The Girl
Who Could
Do Math
Carl Sagan
Nunc cum stellis es
Stephen Sulkey
Chapter 1
Matthew Grey sat alone at a small table tucked into the corner of a crowded coffee shop just off Franklin Street, where students from the university drifted in and out from morning until well after midnight. Outside the broad front windows, bicycles rolled past beneath towering oaks, and clusters of young men and women crossed the brick sidewalks with backpacks slung over one shoulder, hurrying toward morning lectures or lingering in animated conversations that would almost certainly make them late.
Inside, the café possessed the comfortable chaos unique to a college town. The steady hiss of the espresso machine blended with the rhythmic tapping of laptop keyboards. Ceramic cups clinked softly against saucers. Somewhere near the counter, two graduate students debated an upcoming chemistry examination while another table argued over the previous night's basketball game. The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee mingled with warm cinnamon pastries and baked bread, wrapping the room in a fragrance that seemed almost capable of keeping exhaustion at bay.
Matthew scarcely noticed any of it.
His attention remained fixed upon the delicate white tendrils of steam rising from his coffee.
The vapor twisted upward in elegant spirals, dancing briefly through the air before fading into nothingness.
For some reason, he found the sight comforting.
Perhaps it was because the steam mirrored his thoughts—appearing solid and meaningful for a moment before dissolving into confusion.
He wrapped both hands around the mug.
Matthew loved strong black coffee.
This particular brew was nearly perfect.
Hot enough to warm his hands.
Cool enough not to burn his tongue.
Each sip carried a deep, slightly smoky bitterness that lingered pleasantly, the kind of coffee that usually sharpened his thinking.
Today, it wasn't helping.
In his left hand, he held a worn Number Two pencil. The yellow paint had long since dulled beneath countless hours of use, and the wood was scarred with tiny teeth marks—silent evidence of late nights spent wrestling with problems that refused to surrender.
Before him lay a yellow legal pad.
Its pages were crowded with numbers, equations, tensors, and hurried calculations marching across the paper in every direction. Arrows connected one idea to another. Entire sections had been circled, abandoned, then rediscovered several pages later. To anyone passing by, it would have looked like incomprehensible madness.
To Matthew, it looked like failure.
He frowned.
Something was wrong.
The answer was there.
It had to be.
He simply could not see it.
His pencil moved rapidly across the page.
For several seconds, he worked furiously, scarcely aware of the world around him.
Then his hand stopped.
No.
Wrong again.
With an irritated growl, he slashed a thick line through nearly half a page of calculations.
Graphite carved jagged wounds across the paper.
Matthew stared at them.
His frustration mounted.
Stupid.
The word echoed through his thoughts.
Absolutely stupid.
He rubbed a weary hand across his face.
Why can't I see it?
The question had haunted him for days.
Perhaps weeks.
The worst part was not knowing whether the mathematics itself was genuinely difficult or whether he had overlooked something embarrassingly simple. Either possibility was equally maddening.
He reached for his coffee again.
It had already begun to cool.
The bitterness lingered on his tongue, but instead of clearing his thoughts, it merely reminded him how long he had been sitting there.
Around him, the café continued with its ordinary morning. Students laughed. Someone called out an order for a caramel latte. A barista scribbled another name onto a paper cup before sliding it across the counter.
Matthew heard none of it.
His world had contracted until it consisted of only three things.
A cup of coffee.
A yellow legal pad.
And a handful of equations that refused to reveal their secrets.
What Matthew wanted could not be measured by a paycheck or a Nobel Prize.
He wanted to understand the universe.
He wanted to know why space existed, why time flowed, why gravity bent light, why matter possessed mass, and why mathematics described reality with such astonishing precision. Every answer only seemed to uncover another, deeper question waiting beneath it. His curiosity had become something far greater than academic ambition. It had become the purpose of his life.
Physics was his religion—a sacred pilgrimage into the heart of creation. While most sought God through prayer, Matthew sought Him through mathematics, believing that somewhere, hidden among the elegant symmetries and impossible equations, lay the blueprint of creation itself... the mind of God, whatever that God ultimately proved to be.
Needing a momentary escape from the crushing weight of his own thoughts, Matthew rubbed his tired eyes. He silently thanked whatever benevolent force governed the universe for never having been prone to headaches. Considering the amount of mathematics he forced his brain to endure each day, it seemed almost miraculous.
When he opened his eyes, he finally noticed the world around him.
