Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
Sara
Dad’s still at the office by the time I get home, which is ideal.
I don’t want him to know I’m going to Cute Neighbor Boy’s apartment across the hall for tutoring, because then I’d have to explain my pretest grade.
And also? He’d probably insist on introducing himself to Joe, and I’m just not mentally prepared for that yet.
One day, though. Hopefully when Joe’s my official boyfriend.
A nervous flutter shifts in my belly. I’m going to Joe’s place! Well, it’s Oliver’s place too. I’m choosing to ignore that, though.
I’ve tugged half of my short hair into a nubby ponytail, letting my bangs fall around my face.
It’s effortless in a casual way, I think, even though I did put effort in.
I’m not going over in my uniform, though.
That’s just nerdy. But I’m also not going to dress like it’s a big date or something.
How embarrassing if I show up in a dress and he’s in sweats!
I do, however, want to look pretty. Is that so wrong?
That’s why I end up wearing my favorite jeans and salmon-pink hoodie, which fits me nicely. And, sure, I put a tiny bit of mascara on my lashes. Maybe I also swiped a teeny smudge of gloss over my lips. Sue me!
As I’m knocking on Joe’s door across the hall, my heartbeat accelerates by the second. What if Oliver answers? Does he even know I’m coming over? Please, please don’t let him answer the door. I can’t bear an awkward interaction with him right now.
The door opens. “Sara, hi!”
I glance up. It’s just Joe—phew.
Upon first assessment, I know I made the right wardrobe choice. Joe’s wearing a cozy cotton tunic and navy joggers. You know, the type of thing one usually wears around the house. His hair flops over his forehead when he grins.
“It’s so convenient you live right across the hall—come on in.”
I step inside the threshold. “It’s so nice in here. Thanks again for—”
My gaze ticks to my left, where I spot none other than Subwayboy sitting on the couch.
“Hey, Oliver, I invited Sara to study,” Joe’s saying. “We’re going to work at the kitchen table.”
Oliver’s also not in his school uniform, because popular belief aside, he isn’t a robot—I suppose. Jury may still be out. Similar to me, he wears a drawstring hoodie, only his is teal blue. But unlike me and more like his brother, he has on dark joggers.
His eyes flick up from the book he’s reading, and he glowers at me before focusing on Joe. “You want me to leave?”
“No, stay. We won’t be loud, will we, Sara?”
“Um.” I swallow. Dang it, why does he have to be here? “I mean, we’ll probably be talking, right?”
Oliver closes his book. “I’ll leave.”
“Really, it’s okay. We’re just going to study,” Joe insists.
“I do have a lot of questions, though. So I may talk a lot,” I push, hoping Oliver continues to take this massive hint and leaves us alone.
“Oh, well, maybe we can whisper or something? But I don’t want you to think you can’t ask me anything. Huh, maybe we should—”
“Whatever, it’s fine.” Oliver collapses back on the couch. “I have earphones. Do whatever you want.”
And then he pops his earbuds in and goes back to his book. I sneak a peek at the cover. Bruce Springsteen’s memoir. Interesting. Oliver’s always listening to music, so I guess that checks out. I would have bet all my money it was calculus related, but maybe this is why I’m so terrible with bets.
This brings me to my current problem. Oliver’s staying. Here. In the room where Joe and I are gonna study. Why? What did I do to deserve this?
“Right! Let’s get started, then.”
Joe leads the way to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and offering me a seat. So courteous.
As he settles in, I take an opportunity to look around. Two oak bookshelves line the walls behind the modular sofa Oliver sits on, his feet propped on a glass coffee table. It smells a little like leftover ramen and laundry detergent, an interesting combination.
The apartment is the same layout as ours, which isn’t surprising, but it’s less decorated. The walls hold a few framed photographs of Joe and Oliver and someone who looks like their sister, but they’re hung slightly crooked. I wonder if Joe put them up.
Their kitchen is like ours, an open-concept design that faces the living area, but while I decorated ours with embroidered tea towels, vanilla candles, and a pop of sky-blue paint, theirs is plain eggshell white with a stove that looks at least two decades old.
Several baskets of snacks are organized on the countertop, though.
“Thanks again for your help, Joe,” I say. “I was going to find a new tutor, but I appreciate you stepping in.”
“Of course. Calculus can get really tough sometimes. We just have to keep trying, you know? If we focus tonight, we’ll be prepared for the real test. And then we can relax and have fun at the school festival tomorrow.”
“Totally,” I agree, perking up. “I’m excited to work as a team on our first newspaper assignment.”
Joe flips through his book. “You’re bringing your cousin, right? Uh—” He peers over at me. “What’s her name again?”
