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“She seems to be doing good. It was nice to see her.” He grins. He doesn’t know she’s ill, I don’t think, and I’m not going to be the one to tell him.

“She’s very sweet,” I say.

“She’s cute.” Drew nods. “I love her, man.” He eats. He keeps eating. He’s keeping his eyes on his plate. “I wish she and Mom spoke.”

I shrug because the answer is the same answer it’s been for sixteen years. Something happened before either of us were old enough to be told, and nobody on either side ever wanted to explain it. I gave up on asking for explanations sometime around when I was thirteen, when I figured out the answer wasn’t going to make Mom warmer or Mabel less so.

“Yeah,” I say.

Drew chews. He swallows and changes the conversation to a girl in his class named Madison who plays goalie for the hockey team and who did not invite him to a thing tonight, and what does that mean, Cal, what does that mean. I give him big brotherly advice, and when we finish and pay, Hannah brings the check and slips me her number. I pocket it out of habit.

In the car, Drew’s asleep against the window inside four minutes. I drive in silence. Drop him at the house. I don’t get out—just lift a hand toward the porch in case Mom’s at the window, and pull away.

At the end of the driveway, I pick up my phone.

There’s one person I’ve been trying very hard not to think about.

I open Bea’s messages.

Chapter Fifteen

Bea

As if my life wasn’t busy enough at the moment, I get a text from Cal trying to rearrange tutoring. Seriously? Does this guy think that everyone needs to rearrange their schedules to meet his almighty whims?

Well, no.

Not happening.

I don’t care how bright blue and beautiful your eyes are, Callum Fox, we have our set time for tutoring, and you either make it or you don’t. I wonder if I’m being harsher on the situation because of how close we got to kissing the other night.

Near-mistakes are allowed. Near-mistakes do not require the words I almost kissed the student I am being trusted to tutor.

Near-mistakes are fine, provided they remain near. I reply, spooning cereal into my mouth.

Cal

Hey Doc. Can we rain check today’s session till tomorrow at 4? Something’s come up.

The nerve of this man. I have tennis tomorrow afternoon, one of my favorite things in the world and my only scheduled exercise this week. I am not moving it for him.

“Uh oh, the Cheerios are out.” Sydney sashays in, tucking her blonde bob behind one ear. “Did you fail a class or something?”

“No,” I grumble.

“Then what happened, Shortcake?”

“I spilled coffee on my MCAT questions book this morning. It’s completely ruined,” I say it flatly, like I’m reporting a death. Which, essentially, I am. The death of my book and, quite possibly, my MCAT score.

She frowns and puts her hands on her hips. “Can’t you just get it online? I do that with all my textbooks.” She swipes her iPad out of her backpack and kisses it. “Ta-dah. My source of Netflix and studying. A girl’s best friend.”

I decide not to tell her how many germs are probably wriggling around on that iPad.

“I prefer it analog,” I say. “It sticks in my head better off a physical page. Like why I prefer going manual with my me-time, you know. It just feels better.”

Understanding washes over her face. “Ahhh. It’s way more satisfying. Honestly, orgasming without a vibrator is more effort, but it does feel better.”

“Riveting morning conversation.” Ashley walks in.