The Meantime Coffee Company was warm and inviting, nestled in the heart of Chapel Hill, only a short walk from campus. The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee drifted through the room, mingling with the scent of warm pastries and steamed milk. Behind the counter, an espresso machine hissed softly before another ceramic cup met polished wood with a familiar clink. College students, many of them employed by the café, moved comfortably between the tables while a small scattering of customers occupied nearly every corner. Some studied quietly behind glowing laptop screens. Others chatted with friends or attended online meetings through headphones. Their voices blended into a gentle murmur that somehow made the room feel peaceful.
For a brief moment, the comforting atmosphere eased the storm raging inside Matthew's mind.
Then his eyes drifted back toward the yellow legal pad.
The equations were still waiting for him.
Outside the café, campus life unfolded in all its familiar rhythm. Students wandered along the sunlit sidewalks in small groups, some laughing over shared jokes while others walked alone, their attention fixed on glowing phone screens. A cool April breeze drifted through Chapel Hill, carrying with it the scent of blooming dogwoods, freshly cut grass, and roasted coffee from nearby cafés. The Carolina sun shone brightly overhead, warm enough to invite students outdoors yet not strong enough to erase the lingering chill of early spring. It was one of those perfect afternoons that seemed to exist only on college campuses, where the future still felt limitless.
Matthew barely noticed.
Then he saw her.
That one second changed his whole life.
His eyes caught sight of a young woman walking past the café window, and the universe quietly rearranged itself.
Everything else simply disappeared.
The conversations around him faded into silence. The equations scattered across his yellow legal pad ceased to exist. Even time itself seemed to hesitate.
She was breathtaking.
No photograph, painting, or memory could have prepared him for someone so effortlessly beautiful. Her long auburn hair flowed behind her like polished copper catching the afternoon sunlight, while every movement possessed a quiet elegance that seemed entirely natural, as though grace itself had chosen to wear human form.
Matthew's pulse stumbled.
Then it accelerated.
He had spent years studying the laws that governed the universe—gravity, electromagnetism, quantum uncertainty—yet none of them explained what was happening inside his own chest. His heartbeat thundered so violently that he became aware of every pulse echoing in his ears. For one absurd instant, he wondered whether he had forgotten to breathe.
He knew absolutely nothing about her.
Not her name.
Not where she was going.
Not whether he would ever see her again.
Yet somewhere deep inside him, an overwhelming certainty arose that she mattered.
It was ridiculous.
Illogical.
Completely unsupported by evidence.
And yet it felt more certain than any theorem he had ever proven.
For one impossible moment, she became the center of his universe.
His rational mind surrendered completely.
Silently, almost desperately, he appealed to every god he had ever heard of.
God.
Allah.
Buddha.
Zeus.
Odin.
Osiris.
Anyone.
Everyone!
He would gladly accept divine intervention from whichever deity happened to be listening if only one of them would arrange for their paths to cross. He even found himself wishing upon stars that were invisible beyond the bright Carolina sky.
All he wanted was the chance to say hello.
Then she continued down the sidewalk and disappeared from view.
Matthew sat motionless.
A strange emptiness settled over him, as though someone had closed a door on a future that had existed only for a few fleeting seconds.
His mind exploded into frantic calculations.
Should he run outside?
Would that make him look ridiculous?
Perhaps he could casually step onto the sidewalk with his coffee, pretending he had intended to leave all along.
No.
That would look even worse.
For a man accustomed to solving differential equations and tensor calculus, he found himself completely defeated by the simplest problem imaginable.
How do you meet a girl?
Then, as though the universe had decided to answer his prayer after all, the café door opened.
She walked inside.
Matthew nearly stopped breathing.
She wasn't simply beautiful from a distance. She was somehow even more extraordinary standing only a few yards away. She moved with an effortless confidence, completely unaware that she had just reduced a graduate student in theoretical physics to little more than a stunned spectator.
His heart hammered so violently he wondered whether the barista could hear it over the hiss of the espresso machine.
He tightened his grip on his coffee cup.
His pencil slipped from his fingers, bounced once across the tabletop, and clattered onto the tile floor.
He didn't even notice.
In all his years of studying physics, Matthew had never realized a human being could provoke such an overwhelming reaction. Numbers had always obeyed rules. Equations behaved logically. The universe itself, no matter how mysterious, ultimately followed consistent laws.
None of those laws seemed to apply anymore.
She stood only a few feet away, ordering her drink as casually as though she hadn't just overturned his entire understanding of emotional stability.
Matthew remained frozen in his chair.
He could explain Einstein's General Theory of Relativity.