“Vicky? Yes, she’s joining us.”
What I don’t say is that Vicky’s agreed to hop on FaceTime to help me pick out the perfect outfit for this occasion, because if I’m going to get my first kiss from him, I want to look amazing.
“Right, Vicky! Great. Cool, um—okay!” He laughs, twirling his pencil between his fingers. “Let’s do this, then.”
My heart flutters as I pull out my homework. “I had a question about these problems here.” I point. “I can’t seem to get the right answer.”
“Hmm, let me see.”
Joe leans closer, and I track the smell of clean shampoo. How did I get so lucky? Just look at him. He’s so perfect and nice. This moment would be ideal if Subwayboy wasn’t on the couch behind me, ruining everything. He’s probably watching me right now and hoping I fail.
Don’t think about him, Sara.
“Yeah, these types of problems are pretty tough,” he says after a moment. “Let me try—oh. Hang on.”
I watch him work through the first couple of steps, then go back and erase all four lines.
“This is wrong.” He tries again, now mumbling more to himself. “Is it like this? Wait—no. That’s not right.” He erases again. “Hey, Oliver, come here real quick. How do you solve this type of problem again?”
My eyes widen. Noooooo, my mind screams. Don’t ask him! Joe, what are you doing? I loved that we were pretending Oliver wasn’t here. Can we go back to that?
Oliver comes and stands beside me, picking up my homework and studying the problems. I tug on the strings of my pink hoodie, not daring to look at him. Ugh, so awkward.
“Okay. You’re finding the derivatives of this function?”
“Yup,” Joe confirms cheerily.
Oliver lowers himself into a crouched position and removes a pencil from his pocket, then works out the steps. “So, first you substitute—”
I don’t hear anything else because I’m too focused on the way Oliver leans over his work, hair swooping over his forehead as he scrawls through the steps.
We’ve never been this physically close. Not even in tutoring.
His thick eyebrows furrow together when he’s in the middle of solving, the tension dissolving in his forehead when things click in place.
Joe cups his chin in his palm as he studies Oliver’s method. Is this really happening right now? I may as well be in tutoring with Oliver instead of Joe, seeing as he’s the one helping us.
From beside him, Joe’s phone lights up with an incoming call.
“Oh, it’s Mom. One sec.”
Then he stands, already walking toward the hall.
Nooooo! Don’t leave me here with him!
“Hey, Mom, yeah—I know! Calm down, you’re okay.” Over his shoulder, Joe says, “Oliver, could you help her out for a minute? I won’t be long.”
His voice fades as he steps into his bedroom and closes the door behind him.
Oliver stares at me. I stare back.
Suddenly, I’m very warm.
Instead of crouching, he moves into the open chair beside me, sighing. Then he rolls his hoodie sleeves up to his elbows. What, are we about to do surgery or calculus?
“You don’t have to help if you don’t want—”
“Why?” He’s already scribbling the final step in the problem. “You want to fail another test?”
I snap my eyes to his side profile. “What test? I didn’t fail any—uh—”
Oliver raises his eyebrows, whistling a sweet, innocent tune as he casually spins his pencil toward me. As I take a closer look, I spot a familiar piggie sticker curved around the top.
A gasp lodges in my throat. Eyes widening, I jump to my feet, reaching out to snatch the pencil. “Hey! Where did you get that?”
Oliver raises his arm above his head before I have the chance to strike. “Found it on public property. Plus, it’s stuck to my pencil. That means it’s mine now.”
I fall back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest. “Fine, whatever. You keep that. And, yes, I suck at calculus, but you already know that.”
He points the eraser at me. “Okay, let’s study, then.”
Warily, I meet his eyes. “Really?”
“Yes, come on.”
He sounds sincere. He’s not even scowling or giving me a look like I chucked his backpack in the lake. Instead, he positions himself so he’s a tad closer to me, so I unfold my arms and lean in.
“Okay.” I pick up my pencil, braving a look at him. “Thanks, Oliver.”
His eyes flick to mine before dropping to his work. “Yeah, no problem.”
“Just don’t yell at me.”
“Who’s yelling?” He taps the page with the eraser. “This section isn’t that hard. I’ll break it down—oh, look. Here’s an easy one.”
Huh, he’s in a good mood today. No grouchiness in sight. Did I temporarily transport myself to a parallel universe where this Oliver is nice? Unlikely.
However, maybe this is my opportunity to tell him everything. No more secrets, no more lies. It’s time to clear the air about the subway kiss bet. If I do, I’ll have an easier time focusing. Really, it’s for the benefit of my own mental health—and grade point average.
“So you multiply here—”
“Hold on, wait.”