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I have conflicting feelings about the arrangement. It’s not exactly conducive to studying. Mostly I try not to sneak glances at the guys, and therefore can’t think about anything else. Lindsey does her homework and explains anything I need help with. When I tell her she should charge for tutoring, she just laughs and says, “Wanna pay me?”
I laugh, but I feel even shittier about taking advantage of her kindness.
Every time I catch myself studying Chase instead of my textbook, guilt gnaws inside me. I watch him spin and dribble and pivot and shoot, and he looks like a god to me. I watch his arm muscles flex and stretch when he shoots, and I’ve never seen anyone with a more perfect physique.
Lindsey pokes me, and I come back to reality and do a chemistry problem in my notebook. I wonder if Chase notices I’m here. If he sneaks glances at me, too. I peek up through my lashes, my gaze drawn back.
That’s how tutoring usually works, with me being distracted by Chase, and Lindsey having to remind me to do every problem.
“Maybe you have ADHD,” she says one day, handing me a stick of gum. “If you weren’t so easily distracted, I bet you could get good grades. You just need to focus and work at it.”
My face flushes, but how can I answer that?
I don’t have any trouble focusing on Chase. At this point, I’m sick of myself, of my crush, my infatuation. Shouldn’t it be gone by now?
To be fair, it’s not his fault. School itself used to be a big enough motivation for me. I liked getting good grades, making my teachers and parents happy. Getting in trouble means drawing attention, and that’s my nightmare, so clearly, I was a good student.
But now that I have friends, I can think of a dozen things that seem more important than grades. I have no dad to impress with a report card, and I’m halfway tempted to fail something just to piss off my mother. But getting a decent report card seems to be the only way to get back in Mom’s good graces, so I try to care.
After I finish my history project at Lindsey’s house one evening, I’m waiting for Lindsey to finish so I can ask her for pointers when Chase shows up unannounced.
“You don’t understand how hard I have to work,” she huffs, clearly annoyed. “If you had any manners at all, you’d text before you show up to distract me.”
“Who said I came to see you?” he asks, shooting me a wink. “I came over to see Sky. Right, baby?”
I turn away, pretending to fiddle with one of the pompoms decorating Lindsey’s shelf. Her whole room is a shrine to her activities and accomplishments. I focus on that, since I’m not too comfortable around them when they argue, and I definitely don’t want to get sucked into it.
I pick up an old iPod on Lindsey’s shelf and turn it on. Her music would make my dad die inside—boy bands, pop princesses, a few popular dance songs. There’s nothing here that didn’t hit the Top 10 on the billboard charts. Dad would say it was just different artists playing the same overplayed songs, catchy but utterly devoid of meaning.
Maybe I should listen to some of it and stop letting my dad influence my musical choices. Besides, it might be nice to know some of the songs that get played at parties and school dances, if I ever get off house arrest.
“Sky, sweetie, would you mind getting us some sweet tea?” Lindsey asks in her sugary voice. “Mom just made some today.”
“Sure,” I say, flashing her a grateful smile.
I know she just wants me to leave so she can fight with Chase, but that’s fine by me. I’m as embarrassed to be there while they fight as she is. She’s far too lady-like to have a real argument in front of me, so I’m used to the errand runs that occur when he comes over.
I’m happy for the excuse to leave the room, where the tension is so thick I can feel it sticking to my face like spider webs. As I head for the door, Chase pushes off the doorframe and steps in front of me, and we do that awkward thing where we both step aside one way and then the other at the same time.
I finally dart past him, and he calls out, “Come back and dance with me, Blue Sky!”
I stomp down the hall, but I can hear him laughing at me before he stops short with an exclamation of surprise, maybe pain. I hope Lindsey punched him in the nuts that time. Serves him right.
I’m not even sure why I’m mad at him, but I am. I was having a great time with Lindsey the last couple days. When I’m with her, it feels like I have a real friend for the first time. No one asked him to come along and ruin that.
I like Daria and the other girls too, but I’m never sure how much is genuine. They act so sweet to everyone, like Lindsey does, but then as soon as someone walks out of the room, they talk about her. I’ve never heard Lindsey say anything bad about anyone. It’s against her morals or something.
Even when we’re just studying at her house, it feels comfortable and great, like something I was always missing without even knowing it. It’s easy to forget about everything else when we’re hanging out.
I resent Chase for showing up to burst my bubble.
Now all I can do is remember the way it felt to melt with the heat of his hands on my bare skin, running down my back. The way I turned to pure sparkling effervescence when we kissed. The way my knees turn to jelly every time his piercing blue eyes meet mine and hold a moment too long, and when he smiles, I know it’s just for me.
And then I remember that I am a horrible, horrible person.
I’m looking for teacups in the kitchen when Lindsey’s mom comes in.
“Oh hi, Mrs. Darling,” I say, jumping back like she caught me stealing her fine China.