He could spend hours discussing quantum field theory or the mathematical elegance of gauge symmetry.
He could derive equations that most people would mistake for an alien language.
But saying to one beautiful young woman,
"Hello, my name is Matthew," proved infinitely more difficult than understanding the origin of the universe.
She paid for her drink, exchanging a few cheerful words with the barista before turning toward the café.
Matthew's breath caught.
Until that moment, he had seen her only through the window. Standing only a few yards away, she seemed even more extraordinary.
Her face possessed a symmetry so perfect it bordered on the unreal, yet there was nothing cold or artificial about it. A warmth radiated from her smile, softening every flawless feature. There was something undeniably charming about her, an almost playful innocence that balanced her striking beauty. She looked less like someone who belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine and more like someone the universe had quietly taken extra time creating.
Matthew forgot about mathematics.
He forgot about physics.
For several embarrassing seconds, he forgot how breathing was supposed to work.
Then something happened that he could never have predicted.
Instead of searching for an empty table, she walked directly toward him.
Each step was unhurried, graceful without being theatrical. She carried herself with effortless poise, her movements so natural they reminded him of flowing water rather than conscious motion.
Matthew's pulse became completely detached from any recognizable rhythm.
No...
She wasn't coming toward him.
She couldn't be.
She stopped beside his table.
Looking up, he found her smiling directly at him.
"Do you mind if I sit here?"
For several seconds, the question simply floated through the air.
Matthew heard every word.
His brain refused to process any of them.
Thousands of equations raced effortlessly through his mind every day. Tensor calculus, quantum field theory, and differential geometry—his thoughts navigated mathematical landscapes that would leave most people hopelessly lost.
Yet six perfectly ordinary English words had reduced him to complete mental paralysis.
Do. You. Mind. If. I. Sit. Here.
His heart pounded with such force that he became vaguely concerned it might be medically significant.
Answer her.
Nothing happened.
Matthew... answer her.
Still nothing.
His throat had become as dry as desert sand.
Finally, after what felt like an entire geological epoch, his vocal cords managed to cooperate.
"Sure."
The word emerged so quietly he wasn't entirely convinced he had spoken it aloud. It sounded distant, almost detached from him, as though someone else hidden somewhere inside the café had answered in his place.
For one absurd moment, he wondered whether oxygen deprivation had finally damaged his brain.
She smiled.
"Thank you."
With effortless grace, she settled into the chair opposite him, placing a steaming mug of hot chocolate on the table. The rich aroma of cocoa drifted between them, somehow overpowering even the scent of fresh coffee that filled the café.
Matthew simply stared.
Not intentionally.
He just couldn't seem to convince his eyes to look anywhere else.
She extended a hand across the table.
"Hi. I'm Accasia Lawrence."
Her voice was warm and musical, carrying neither self-consciousness nor hesitation. She introduced herself with the easy confidence of someone completely comfortable in her own skin.
Matthew took her hand.
It was warm.
Soft.
Perfectly real.
Until that instant, a tiny part of him had honestly begun to wonder whether he was dreaming.
He wasn't.
Accasia Lawrence was sitting across from him.
And although neither of them yet realized it, the course of human history had just changed forever.
Panic returned.
Matthew realized she was waiting for him to say something.
Come on, he scolded himself. You've spent years presenting research to professors. Surely you can manage to tell one beautiful woman your own name.
His mouth finally cooperated.
"Matthew..."
His voice cracked.
He cleared his throat.
"Matthew Grey."
She smiled.
"Didn't you just introduce yourself as Matthew, Matthew Grey?"
He stared at her blankly.
She tilted her head, amusement dancing in her hazel eyes.
"Or is it one of those secret-agent things?" she asked. "Bond. James Bond."
For a heartbeat, he simply stared.
Then the realization struck.
"Oh..."
He laughed nervously.
"No... just one Matthew."
She laughed with him.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't theatrical.
It was simply genuine.
The sound filled the little café with such effortless warmth that Matthew found himself smiling despite his embarrassment.
"I'm sorry," she said, still grinning. "I couldn't resist."
Her eyes drifted toward the yellow legal pad lying beside his coffee.
She studied it for perhaps three seconds.
"Hmm."
Matthew watched her expression.
She wasn't pretending to understand.
She wasn't looking at the page politely.
She was reading it.
"You've been looking at entangled quantum systems," she said matter-of-factly. "You're trying to determine whether the apparent violation disappears if time dilation is treated as part of the entanglement rather than as an independent relativistic effect."
