– Sammy –
Notice Me!
I need Turner to ask me to tutor him. He needs to ask me without me mentioning it first, and he needs to offer to pay me, though of course I’ll tell him I’m happy to do it for free. That way, when my parents ask, I won’t have to lie.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my house, it’s how to jump through hoops and lie without lying.
Ha! Maybe I do have a promising future as a lawyer. Something to fall back on if social work doesn’t pan out, I guess.
I walk into my school library on the Thursday afternoon after Dixies, and I hide between the stacks as I peek between the gaps and spy on him. His head is bowed low over his work books. He actually looks quite miserable. He’s a creative soul; music, writing, outdoorsy, long wild hair that refuses to conform, and leather bands that constantly draw my attention to his muscular forearms. If that boy ever decides to become a corporate lackey, I’ll eat my shoes.
I sneak into the next row and gain a few extra feet closer. My plan is to be perusing the books, and for him to notice me. He seems to notice me every other damn day in every location I ever happen to be in, but since I’ve made a plan to make it happen, no doubt I’ll probably become invisible to him.
I wander past Emily Bronte and Ernest Hemingway, then sidle up closer to Umberto Eco before I realize I’m holding my breath and starting to get dizzy. I’m an idiot.
Notice me.
His head stays low and his hair hangs in his eyes as he flicks his pen on the textbook to his right.
Notice me.
He flicks the pen between his fingers like a drum stick, unconsciously creating a beat that is surprisingly fluid despite the fact he seems to be engrossed in his notebook.
Notice me!
I should have worn perfume or something today, something to engage his other senses to get his attention.
Notice me.
I softly hum a tune and try to make it sound as natural as possible, though I know I can’t sing and I don’t even remember three-quarters of the words. I should be embarrassed. Turner is a singer. I tend to sound like a drowning cat.
Notice me!
“You keep creeping on my boy like that, and I’ll assume you have a crush.”
I squeal and spin around fast, coming face to face with Angelo Alesi as he leans down close to where my ear was a moment ago. He chuckles softly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Sammy?”
I hang my head low as the blush rushes to my cheeks. Angelo chuckles at my mortification, then I turn slowly, coming face to face with Turner as his proximity essentially encases me in a hot guy sandwich.
“I guess my work here is done then.” Angelo clears his throat in an attempt to swallow his laughter, then he wanders away without a backward glance, leaving us alone with an awkward silence snuffing the air from my lungs.
“Are you okay?” He steps closer to me, drawing my gaze to the slight stretch in the fabric of his shirt across his chest. “You screamed like a dog was ripping your leg off.”
“Ha.” How embarrassing. “I’m fine. I was looking…” I take a step back, then picking up the first book I can reach, I read the title; The Silence of the Lambs. I stifle my groan, and hold it against my chest like a shield. “I was looking for this book, but Angelo scared me.”
Turner’s eyes follow my hands and stop on my chest as a smile quirks his lips. “You like that book?”
“Me?” I lift it between us, awkwardly shuffling it around like it’s the grand prize in a showcase competition. Jesus, I’m an idiot. “Sure. I love this stuff.” Lie! Scary books and movies are so low on my list of crap to do in my spare time, shoving my bare hand into a supercharged wood chipper actually rates higher. “Yeah. But I forgot I already read it before, so,” I shove it back in the racks, “I don’t need it again.”
He leans toward me, brushing his arm across mine as he reaches out and picks it up. He flicks though a few pages as he smiles that hot smile he does. “Okay. Well.” He turns and tosses the worn book to the desk a couple feet away, then he turns back to me and steps closer, forcing me to lift my face to maintain eye contact. “How you doing today, Sammy? Having a nice day?”
Step one. “Sure. It’s just a regular day.” I nod over his shoulder. “You still having trouble in math?”
He nods softly. His eyes rake my face and follow the long strands of hair down over my shoulders. “Math is a pain in my damn ass, Sammy.”
“Hm. That sucks. Maybe you should get a tutor or something.”
His eyes snap back to mine. “Hell no. I already hate math. I especially don’t want to do extra and have to talk to a nerd about it.”
Ouch. “Okay. Well.” I angle my body away in an attempt to escape, but his big hands grab onto my elbow to stop me.
“Wait up, Sammy. I haven’t seen you since fourth period. I missed your pretty face.”
And now I remember why I shouldn’t have been making plans with this guy. He already fancies himself in love. I don’t need ties to keep me in this town. “I gotta go, okay? I have things to do.”
He releases my elbow reluctantly and steps back an inch. “Well shit, Ricci. That was your fastest rejection yet.” His words are a soft murmur drowned in disappointment, and if I allowed myself to believe he actually has feelings for me, I’d believe that I just hurt him. “You’re getting better at this. I’m not sure I like that… I’ll see you in home room tomorrow then?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, Turner.” I step away and fix the straps of my school bag on my shoulders. I’m sorry that I hurt him, even if I think he’s full of shit. “Tomorrow. Have fun studying.”
“Yeah.” He takes a second reluctant step away, then a third. “Sleep tight, Sammy.”
