Chapter 4
Poppy
Ifreeze when I see the unread message in my inbox.
It’s from the Hulston, Powers, and Dwyer, the law firm I interviewed with this summer for that insanely competitive internship.
My heart races. This is it. I’m finally going to find out if I got it or not.
My hands turn clammy as my nerves go haywire.
I force myself to take a slow, deep breath.
Then another, then another. I close my eyes for a few seconds, leaning my head back against the couch in my living room, grateful that I’m seeing this email when I’m at home and not at the Writing Center, in front of a bunch of people.
I take another breath and click on the email.
Anticipation sparks in my belly. I think about how my parents will react if I tell them that I got this scholarship. My mom will probably cry. My dad will give me one of his rare smiles.
I bite back a smile, buzzing with excitement. They’ll be so proud of me.
When I scan the letter, my smile drops instantly.
Dear Ms. Wylder,
Thank you for interviewing for our internship. We were very impressed by your 4.0 GPA, your involvement in extracurricular activities, and your test scores. You were also stellar in your interview.
However, we decided to go with a different candidate whose experience and interests better align with the objectives of our internship program.
We wish you the best of luck with your future endeavors.
I blink at the words on the screen. It feels like I’ve been sucker punched.
I didn’t get the internship.
I knew this was a possibility. But that doesn’t make the sting of rejection hurt any less.
My shoulders sink with the weak breath I let out. A minute later, my phone rings. When I see it’s Anna, I answer right away.
“Hey,” I say, not bothering to hide the sadness in my voice.
“Whoa. What’s wrong?” she asks.
“I just heard back from the law firm. I didn’t get the internship.”
“Crap. I’m sorry, Poppy.”
“I really thought I had a shot at it,” I say weakly as the embarrassment of rejection kicks in. “I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. That was so stupid.”
“Hey. Don’t say that,” Anna says. “Of course you had a shot at it. You’re brilliant, Poppy. Your grades and accomplishments are more impressive than any student at Hollis.”
Despite my best friend’s sweet words, I can’t help but feel like a failure.
I let out a heavy breath. “This really sucks.” I tuck my feet under my legs. “How’d the study group go?” I ask, eager to change the subject.
“My brain feels numb. I need ice cream. That’s why I was calling you, to see if you wanted to grab some with me.”
“I don’t know if I’m in the mood to leave my apartment. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ll bring over a few pints to your place. Then we can go leave nasty Google reviews for that law firm that turned you down.”
I start to smile. “We’re absolutely not doing that.”
“Just one bad Google review.”
I let out a weak chuckle. “I’ll think about it. Will you get me a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough?”
“You got it. Be at your place in twenty minutes.”
When I hang up, I feel slightly better. Except then I think about having to break the bad news to my parents, and I feel that dread all over again.
I finish up with my last student at the Writing Center and glance at the time. I have ten minutes before my next student comes in for our tutoring session, so I take that time to check on my YouTube channel.
When I see that my latest video breaking down the defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588, I smile. More than one hundred thousand views.
I spent the other night drowning my sorrows in ice cream with Anna. Hanging out with her lifted my spirits enough that the next morning, I woke up determined not to let myself sulk anymore. So I spent the weekend filming and editing a new video, then posted it yesterday afternoon.
Seeing how many views it already has gives me the boost I need.
Yeah, it’s the nerdiest thing in the world that I spend my free time filming educational videos, but I honestly love it.
I’ve always loved working as a writing tutor in high school and college.
But I always wished I could be a tutor for more subjects.
I just don’t have the time to work with that many people one-on-one.
Having my own YouTube channel has been the perfect outlet. I can talk about all the subjects I’m passionate about while reaching way more people than I ever could as a tutor.
I skim the comments.
Love the boat animation you created to go along with your voiceover! So entertaining!
This is SUCH a helpful breakdown! Thank you for posting!
I learned about this in my history class last month, but my teacher was SO boring. He just read from his notes the whole class. This video is way more interesting!
I smile, feeling encouraged at all the positive feedback I’m getting.
There’s a soft knock at the door. When I look up and see Nick standing in the open doorway, I purse my lips and sigh.
“You don’t have an appointment scheduled,” I say.
He flashes that smug half-smile and leans his sculpted shoulder against the doorway. “I know. I was wondering if I could see if anyone was free take me as a walk-in.”
“I’m the only one here for the next hour, and my next appointment is coming soon. You’ll have to wait or come back,” I say while stacking papers on my desk.
Nick steps over to the chair against the wall, sets his backpack on the floor, and then sits. That cocky smile doesn’t budge. “I’ll wait.”
I let out another annoyed sigh, then organize a stack of papers on my desk. The whole time, I feel Nick’s gaze on me. I glance up at him. When I see the fiery look in his eyes, heat scatters across my skin.
I hate how just one look at him makes me feel like this, all hot and bothered. I don’t even like him.
But that’s the effect Nick St. George has on my body. My brain may be annoyed by him, but my body likes it when he looks at me with that hungry gaze. A lot.
I focus back on my paperwork. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” I say, trying my hardest to sound disinterested.
He just chuckles. “Can’t help it. You look sexy today.”
