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With two minutes to spare, Connor sauntered through the library door. He had his black backpack slung over one shoulder, a lazy pace to his steps. Like hewasn’tforty-five minutes late to our session.
The football player was so out of place amongst the bookshelves and vibrant Book Fair posters, everything around him screamingacademiawhereas everything about him screamedjock. Even down to the bored way he gripped his backpack strap. It was as if he’d stumbled into the wrong room.
Until he found me at the table, and his languid posture snapped into something more alert, more alarmed. Ten feet spanned between us when his footsteps stopped, his eyes wandering the entire perimeter of the library like he was noting every single student within sight.
I raised my eyebrows at his imitation ofdeer in headlights. “Uh, are you going to sit down?”
It was a blink-and-you’d-miss-it response. Suddenly, Connor strode toward me, hands hastily gathering all of my papers into a stack before shoving them inside the Algebra II textbook. Then, without a word, he picked everything up and fled in between a row of bookshelves.
I stared at the now-empty desk in front of me. Someone had etched a curse word into the top of the wood, either with a sharp pencil or a pocketknife. Coincidentally enough, it was the same word that screamed in my head.
Breathe, Maisie, breathe.
Snatching up my bag, I stalked in the direction he went, ducking to look down every aisle like we were playing a game of hide-and-seek. They were all empty except for the last one, a section of the library that had dust from the 1970s. The row was for legal texts and autobiographies of random people from obscure historical moments, tomes that must’ve gotten donated to the school ages ago.
And, apparently, it was also the row for Top Tier boys to sit, because Connor leaned against one of the bookshelves with my Algebra II book at his hip like he belonged there.
“Sorry,” Connor said normally, as if him storming into the library—late—and whisking my things off to a dusty corner wasn’t weird. He slid my book across the aisle, a spot he designated for me to sit. “I figured this area would be…easier to concentrate.”
I stared down at him with my hand gripping my satchel strap. Better that than his neck.
“You mean so no one would see you?”Discretionwas the word both he and Principal Oliphant had used, but I still didn’t really get it. “You’re afraid people will find out Principal Oliphant’s giving you special treatment?”
“Something like that. Are you going to sit down or am I going to be staring up at you for the rest of the hour?”
“First of all, Iwassitting down. At that nice table you so rudely stole my stuff from. I don’t know what era you’re from, caveman, but in modern day society, we usuallyaskwhen we want something.”
Connor’s lips quirked into a smile that wasn’t a smile—I could see the tightness underneath. “To be fair, I—”
“And second of all.” I cut him off without hesitation. “The rest of the houris fifteen minutes. For a guy who’s so desperate for a tutor, you should’ve showed up on time.”
Now his features tightened, and he swiped up the textbook. “I had to tell coach I wasn’t making it for practice.”
“It took you forty-five minutes to tell him that?”
“What can I say? Guy’s chatty.”
If I was Medusa, he would’ve turned to stone. Seriously. “And my time is valuable.”
“Did I say it wasn’t?”
Actions are louder than words, I wanted to shout back, but instead I dropped my bag to the ground, my butt following soon after. The healthy three feet of space between us would keep me from doing anything murderous. “Here I thought you couldn’t find the library.”
“Secretaries have to be good for something, right?”
Apparently they’re not good at spotting clerical errors. Ugh.
The way he’d crammed the papers into the textbook had bent and creased the edges, and I smoothed them out with a patience I didn’t feel. “So Mrs. Diego said you failed Algebra II.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And that you need a refresher on everything for a make-up exam.”
Connor leaned forward as if someone were about to come around the corner. His hazel eyes were always on alert. “Add that to your long list of things you know about me. Do you write it all down in your diary?”
“Here.” I threw a crumpled piece of paper at him, but it didn’t get further than his ankle. “Fill this out.”
Connor stared at the thing like it was a wild animal, even going as far to tug his leg away. “What is it?”