“See you.” I nod toward his books. “Good luck with your studying.” Then I walk away before he can say another word. I squeeze between rows of books in an effort to escape as fast as possible. I’m a nerd, and I don’t have room in my life for distractions.
I pass Angelo on the way out, and his smile vanishes once he focuses on my face. His lips turn up at the side, not in a smile, but in disappointment. “See ya, Sammy.”
“Bye, Ang.” I escape out the automatic doors and into the school courtyard, and I squint as the sun blinds me. I turn left, intending to hide out near the parking lot alone for a while, but I come to a screeching halt as big hands close around my arm and my stupid traitorous stomach flips.
“Sammy, wait.”
I turn and look up into baby blue eyes with disgustingly long lashes. Women would kill for lashes like that.
“Turner?”
“You math.”
I… “What?”
“I saw your test results in class last week.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. I was snooping over your shoulder.”
“Oh.” I laugh a little awkwardly. “Okay.”
“You got ninety-seven percent.”
“Yep. Pi screwed me over. I know the right answer, but I messed it up.”
“You could tutor me.”
So close! But that wasn’t a question. “I could?”
“Sure. You got ninety-seven percent. You’re a genius.”
“A genius…” I lift a brow and smile what I hope looks flirty and not constipated. “Or a nerd?”
“Prettiest nerd I ever met,” he murmurs and steps closer to me. “Will you tutor me, Sammy? I could really do with the help, and there’s no one in the world I’d rather spend my time with.”
I frown again as his soft words wrap me up tight like a warm blanket. “Why are you so nice to me, Turner? No one else is.”
“Everyone else is a dumb shit, but that works for me, because I don’t want anyone else to get any bright ideas about asking you out.”
“But why?”
“Because I love you.”
Jesus. He kills me every time he says that. He’s delusional. We’re seventeen years old, we haven’t even graduated high school yet. We don’t know what love is, but dammit, he almost has me believing him. “Turner--”
“Why don’t you call me by my first name? My real name?”
I shrug. “Because everyone calls you Turner.”
“But you’re unique. You should call me something that means something. You shouldn’t be like everyone else.”
“Our names clash.”
“Why? Because Whitney said so? Fuck her.”
I giggle softly. I know he goes to so much effort to not cuss around me. He thinks I’m delicate like fine china, and his friends no doubt think I’m some kind of high maintenance princess.
“I’ll pay you to tutor me,” he continues quickly. “You could quit Dixies and I’ll replace your income with tutoring.”
Just the thought has my smile turning flat. “Where do you get all of your money, Samuel? You don’t do anything shady, do you?”
He smiles up at the side again. “My mom calls my dad by his full name when she’s trying to sound cross.”
“… Okay?”
He shakes his head with a soft chuckle and snags my pinky finger the way he so often does. My traitorous stomach flips again at the intimate contact. “Never mind, Sammy, I was just making an observation. As to my nefarious income, the guys and I make money every weekend at The Shed. Believe it or not, people throw cash in our guitar cases every night. We tend to make a few hundred each set because all the rich kids like to slum, and we split that between the four of us. We do that two nights a week, which means I take home a couple hundred dollars a weekend. Plus, I mow lawns during the summer, and my folks pay me to babysit my sister sometimes. I save every cent I make except for what I spend on water at Dixie’s. I bet I could afford whatever you make. I bet she doesn’t pay you much.”
She pays me less than four dollars an hour. He already pays me more than Ms. Dixie does with his overgenerous tipping. “I can’t take your money, Turner.”
“I’m asking to purchase your services, Samantha. You’d be doing me a favor. You want me to graduate, don’t you?”
I shake my head as dread replaces the nervous energy in my stomach. “Don’t call me Samantha, okay? I don’t like it. It reminds me of my mom when she’s mad, and that’s all the damn time.”
“Alright.” He gently squeezes my finger. “Does your mom call you Sammy? Or Ricci?”
“No.” I smile. “No one calls me Ricci except you.”
“Alright. I call dibs on that, and I promise to not call you Samantha ever again. So, tutoring?”
“I don’t know… When would you want to start?”
His smile splits his face in the most beautiful way. “You busy right now? Pi’s messing with my head and I need a nerd.”
I gently tug my finger away from his. “I suppose I could be your nerd. But I won’t take your money, and I’ll keep my regular job.”
“I don’t like the idea of you having two jobs. I’m the man. I should be supporting you.”
“Jesus.” I shake my head and start moving back through the library doors. He jogs to catch up, and his hand brushes my lower back. “How old are you? You don’t support me. You don’t even have to support you! We’re teenagers, Turner. You have years of mooching left.”
He doesn’t argue with me, he simply follows closely behind, so close my hair must surely be touching his chest, then we take a seat at the desk. He leans low over his books again, pretending to study hard as an excuse to lean into me. He’s like a big old pussy cat. “Teach me, Mrs. Robinson.”
“Turner--”
His eyes lift slowly, latching onto mine with a twinkle. “What’s my name, Sammy?”
I bite my lip, because his face is barely a foot from mine, and I still haven’t kissed a boy. “Your name is Sam Turner.”
“Yeah, it is. So use it.”