Maya didn't register much of the walk back to Spruce Hall, her hands wouldn't stop shaking. The beer had dried against her skin, making her feel itchy. The green top clung to her stomach, a damp reminder of the night.
Elena was already in the room when she got there, sitting on her bed.
"Maya—where did you go? I turned around and you were just—" She stopped. "Oh my God. What happened?"
"I'm fine."
"You're soaked."
"I know."
Elena stood, alarmed. "Did someone—"
"I said I'm fine." The edge in Maya's voice surprised even her. She yanked the top over her head, balled it up, and threw it into the corner. It hit the wall and slid down. "I'm taking a shower."
She grabbed her caddy and left before Elena could push it further.
The bathroom was empty. Maya turned the water on as hot as it would go and stepped beneath the spray, letting it burn across her skin, she scrubbed until the sour scent of the beer was gone, until her thoughts finally quieted.
It didn't work.
She told herself it didn't matter, but it did matter and she couldn't even understand why.
Back in the room, Elena was asleep—or pretending to be. Maya climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling, the streetlight outside throwing dull shapes across the stained plaster.
The day replayed in fragments in her mind, leaving her drained.
At least she'd managed to buy the textbook—that was a win.
But then the thought of tutoring Jake crept in. After everything that happened today, how was she supposed to navigate that? What could she even say? Should she confront him? He didn't owe her anything, so…
She sighed, staring into the shadows. Mondays were already starting to feel unbearable.
---
The study room felt chillier than usual. Or maybe it was just Maya. She sat at the head of the table, notebook open, pens ready, fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the surface. She'd arrived fifteen minutes early to review her notes for today's session, trying to calm her mind.
Jake arrived at 6:58, two minutes early. He looked tired—eyes slightly hooded, hair tousled. His Thunderhawks hoodie hung loosely over joggers, backpack slung over one shoulder.
He dropped into the chair across from her. "Hey."
Maya didn't look up. "We're starting with chapter four today. Attention and consciousness. Did you do the reading?"*
"Yeah. Most of it."
"Most of it isn't all, Jake."
Jake shifted uncomfortably. "I had practice, and a game on Saturday. I didn't have time to finish."
"You had time to go to a party, though."
Jake froze.
"What?"
"Nothing." Maya clicked her pen. "Let's begin with selective attention. Can you define that?"
Jake didn't move, eyes fixed on her like he was trying to read her. "Are you mad at me?
"Why would I be mad at you?"
"I don't know. You seem—"
"I'm trying to make sure you understand what you're paying me to tutor you. That's my job. Your job is to show up prepared. So, like I was saying, selective attention—what's the definition?"
Jake flipped open his textbook, fingers grazing the pages nervously. "It's the ability to focus on one thing while ignoring other stuff."
"'Other stuff,'" Maya said, raising an eyebrow. "How original."
"I don't know how Monroe wants us to phrase it."
"Dr. Monroe wants you to demonstrate comprehension, not memorization." Maya finally lifted her gaze, meeting his. "Selective attention is how the brain filters sensory input, focuses on relevant stimuli while ignoring irrelevant ones. It's how people choose what matters and what doesn't."
Jake's jaw tightened, lips pressed into a thin line. "That's not what selective attention means."
"Isn't it?"
"Are we talking about psychology here? Or something else?"
"We're talking about psychology, Jake. What do you think we're talking about?"
He leaned back, arms crossing, a subtle frown creasing his forehead. "You saw me at the party, didn't you?"
"Yes. I saw you."
"And you're pissed because I didn't come over to talk to you? Or even try to defend you?"
"I'm not pissed."
"You're clearly pissed."
"I'm disappointed." The word slipped out before she could stop it. "I thought maybe the person I'd been spending hours with this week would at least acknowledge I exist when we're in the same room. I was wrong. Here, we're equals. Out there, we're not. I got it."
Jake stared at her, mouth slightly open. "Maya—"
"It's fine. It doesn't affect our arrangement. You pay me, I teach you. What happens outside this room is irrelevant. Now, back to studying. Chapter four, section two. Focused versus divided attention. Find that section in your textbook."
For a long moment, Jake didn't move. Then he exhaled, shifting his focus back to the pages, fingers tracing lines.
They studied for forty-five minutes. Maya explained concepts with the clarity she always brought. Jake took notes, asked questions—but the easy rapport they'd started to develop was gone, replaced by a taut awkwardness that simmered between them.
When the hour was up, Maya closed her notebook. "That's time."
Jake reached into his backpack, pulling out an envelope. He slid it across the table. She folded it and tucked it into her pocket, the crinkle of paper louder than usual in the quiet room.
"Same time Thursday?" Jake asked, voice low, hesitant.
"Yes."
He hesitated at the door, hand resting on the frame. "For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I'm sorry about the party. I was—" He stopped, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. But I am sorry."
Maya didn't respond. She packed her things slowly, deliberately avoiding looking at him.
Jake left. The soft click of the door lingered in the quiet room.
Maya sat in the empty study room, staring at the whiteboard where today's diagram still stood. The lines and arrows blurred slightly as her thoughts tangled around his words. She didn't know what to make of the apology—or of the flutter in her chest that she wasn't ready to admit to.
Finally, she stood, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. The hall was empty, except for the distant hum of campus lights outside. She walked back to her dorm, where it was quiet, and where she could finally start her statistics homework—and try, at least, to put everything else out of her mind.