Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 13

I stood up before I could talk myself out of it.

“Be right back,” I muttered.

“Where are you--”

“Just stay,” I said, already weaving through the tables.

He looked up as I approached. His face registered surprise, then that familiar quiet calculation.

“Hey,” I said, a little breathless.

Matt pulled off his headphones. “Hey… everything okay?”

I nodded, then shook my head. “Kind of. I need your help. We’re reviewing for prelims, James and I, and we hit a roadblock. Remember the lesson on trig identities?”

He raised an eyebrow. “The one you blanked out on?”

“Don’t judge me,” I muttered.

“I’m not.” He closed his notebook but didn’t stand yet. His eyes scanned my face, then flicked past me, toward the table where James sat hunched, fidgeting with a pen. “You’re tutoring him now?”

I nodded.

He hesitated. I could see the gears turning, the same slow internal debate he always had when the line between us and James blurred. His eyes moved from me to James and back again.

There was a pause. Then a sigh.

“Alright,” he said, standing. “Let’s get you both un-stuck.”

I smiled, genuinely. “Thanks, Matt.”

He didn’t smile back, not fully. But he followed me anyway.

Back at the table, the energy shifted the moment Matt sat down. James leaned back slightly, arms crossed like a knight guarding his turf. Matt, on the other hand, unrolled his notes with surgical precision,  calm, methodical, almost irritatingly competent. Their presence across from each other felt like two chess players setting up their pieces… and I was the board.

“So,” Matt began, “the trick with identities is not to memorize everything, but to recognize patterns. Think of it like decoding.”

“Yeah,” James muttered, “except the only thing I’ve decoded is that my brain hates math.”

“You say that like it’s math’s fault,” Matt said without missing a beat.

I stifled a laugh as I glanced between them.
James narrowed his eyes. “Pretty sure it is math’s fault.”

Matt smirked. “Or maybe the fault lies in the student, not the subject.”

“Whoa. Who invited the philosopher?” James shot back.

I held up a hand, grinning. “Okay, okay, can we not turn this into a debate club meeting?”

They quieted… for about three seconds.

Then I reached for my pencil case and frowned. “Wait, I think I forgot my pen.”

And that’s when it happened.

Like clockwork, both boys simultaneously reached into their bags, muttering something like “Here,” and “I got it.”
Two pens were extended toward me at the exact same time.

Matt’s was a smooth black gel pen with a worn grip. James’s was a slightly chewed blue ballpoint with the cap missing.

I blinked.
They stared at each other.
I blinked again.

James shrugged. “Mine writes faster.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Mine doesn’t explode if you press too hard.”