move the line I’ve barely
drawn…just a little.

I’m different with Cody. I’d never send a
playful text like that to Trevor. Sure, I could be cute, even a
little sexy—but silly? That wasn’t really Trevor’s thing. And I
didn’t think it was mine, either. But being around Cody seemed to
force me to cut loose, actually relax, and let down some of the
EVERYTHING
that I was always trying to hold up, carry on my
shoulders.

We keep walking to the main parking lot. I
see Cody’s truck parked close, and I’m reminded of his disability.
He hasn’t been using his chair since that first time I saw him, but
I’ve noticed his distinct limp. Sometimes, I think he tries hard to
mask it when he’s with me.

When we get closer to his truck, I feel his
arm slide from around me, and I’m suddenly cold. I don’t want him
to go.

“So, I’m serious about tutoring. Think you’ve
got time?” I ask, hoping he’ll offer to get together soon.

He pulls the passenger side door open and
tosses his bag in the front seat. He hangs his arms from the top of
the truck door while he thinks, and I notice his fingers grip
tightly around it, his muscles tensing while he looks off into the
distance. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly as he
turns to square up with me, like he’s waging the same inner battle
I am.

“I’ve got a little time today. But you’ll
have to come to the shop with me. That okay with you?” he asks.
I’ve honestly been dying to see his shop, ever since the night Gabe
told me about it. It feels like it’s some sort of key into Cody’s
past.

“Sounds good. I’ve got nothing going on. I’ll
just follow you?” I say, starting to walk backward before he stops
me, reaching out his arm for my bag and portfolio.

“I’ll just drive. I’ve got some things to do
tonight, so I’ll bring you back for your car when we’re done. It’s
the opposite direction from home anyhow,” he says, not really
asking. I shrug and climb in while he pulls the door completely
open for me, and I’m both thrilled and nervous about being stuck
with Cody for the next however-many-hours.

Cody walks slowly around the front of the
truck, sliding his hand along the hood as he does. His limp is more
pronounced, and I can tell he’s hurting. I must be making a face of
concern, because he smiles big, unusually so, when he gets in next
to me.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

I nod once and smile.

“Good,” he says, patting his hand once on my
knee. Even through my jeans, I can feel the warmth of his touch.
While we drive the few miles to his shop, I keep looking at the
place where his hand was on my leg, thinking about how high he was
on my thigh. Was he above the “friendship” zone? I snicker to
myself over my own girlish ridiculousness before Cody catches me
and raises an eyebrow. Thankfully, we’re close to his shop, and my
embarrassment is short-lived.

I see the old tire sign first, peering out
from some trees along a neighborhood road. The place looks straight
from the fifties—with hints of neon and glass-paned roll-up garage
bays. The building’s weathered, beat-up, and could use a lot of
attention—some paint, for sure—but the bones are special. I get why
Cody’s fighting so hard to keep this place alive, but even if I
didn’t know the backstory, I’d hate to see a place like this
close.

The side of the building has painted signage
boasting
Jake’s Brakes, Oil & Lube
. There’s an old,
cream-colored car nestled up next to the bathrooms, and it looks
like it’s been parked there for a decade, the grass around it
almost as tall as the windows.

“Whose is that?” I ask as we pull up in front
of one of the bays.

Cody shuts off the engine and closes his hand
around his keys before putting both of his arms on top of his
steering wheel. Leaning forward, he hesitates before his mouth
slides into a smile. It’s a new kind of smile on him—this one is
definitely affection.

“That was my dad’s, too. It was his
project
car. She runs—barely—but I’d like to get her in
working condition,” Cody says, looking back at me with a flash of
pride in his eyes. I find myself a little taken in by his eyes, so
I smile back and just drop my gaze from his before getting out of
the truck.

Cody isn’t far behind me. We walk up to the
large garage door in front of us, and he pounds on it three times.
In a few seconds, it starts to slide open. I recognize Gabe’s dirty
boots immediately, and I’m genuinely excited to see him.

“Hey, look who’s here!” Gabe says, turning to
Cody, raising his eyebrows before reaching for me and bringing me
into an unexpected hug. I wrap my arms around him, while he
squeezes me hard, lifting my feet off the ground. Once I’m back
down, I move back to look him in the face.

“Hey, Gabe. Thought I’d tag along today.
Cody’s going to tutor me later. I hope…I hope that’s okay?” I say,
worried now that I might be interrupting their work or other
plans.

“Charlie girl, you’re welcome here anytime,”
Gabe says, winking at me while he turns to head back into the shop.
I notice Cody grab one of the hand towels and snap it at him,
grimacing and lowering his brow in warning.

There’s a table near the back with a few
stools by it, so I move over there and slide onto one of the seats,
dumping my bag and portfolio on top. Gabe follows me and starts
looking through my stuff almost immediately. Out of instinct, I
reach for my portfolio, but I’m too slow; he grabs it from my reach
and starts flipping through my drawings in front of me.

I’m uncomfortable showing these to
others—they never feel
ready.
I know Cody’s seen them, but
he’s really the only person other than my professor. Cody looks
over his shoulder, and I notice him smile with half his mouth when
he sees what Gabe’s looking at.

“Dude, I told you she was good,” Cody says,
turning to raise the hood of the only car in the shop. I bite my
lip, but can’t hide the smile that sneaks up on my face at the
thought of Cody talking about me to Gabe. When I look back at Gabe,
he’s smiling at me, too, and then he winks. Realizing I’ve been
caught, I quickly look to the side.

Desperate to get the attention away from me,
I start looking around the shop for something—anything—to talk
about. Then I see Cody’s chair sitting in the corner. I waver back
and forth on whether or not to bring it up, but curiosity finally
wins out.