Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Sara
“How am I so good at winning these bets?” Patrick folds his arms across his chest, puffing it out in victory. “Seriously, I’ll have to find a new hobby this week since you’ll be busy finishing all my homework.”
A rock sits in the pit of my stomach as I watch Joe walk out the school gates the next day. It’s official. I didn’t talk to Joe at all. Not even a teeny hello.
I suck. Worse? I’m so disappointed in myself.
Here’s the thing. I’d prepared. Overprepared, even.
I mean, last night I’d stayed up late making flashcards and practicing my opening lines in front of the mirror.
I tried on different tones, seeing how fluttery and high my voice could go, until I landed on one somewhere between friendly and approachable.
Then, to ease my anxiety, I’d blogged about how I wouldn’t let my fear get the best of me. I could do this! I talked to Patrick every day, didn’t I? If I pretended Joe was Patrick, maybe that would make it easier.
I tried. Really, I did. In history, I reached out to tap him on the shoulder.
My plan was to say I loved his history essay, but then my throat constricted and my hand jerked back into my lap like I’d been shocked.
Why? Because I imagined my words coming out all wrong—I thought your essay on the Fronch Reebolusion was good.
I mean Fresh Revolution! Agh! French! Like the country.
Um, just wanted to tell you!—and, ugh, how embarrassing. I’d die.
Nope. History wasn’t the time to talk to Joe, I decided.
But I wasn’t worried, because after lunch we had gym class together. This was my golden opportunity.
As Joe was stretching out his quads, I inched closer to him.
The sun shone down on us and a crisp breeze blew, somehow making his hair look even more perfect.
Like one of those runway models walking toward a giant fan.
I could feel Patrick watching from afar while he stretched one arm across his chest, and suddenly I was emboldened.
Watch this, I thought, and then, after clearing my throat, I attempted to speak.
“Uh—d-do you want, um?”
You know the tiny pitter patter sound a mouse makes? Yeah, that was about as loud as my vocal range went. Joe didn’t hear me. Instead, his attention turned to Rose, who sashayed over to his other side, eyelashes fluttering.
“Hey, Joe.” She spoke loudly and clearly. “Want to be my partner?”
Joe beamed, turning his back to me. “Sure.”
They walked to an open space near Coach Garcia, and I was left standing there like a total dork rocket. When I glanced over at Patrick, he was cackling into his hands.
My final opportunity was calculus. I’d worked up the courage to say, Hey, did you understand yesterday’s homework?
Easy enough, right? But every time I opened my mouth, it was like an octopus had wrapped its tentacles around my throat.
The bell rang, and Joe slid from his seat and moved out the door before I could even think about catching up.
Which brings us here. Now.
Patrick tugs me into a headlock and ruffles my hair. I elbow him in the stomach, which causes him to immediately release me as he doubles over. I don’t even feel bad.
As I’m storming away, he bellows, “No need to be a sore loser.”
Ignoring this, I storm inside. I’m so not in the mood for his schtick. As if today wasn’t already the worst, it’s not even over. Because I have stupid tutoring.
I hang my head as I wander to the library, pausing just outside the door.
Why do I always take Patrick’s bait? Now I’m stuck doing his homework too—and Oliver’s probably going to assign me extra tutoring homework.
I’m so mad. Maybe it’s unfair to take this out on Patrick, but he’s the reason I’m in this mess in the first place, including the ongoing mess with Subwayboy.
A lick of fire lights up inside me. Maybe I wasn’t brave enough to talk to Joe today, but something must change.
I’m digging through my shoulder bag, my fingers closing around my glasses, when I pause.
Yes, I could put on my disguise again, but today’s already proven I’m a major failure.
Do I really need to chicken out with this?
Shouldn’t I take a risk? If I don’t, I’m going to have to keep hiding forever. That’s not what I want.
Come on, Sara. Do something brave, for once.
Taking a deep breath, I stride into the library as myself—no disguises.
My heartbeat increases with each step I take. When I gather the nerve to look at Oliver, I find him staring at me with his usual I’m way too cool for this and also I’m so bored expression. Well, okay, then. That’s good? Or maybe not? I have no idea.
I pull out the chair across from him and sit, palms sweating.
He’s studying me now, eyebrows raised, but his expression is still inscrutable.
Does he recognize me? Is he going to call me out as Subwaygirl?
Hash everything out—here—in public? What if he stomps out and refuses to tutor me? What on earth will I tell Dad?
But, no. Instead, he says, “What happened to your glasses?”
“Uh”—I grasp for an excuse—“they broke.”
He’s already flipping through his textbook, unbothered. Like it doesn’t matter if I have glasses or not. “Oh. Well, let’s start.”
Okay? So why ask me in the first place? I swear, rocks are easier to read than this guy.
I heave a dramatic sigh, leaning back. “Fine.”
Ugh, I really don’t want to do this. If there was any justice in this world, a light catastrophe would occur at this very moment. Nothing deadly or life altering, but maybe a rumbling thunderstorm that knocks out the electricity, forcing us to go home for the day.
His eyes leap to mine. “Did you do your homework?”
Okay, what is with this guy? Really? He doesn’t even say hello like a normal, friendly human.
No, he just sits there judging me, looking like he’s permanently sucking on a lemon.
Zero pleasantries. Has he never heard of small talk?
Or is he allergic to the concept? Straight to business, as always.
Math, math, math—that’s it. Nothing else.
It drives me bonkers. Hasn’t anyone taught him kindness goes a long way?
If Joe was my tutor, everything would be perfect.
We’d be a scene straight from a rom-com.
I’d compliment his hair; he’d compliment my smile.