Tingles flash all over my skin. My body is such a traitor.
I remind myself that he talks to all women this way. Nick St. George is the world’s biggest flirt, and he chats up any cute woman within a five-mile radius. I’m not special.
Still though. Gotta give Nick credit. I know he’s just screwing with me, but he sounds like he means it. That’s how smooth he is.
Besides, nothing I’m wearing today would qualify as remotely sexy: black leggings and a slouchy Hollis U sweater, my hair in a messy bun.
A minute later, my appointment walks in. I smile at the freshman student, then look at Nick with a pointed expression. “Keep quiet while I’m working with this student.”
He winks at me. “Yes, ma’am.”
For the next twenty minutes, I focus on helping this student with her essay for her intro to medieval literature class. We finish early, and she leaves.
Nick looks over at me, a sly smile dancing across his lips. “Do I get my turn with you yet?”
I ignore the suggestive lilt in his words and sigh.
“Fine. But I can’t see you for a full session.”
“Aww, why not?” he mock-whines as he saunters over to my desk.
“Because I’ve got two more students on the schedule to tutor this morning, and you’re not one of them.”
He settles next to me and pulls out his laptop, setting it on the desk. He lifts an eyebrow. “The things I would do to be next on your to-do list, Poppy.”
“God, you’re unbelievable.” I let out an exasperated laugh.
“I’ve heard that many, many times. Not in the classroom, though. Usually in a more intimate setting.” There’s a smug flicker in his eyes.
I hold his gaze. “Didn’t you say you’re failing?”
His smile dials back. He clears his throat. “Yeah.”
“Then maybe you should lay off the annoying innuendos and tell me what exactly you need help with.”
The cocky flicker in his eyes fades. His expression eases to something more shy, on the edge of embarrassment. He pulls a paper out of his backpack and hands it to me. “This is my latest paper I wrote for my Research and Composition class.”
When I see all the red marks and the giant F on the front, I wince. “Yikes,” I say softly.
He runs a hand through his thick chocolate-brown hair that always looks perfectly messy.
“I need to get my grade up,” he says. “I have another paper due in a week, and I need to do a lot better.”
He pulls up the assignment on his laptop while I skim the paper he wrote. I try my best not to make a face at how badly written it is. I can tell he rushed through writing this and didn’t do a good job of citing his sources.
“Okay, well, I can see that you threw this together at the last minute and didn’t put much thought into it,” I say.
He leans back in his chair. His massive hand clutches his broad chest. “Ouch.”
I tilt my head at him. “You’re saying I’m wrong?”
“No. You’re right. Just harsh.”
I squint at his laptop screen and skim the guidelines for his next essay. “I don’t beat around the bush, Nick.”
“I like that about you.”
I’m quiet as I try to concentrate. “Okay, well, the good news is that it’s early in the semester, so you have time to bring up your grade. And the topic for your next essay is pretty easy.”
He scoffs. “Maybe for you. You’re a genius.”
“I’m not a genius.”
“Compared to me, you are.” His cheeks flush as he chuckles. “I know that’s not saying much.”
“Come on, this isn’t that hard.” I nod at the laptop screen. “The assignment is to write a research essay on how social media has affected the flow of information in today’s media world. That’s pretty open-ended. You can take that in loads of different directions.”
For the next ten minutes, I guide Nick through a brainstorming session. Once we narrow down a topic he feels comfortable with, I show him my method of outlining an essay, something I use with a lot of the students I tutor.
When we finish, Nick blinks at his laptop screen. The corner of his mouth lifts in a surprised smile. “Wow. This is way easier than how I usually do it.”
“How do you usually write an essay?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Wait until the last minute and panic-write.”
I let out a genuine laugh. “It’s really not that bad once you get the hang of it.” I check the time. “I need to get ready for my next session.”
He packs up and stands up. “Thanks for your help.”
“Sure thing.”
He lingers in front of me for a second before flashing that cocky, pretty-boy smile. “See how much fun that was, helping me? You sure you don’t want to tutor me? ”
I sigh and fight a smile. I shake my head. “I don’t have time to be someone’s one-on-one tutor. You can come here for help though, whenever you need it. There are plenty of tutors here who would be happy to help you.”
That fiery flicker is back again, burning bright in his bourbon eyes as he gazes down at me. “The only one I want is you, Poppy.”
My stomach does a somersault. He lingers for an extra second before he walks off. And I’m left sitting there, my skin hot and tingling at his words.
But then, a second later, I remind myself that he’s just screwing with me. Nick St. George is a legendary flirt. He’s only saying things like that to get a rise out of me.
The rational part of my brain catches up, reminding me of what he admitted during our short session together.
He doesn’t like studying. He doesn’t like putting in the work. He saves assignments for the last minute.
I’d bet anything he wants me to tutor him so I can just do most of the work for him. He did that a lot in high school, copying off his friends’ homework so he wouldn’t have to do it himself.
Sure, Nick is hot and charming, but he’s shallow. And selfish. He only cares about one thing—hockey—and slacks on literally everything else in his life.
That reminder lands like a cold bucket of water thrown over my head. The heat inside of me dies down instantly.