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“The basement?” Henry stopped and laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me? Can you make this sound any less weird? I think I’ll pass.” He turned and said without looking back. “I’ll pass, Tutor Girl, but thanks, anyway.”
I called out after him. “I always go there to study because it’s quiet! Besides, the library smells like feet! I mean, feel free to go there if you want, but...”
There was no way Henry was going to interfere with my personal life and my study time. Since coming to Riverview, I’d always studied in the school’s basement where none of the rich kids would ever dare go because it was dark, dank, and isolated. The perfect break from the boarding school brats. I knew it wouldn’t be up to Mr. Walton’s standards, but it was about time he didn’t get his way.
Henry stopped and turned around. “So, my choices are to smell like feet or wet dog, which is what I’m assuming is the resident basement odor?”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him for what felt like the millionth time since we met. “Basement. Five o’clock. And don't be late, Henry-whose-name-is-on every-building-Walton.” I cracked myself up.
“Have I told you I hate this school?” Henry smirked. “But I guess your dark basement wins. See you there, Tutor Girl.” He walked out the door and went around the corner.
“It’s Grace! My name is still Grace!” I corrected, not caring if he heard or not, then congratulated myself. “And I won whatever this just was.”
Realizing I didn’t have much time to get to my dorm then to the basement, I hurried to my room. Once inside, I saw I’d missed a call from my mom and three texts from Lexi.
Are you tutoring bad boy tonight?
???
Oh GOD, you are!! Text me when it’s over. Put on lip gloss. K, I’m done bye.
Lip gloss? Where’d she get that idea? I never said this would be a lip-gloss deserving situation. This was purely transactional: the rich kid needed good grades, and I needed my scholarship. Neither of us wanted anything more.
3
The First Session
Henry
I hurried to my apartment to chill out for a few minutes before our tutoring session because I was pretty wound up. I don’t know what that girl had over me, but I couldn’t get her off my mind. Because I was a Walton, I lived in an apartment instead of the dorms like the other students. Most everyone on campus called my building and the one next to it “Billionaires’ Block” because all the rich kids and tenured teachers lived there. It was nice, I’m not gonna lie. I had a private chef, which meant not eating in the cafeteria—although that meant not eating with Grace, either.
There was even a doorman in the Victorian-styled building. The gold chandelier that hung front and center was a bit much, but this was where my parents paid for me to live. The older man working at the front desk gave me my key, and I headed to the sixth floor—the penthouse, of course.
My parents had someone furnish the apartment with my stuff from Brixton before I got here, so the place felt familiar. Stomach growling, I beelined it to the fridge and scarfed down the food my chef left for me. I took a shower to get off the smell of trigonometry and freshen up a bit for Grace. I couldn’t believe I was showering for a tutoring session in a basement.
Who was this girl, and how did she hold such power over me already?
Hot from the shower and a full belly, I climbed into bed for a quick power nap.
My phone rang, waking me up. I didn't answer, figuring it was my dad calling to see if I lit anything on fire on my first day. But I saw the time. 5:11 pm.
Crap! I was late for my basement date. I mean, my tutoring session.
I raced around, grabbing jeans and a clean sweatshirt but then caught a glance of myself in the mirror. What are you doing? You don’t rush anywhere. You’re Henry Walton. People wait for you. I had an odd sense of satisfaction knowing I was gonna be late. Grace could wait.
I locked the door and texted my mom’s assistant to send me a map of the school, so I could find my way to the basement.
I’d known Grace O’Connell for less than a full day and barely recognized myself, anymore. Henry Walton would never, ever agree to get tutored in a basement, but here I was—and then, there was that music class. I wasn’t even enrolled but sat through the crazy teacher’s rant because of Grace. I’d been walking around campus, trying to figure out where my next class was because I only knew how to find the headmaster’s office, the cafeteria, and the class I’d shared with Grace when I ran into Eric who lives in my building. He was headed to music, so I tagged along. Then, there she was. Grace O’Connell. I’d played it cool but felt anything but. So stupid that I couldn’t even say hi or smile without feeling like an idiot. I sat through that entire class, trying to figure out how to talk to her without sounding like a jerk.
I expected the basement was a disgusting old room with mice running in the corners and cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, which seemed a strange place for the smartest girl at school to hang out. And by herself. The brainy girls I’d known at my other schools all hung out in the library where they bragged about their perfect hair and perfect grades.
Grace had the grades and that beautiful dark hair, but she also had layers to her—somewhat complicated and interesting. I liked that she was feisty, too, like me.
Feisty. Who am I kidding? I’m cocky and loud and obnoxious. No wonder she looked like the headmaster just assigned her to clean the toilets when he told her she was going to tutor me. Again, it proves how smart she is.
It had started to rain by the time I pushed open the basement door and found Grace sitting on the concrete floor next to a pile of books. She looked up for a moment then back down to the textbook she was reading from.
“Well, I guess you’re not getting paid to be excited to see me.” I laughed and pushed my wet hair out of my face.