Matthew stopped smiling.
She continued studying the page.
"You abandoned this derivation..."
She pointed to the middle of the paper.
"...because the tensor diverges here."
Her finger moved another few inches.
"But that isn't actually the problem."
Matthew felt every muscle in his body go perfectly still.
"The assumption is."
She looked back at him.
"You've assumed time remains locally continuous."
Matthew stared.
She said it with the same casual tone someone might use while pointing out a spelling error.
The café disappeared.
The voices vanished.
Matthew looked down at his yellow pad.
The equations covered several pages, filled with tensors, differential geometry, and notation that only a small community of theoretical physicists on Earth routinely used. Even among them, understanding another researcher's work usually required careful study.
She had looked at it...
...for three seconds.
His rational mind searched desperately for an explanation.
There wasn't one.
Somewhere in the darkest corner of his imagination, the unmistakable voice of Rod Serling drifted into his consciousness.
Submitted for your approval... one Matthew Grey, graduate student in theoretical physics, who has just met someone capable of reading advanced mathematics the way ordinary people read a restaurant menu. Matthew Grey has just entered the Twilight Zone.
Matthew almost smiled.
Almost.
Instead, he looked back at her.
"Who are you?"
She just looked at him. A puzzled smile crossed her face.
"I thought we'd already covered that."
"My name is Accasia Lawrence."
She folded her hands around her mug of hot chocolate.
"I meant..."
Matthew struggled to organize his thoughts.
"...who are you?"
Accasia regarded him for a long moment.
Then she smiled again.
"If you mean what am I studying..."
She glanced once more at the yellow legal pad.
"...I'd say you're asking the wrong question."
Matthew felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rise.
"No," he said quietly. "I'm asking exactly the right question."
He turned the legal pad toward her.
"How did you read this?"
His voice had lost every trace of nervousness.
Wonder had replaced it.
"Most theoretical physicists couldn't make sense of these pages without sitting here for an hour."
He looked directly into her hazel eyes.
"You understood them before your chocolate had time to cool."
For the first time since she'd sat down, Accasia didn't answer immediately.
She simply smiled.
It was not the smile of someone pleased with herself.
It was the smile of someone deciding how much of the truth another human being was ready to hear.
As if sensing his growing anxiety, Accasia reached across the table and gently rested her hand on his forearm.
The touch lasted only a moment.
Yet it sent a warm current through him, leaving his thoughts in complete disarray.
Matthew had spent years believing every sensation in the human body could ultimately be explained through chemistry, electricity, and biology. At that instant, none of those explanations seemed remotely adequate.
Breathe, he reminded himself.
Just keep breathing.
She withdrew her hand as naturally as if nothing unusual had happened.
"One of my doctoral degrees is in theoretical physics."
She said it with the same casual tone someone might use to mention the weather.
Matthew stared.
"One... of them?"
She nodded.
"I also earned doctorates in advanced mathematics and chemistry."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"I've always enjoyed mathematics and the physical sciences. They've been lifelong companions."
Matthew leaned back in his chair, studying her more carefully.
He was almost certain he had never seen her anywhere on campus before. That seemed impossible. Someone with her striking appearance and quiet confidence would have been impossible to overlook.
"Wait..."
He frowned.
"Three doctoral degrees?"
Accasia nodded.
"That's right."
Matthew shook his head.
"No."
She raised an eyebrow.
"No?"
"No," he repeated with a laugh. "That's mathematically impossible."
She smiled.
"Mathematically impossible?"
"Well... perhaps not mathematically."
He gestured helplessly.
"But biologically."
She laughed softly.
"You don't look barely old enough to have finished one doctorate, much less three."
Matthew hesitated before adding,
"Unless you started graduate school when you were five."
The corners of her mouth lifted into a grin.
"That would certainly have made faculty meetings interesting."
He laughed.
"So... what's the secret?"
For just the briefest instant, something changed in her expression.
Not sadness.
Not hesitation.
Something strange, something unknown.
Then it was gone.
"Oh," she said lightly, "I'm just a little older than I look."
Matthew smiled.
"I'm sure you are."
He assumed she meant twenty-eight.
At most thirty.
Certainly, no older.
Accasia simply wrapped both hands around her mug of hot chocolate, enjoying its warmth.
She made no effort to correct him.
There would be time enough for impossible truths later.
"So," Matthew said, determined to recover at least a shred of his wounded pride, "you've demonstrated that you're rather good at mathematics."
Accasia smiled.
"I've had a little practice."
"Let's see just how much."