I’d understand calculus in two seconds, then he’d say I was the smartest girl in the entire universe and ask me out for ice cream.
And then we’d walk around the park until the sun set, just talking and getting to know each other. Maybe I’d even make him laugh.
But no. My life isn’t a movie, and I’m stuck here with Scrooge’s great-great-grandnephew, who clearly hates my guts.
I drop my forehead onto the table and circle my arms around my head, groaning. (Because—yes—I forgot to do my homework. Is that really a surprise?)
“Today sucks,” I moan, miserable.
Oliver sighs. “Guess that’s a no, then.”
“Have you ever had an opportunity right in the palm of your hands,” I hear myself say, “but because you’re an idiot, you just . . . let it go?”
“No,” Oliver says, dryer than an unused sponge. “Because I’m not an idiot.”
I choose to ignore this, popping my head up.
“What is wrong with me? I could’ve just talked to him today.
It would have been so easy! But now I have to do double the homework, and—worst of all—it’s my fault.
Mine. I’m the one getting myself into these situations!
There’s no one else to blame.” I drop my head again, speaking straight to the table. “My life sucks.”
Oops. Maybe I overshared. Typical me. Whatever; he already thinks I’m weird. It’s not like I can do anything to change that now. Though, in hindsight, I should have saved the venting for my blog.
He’s quiet. Seconds tick by. The silence widens, only growing more awkward.
And then—
“Are you done?”
I jerk my head up and glare at him. “Why are you so rude? Honestly.” Then I push myself into a seated position and fold my arms across my chest. “Are you a robot? All you want to talk about is calculus. I mean, you don’t even say hi.
Just—derivates! series! sequences! And, okay, yeah, I know you don’t like me.
That’s very clear. I’m not exactly a fan of you either—”
“Hold on.” Oliver frowns so deeply that, if it curved any lower, it’d be touching the floor. “You do know I’m not getting paid to hang out with you, right? I’m here to help you understand calculus.”
Okay, fair point.
“Yeah, but—”
“Which is, might I add, proving to be a very difficult task.”
“Maybe it’s because you suck as a tutor,” I volley a reply. “Ever think about that? Also? You need to severely work on your people skills. Perhaps I could tutor you in that.”
The tips of Oliver’s ears turn pink. “You’re acting childish.”
I throw my arms in the air, at my wit’s end. “At least ask me how I’m doing! Or if I’m understanding the material. Maybe if you were nicer, you’d discover I’m actually some calculus genius.”
“That makes zero sense, but fine.” He leans in closer, staring directly into my eyes.
His eyes are this light mossy-green color, and it transports me back to the subway.
How he opened them when I was the one moving in close, and the color caught me temporarily off guard.
“How was your day? Care to explain why, exactly, you’re so upset right now? ”
I don’t drop my eye contact. Instead, I cross my arms and press my lips together. Let him see how it feels to sit in a long pause. That’ll show him.
“Explain?” I finally say. “Why would I? I don’t even know you.”
Wrong thing to say. Oliver releases a frustrated breath between his clenched teeth and rises to his feet, packing up his bag.
No! I need him. I mean, I don’t want to need him, but I’m never going to get a good grade on my homework or my calculus test if he’s not here to assist me.
“Wait!” I lightly tug the hem of his hoodie as he’s turning toward the door. He freezes in place. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m the worst. I didn’t mean any of it. I’m just—I’m angry at someone else, and that’s not your fault.”
He scowls at me from over his shoulder. I must look pretty pathetic, because a second later, his eyes soften. Sighing, he slings his backpack off and returns to his seat.
“Okay,” he says dully.
“Okay!” I chirp, bringing as much enthusiasm as I can muster. I start flipping through my textbook at lightning speed. “Let’s do this!”
Suddenly, he slaps a palm on my book, preventing me from turning any more pages. “No.”
My jaw drops. “No?”
He’s studying me curiously, as if trying to solve a very difficult equation. Oh no—does that mean he finally recognizes me? Is he about to bring up the subway incident? Please, please don’t bring it up now! Not when I’ve completely made a fool of myself.
“You’re too distracted.” I’m shocked at how gentle he sounds. It’s new for him. “You’ve got to understand your priorities. Do you want to pass calculus?”
I nod.
“Okay, then stop playing around and take this seriously.” He tugs his backpack straps over his shoulders again, standing. “Go take care of whatever’s distracting you, then we’ll meet up whenever you’re ready to focus. Just text me.”
And then, without another word, he leaves.
As I watch him go, an unsettled feeling swims in my chest. I slide my forearms on the table and slump over them, groaning. Take care of what’s distracting me? What if you’re distracting me, Subwayboy?
It’s hard to concentrate on equations when I don’t even know if he remembers me.
And yes, it’s my fault for never bringing it up, but I also wasn’t wearing my disguise.
If he recognized me, wouldn’t he have said something?
Surely, right? I mean, if I were in his shoes, I’d have at least said something like Hey, you look sort of familiar.
Don’t I know you from somewhere? And maybe, if he had said that, I’d have been brave enough to spill the entire truth. Get it off my chest once and for all.
Ugh, whatever. At least now I get a break from calculus. I guess that’s a bonus? Well, not if I fail my next test. That’s the opposite of a bonus.
Maybe Oliver has a point.
My brain is all over the place because I’m too stressed out focusing on all these little messes. I proved to myself I could walk in here without a disguise. That showed courage. I am strong! I didn’t backslide into becoming shy, timid Sara Lin. That’s not who I’m trying to be going forward.
I sit up, cracking my knuckles. Determination thrums through me.
It’s time to take care of one problem at a time. I have to start taking matters into my own hands.