Free Pushing the Limits by Katie McGarry Page B

Greek mythology bullshit about women so beautiful, their voices so enchanting, that men did anything for them. Turned out that mythology crap was real because every time I saw her, I lost my mind.
    Normal. She wanted normal and so did I. “You know what’s normal?”
    “What?” She wiped away her remaining tears.
    “Calculus.”
    No doubt, Echo Emerson equaled siren. She gave me the same smile I’d seen on Saturday night. That type of smile caused mento write those pussy-ass songs that Isaiah and I made fun of. I’d sit in Mrs. Collins’s office for hours and wake my ass up early to go to calculus in order to see that smile again. This was fucked up.
    “All right,” she said. “Let’s do normal.”
    And we did. For an hour, we sat against the lockers and she caught me up on a few lessons. She used her hands to describe things, which was pretty damn hilarious since we were discussing math. Her green eyes shone when I asked questions and she gave me that siren smile each time I clued in. That smile only made me want to learn more.
    She took a deep breath after finishing her explanation of a derivative. I’d understood a derivative five minutes ago, but I loved the sound of her sweet voice. Part angel, part music.
    “You know a lot about math,” I said. You know a lot about math? What type of statement was that? Right along of the lines of “Hey, you have hair and it’s red and curly.” Real smooth.
    “My brother, Aires, was the math genius of our family. The only reason I can keep up is because he tutored me. He never turned in his calculus book, knowing I’d need all the help I could get.” Handling it with the same reverence my mother had carried the family Bible, Echo pulled out an old, tattered math book from her backpack and began turning pages. The book contained copious notes written in blue or black ink in the margins. “Guess that makes me a cheater, huh?”
    “No, it means you have a brother who cared.” Was my brothers’ foster mom helping them with their homework, or was she like Gerald’s wife? Locking herself in the bedroom, she’d pretended none of her foster kids existed and that he didn’t beat us.
    She stroked the handwritten words on the page. “I miss him.He died two years ago in Afghanistan.” Echo clutched the book like it was a life raft. “IED.”
    “I’m sorry.” I’d said that phrase more to her today than I had said it over the past two and a half years. “About your brother.”
    “Thanks,” she said in a lifeless voice.
    “It doesn’t get better,” I said. “The pain. The wounds scab over and you don’t always feel like a knife is slashing through you. But when you least expect it, the pain flashes to remind you you’ll never be the same.”
    Why I was telling her this, I didn’t know. Maybe because she was the first person I’d met since my parents died who could understand. I stared at the pulsating fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling. On. Off. On. Off. I wished I could find my pain’s off switch.
    A warm, tickling touch crashed me back to earth. Maybe it sent me straight to heaven. Either way, it dragged me out of hell. Echo’s pink fingernails caressed the back of my hand. “Who did you lose?”
    “My parents.” No pathetic sympathy crossed her face, only plain understanding. “Think Mrs. Collins put the two most depressed people together on purpose?” I flashed a smile to keep the honesty of the statement from corroding the remainder of my heart.
    Her hand retreated. “Wow. I thought I was the only person at this school faking every moment.”
    Craving more of her touch, I shifted on the floor so my arm touched her shoulder. Echo’s lips never moved, but my siren sang nonetheless. Her song seared my skin and my nose burned from her sugar and cinnamon scent.
    Her back pocket vibrated, flinging me back to hell … sorry—high school. I needed one of Beth’s cigarettes and I didn’t even smoke.
    She skimmed a text message on her