He reached for his pencil.
"No calculators. No paper."
"I wouldn't dream of it." She stated.
Matthew thought for a moment.
"Take the square root of 7,823."
She answered instantly.
"Approximately 88.4477."
He froze at her speed.
"Correct to four decimal places," she added.
Matthew frowned.
"Fine."
He leaned forward.
"Natural logarithm of twenty-three."
"3.1354942159."
Again, she answered without hesitation.
Matthew's competitive instincts awakened.
"Cosine of thirty-seven degrees."
"0.7986355."
He stared.
"You're memorizing tables."
She laughed.
"No."
He sat back, thinking harder.
Simple arithmetic wasn't going to work.
Neither were common mathematical constants.
He decided to ask something no one could simply memorize.
"All right."
His eyes narrowed.
"Evaluate the improper integral."
He scribbled quickly across the yellow legal pad.
[ \int_0^\infty \frac{x^4}{e^x-1},dx ]
He slid the paper toward her.
She glanced at it.
"The answer is twenty-four times the Riemann zeta function evaluated at five."
She paused.
"Approximately 24.886268."
Matthew nearly dropped his pencil.
"You know statistical mechanics?"
"I know mathematics."
He wasn't finished.
"What about this?"
Another equation appeared.
[ \sum_{n=1}^{\infty}\frac{1}{n^2}]
She smiled.
"Euler."
She didn't even look at the page.
"Pi squared over six."
Matthew nodded.
"Anyone good in mathematics knows that one."
"I agree."
"So..."
He wrote again.
This time, he smiled.
"Let's make it interesting."
Across the page, he filled an entire line with tensor notation from his research.
Even among graduate students, it was unpleasant to read.
Accasia studied it for perhaps two seconds.
Then she quietly turned the notebook ninety degrees.
Matthew frowned.
"What are you doing?"
"It reads more naturally this way."
She crossed out a single symbol.
"No."
She crossed out another.
"No."
Then she drew one elegant, curved character Matthew had never seen before.
"There."
She slid the notebook back.
Matthew stared.
"I don't recognize that notation."
"You shouldn't."
She took another sip of her hot chocolate.
"It belongs to a branch of mathematics that hasn't been discovered yet."
Matthew laughed.
"You're impossible."
"No."
She smiled.
"I'm merely early."
Matthew opened his mouth to reply.
Nothing came out.
For the first time in his life, he found himself wondering whether he had just met someone whose understanding of mathematics exceeded humanity itself.
He quickly pushed the thought aside.
Impossible.
There had to be another explanation.
There always was.
Accasia rested her elbows lightly on the table, wrapped both hands around her mug of hot chocolate, and smiled.
"So," she said conversationally, "what time are you picking me up this evening?"
Matthew was confused.
"...Excuse me?"
"For dinner."
She tilted her head innocently.
"And afterward we're going to the movies."
He stared.
"I don't remember asking you out."
"No."
She smiled even wider.
"You haven't gotten that far yet."
Matthew folded his arms.
"And what makes you think we're having dinner together?"
"Because," she said matter-of-factly, "you've been trying to ask me out ever since I walked past the window."
"I most certainly have not."
"No?"
She leaned forward just enough to make him uncomfortable.
"When you first saw me, your breathing became noticeably shallower."
Matthew opened his mouth.
She continued.
"Your heart rate increased by roughly forty percent."
He closed it again.
"You stopped looking at your equations."
She counted another point on her fingers.
"You forgot to pick up your pencil."
"Well..."
"You introduced yourself as Matthew Matthew Grey."
She smiled sweetly.
"And for nearly thirty seconds after I sat down, you forgot that the English language contained more than one-syllable words."
Matthew sighed.
"When you list them all together..."
She grinned.
"They become rather convincing."
He couldn't help laughing.
"You're impossible."
"No."
She grinned.
"Just observant."
She took another sip of her hot chocolate.
"Besides..."
She looked directly into his eyes.
"I've already decided I like you."
Matthew froze.
No one had ever said something so direct to him.
No games.
No hesitation.
No carefully constructed ambiguity.
Just simple honesty.
He searched desperately for an intelligent response.
Nothing arrived.
"So," she continued as though discussing the weather, "there's a wonderful science-fiction double feature at the Varsity tonight."
She ticked them off on her fingers.
"Invasion of the Body Snatchers..."
"...and The Thing from Another World."
"I've always been fascinated by the ways twentieth-century filmmakers imagined extraterrestrial life."
She smiled mischievously.
