“So?”
She stares at me. “Why do you want to see a movie with me?”
“Why not?”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you trying to stop me from feeling sorry for myself?”
“I might.”
She forces a laugh. “See, I know you well.”
“Barely. So is that a yes to the movie?”
“I was thinking about reading all night.”
I lift a brow. “Aren’t you worried you’ll finish your entire arsenal of books?”
She shrugs. “I’ve read many over a few times. I’ll never run out.”
“Fine. It’s a no to the movie, then?”
She ponders it for a few seconds. “Okay. That sounds like fun, thanks.”
I dip my head. “But we’ll only go on one condition.”
“I can’t bring books with me?”
“Okay, two conditions. You don’t call yourself stupid again. At least not in front of me.”
She just gapes at me. “Why do you care if I call myself stupid?”
“Because you’re not.”
“That’s debatable. I might be good at school, but I’m so bad with boys. Hence, I’m stupid.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “So you’re not agreeing to the terms?”
“Fine. I won’t call myself stupid in front of you.”
“Good. Now let’s finish this lesson so we can go. Don’t need my mom breathing down our necks that we’ll break curfew.”
As she reviews what we learned, I notice her eyes aren’t as sad as they were before. There’s some light in them. Could it be that the thought of going to the movie with me makes her feel better? Like she’s doing things she normally does and isn’t letting that jerk hold her back? Will she be over him and smile for real soon?
Or maybe…is she looking forward to spending time with me?
When she told me last night that Axel broke up with her, this odd feeling entered my stomach. I think it was relief. Like a weight was lifted off my shoulders.
I feel like a jerk for being happy that they’re over, but that’s the truth. I don’t understand why I feel this way. We’re just friends. Or is that something I keep telling myself?
Lately, I’ve been up all night thinking about her. Her sweet smile, pretty eyes. How she’s always making sure I understand the material. She doesn’t see me as a thug like most kids at school do. And I can’t forget how she told Mom to be proud of me the other day. She must have noticed that Mom isn’t exactly the warmest mother in the world. She was trying to make me feel better.
And I want to do the same for her. I want her to forget the name Axel and…what? Remember my name instead? That’s silly.
I want to be there for her. I want that bright smile to return to her face. But mostly, I just want to spend time with her outside of our lessons.
Her hand rests on her textbook. It’s only a few inches from my hand. What would it feel like to wrap my fingers around hers? Would a spark shoot all over my body? Would she feel it, too?
“Damian, you’re not concentrating,” she says.