"They were extraordinarily creative."
Matthew laughed.
"And you're inviting yourself?"
"I'm saving you from having to spend the next three days wondering whether you should have asked."
He considered denying it.
He couldn't.
She was absolutely right.
"We'll meet at five," she continued.
"You may choose the restaurant. I'm still learning Chapel Hill."
Matthew rubbed the back of his neck.
His pride made one final, desperate attempt to resist.
"I suppose..."
He paused.
"I suppose I could manage dinner."
Accasia's smile became radiant.
"I knew you could."
"There's a little Mexican restaurant near the theater."
He shrugged.
"Bandido's."
"Perfect."
"I've never been."
She stood, gathering her purse.
"I'll see you there."
Matthew frowned.
"Wait."
She paused.
"You never actually asked whether I was free tonight."
She laughed.
"I didn't need to."
"Why not?"
"Because if you had other plans..."
She smiled with that same impossible certainty.
"...you'd already be trying to cancel them."
Matthew opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Again.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, the unmistakable theme from The Twilight Zone began playing once again.
He wasn't entirely convinced Rod Serling wasn't about to walk into the coffee shop.
"But..." Matthew said.
Accasia's smile softened.
"But what?"
He hesitated.
How could he explain what was happening inside his own head?
"I don't understand any of this."
She waited patiently.
"I'm sitting here trying to solve equations..."
He looked at her almost helplessly.
"...and then you walk over to my table."
He laughed quietly.
"You're beautiful."
His eyes met hers.
"Brilliant."
He gestured toward the yellow legal pad.
"You understand mathematics; I can barely follow."
He shook his head.
"I honestly didn't think someone like you existed."
For just an instant...
Her smile disappeared.
The playful young woman sitting across from him seemed to vanish.
Something infinitely older looked back through her eyes.
There was no anger.
No sadness.
Only an immeasurable loneliness.
When she finally spoke, her voice had become almost a whisper.
"Trust me, Matthew..."
She held his gaze.
"We do."
The words stood between them.
Not I do.
We do.
Matthew couldn't explain why that tiny difference unsettled him.
For the briefest moment, he felt as though she had answered a question he hadn't asked.
Then, just as suddenly, her smile returned.
The warmth flowed back into her face as though the shadow had never existed.
She reached across the table and gently took his hand.
"Stop trying so hard to understand everything."
Her thumb lightly brushed across the back of his hand.
"You will."
She smiled.
"In time."
Matthew looked down at their joined hands.
"I should be studying."
"You should."
"My master's degree..."
"...is important."
"It is."
"I'm already behind."
"I know."
She nodded thoughtfully.
"I'll make you a promise."
He looked up.
"After dinner tonight..."
She glanced toward the yellow legal pad.
"...I'll help you."
Matthew laughed.
"You make it sound easy."
"It is."
"No."
He smiled.
"It really isn't."
"It will be."
There wasn't the slightest trace of arrogance in her voice.
Only certainty.
"I promise you something, Matthew."
She leaned forward slightly.
"When we're finished..."
"...you won't merely earn your master's degree."
She smiled almost mischievously.
"You'll wonder why you ever thought these equations were difficult."
Matthew searched her face.
She wasn't boasting.
She genuinely believed what she had just said.
And somehow...
So did he.
"Deal?"
She extended her hand.
Matthew shook it.
"Deal."
Accasia stood, smoothing her jacket.
"I should go."
"I have a few errands before this evening."
She picked up her purse.
"And you..."
She pointed toward the yellow legal pad.
"...are forbidden to spend the next six hours convincing yourself you're going to fail."
Matthew smiled.
"I'll try."
"No."
She smiled back.
"You'll succeed."
There was something about the way she said it.
Not hopeful.
Not encouraging.
Certain.
As though she had already seen the outcome.
She started toward the door.
Halfway there, she turned.
"Oh..."
Matthew looked up.
"Wear something nice."
He laughed.
"Is that an order?"
"It is a recommendation."
She considered it.
"...that you'll eventually discover was an order."
Matthew shook his head, smiling despite himself.
"You're unbelievable."
"So, I've been told."
She gave him one last smile before disappearing into the bright Carolina afternoon.
Matthew remained where he was for nearly a full minute.
The café slowly returned to life around him.
The hiss of the espresso machine.
The murmur of conversations.
The clatter of cups.
Everything seemed exactly as it had before.
Except it wasn't.
He looked down at the equations scattered across the yellow legal pad.
For the first time all day...
They no longer seemed like the most important thing in his life.