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He let out a disparaging sigh. “Don’t ask.”
His tone wasn’t rude, but it definitely was clear. The door onthatconversation was padlocked. Blocked by barbed wire. I glanced out the passenger window, recognizing one of the residential areas of Brentwood. “Where are we going, anyway?”
“We’re going to my house.”
“I’m sorry, yourwhat?” My words came out more high-pitched than I’d wanted them to, and I stiffened. “Is—is that not weird?”
“It’s not weird if you don’t make it weird.”
I hated how casual he could be about everything. Everything was super surface level for him—heaven forbid he think deeper about things. Like spending time at his house alone felt…well,weird. Not as weird as hanging out in a closet couples normally flocked to, but still strange. Personal, like we were something more than tutor and student.
Most of the houses we were passing were small and cluttered, with disheveled lawns and broken-down cars parked in the driveway. “You don’t live around here.”
“I don’t?”
“You live on Bleeker Avenue.”
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Okay, when I called you my stalker before, Ihad beenjoking.”
The only reason I knew where he lived was because I had ridden with Mom once when she dropped Jozie off at his house for a party. Besides, it wasn’t like his two-story modern-day mansion was easily forgettable. The white siding and stone building had columns for crying out loud.
As we drove further and further down the road, there was not a column in sight.
Connor spun the wheel down a side street. “We’re actually going to my grandma’s house.”
“Your—”Grandma?That was even weirder than going to his own house! “Are you seriously taking me to meet your grandma?”
“No, I’m taking you to my grandma’s house so you can tutor me. Add this to our frenemy secret pile,” he added with a serious expression, though it wasn’t focused on me. Those hazel eyes were latched onto the road, fingers fluttering against the steering wheel. “I mean it, okay? If this shows up on Babble… It just can’t, okay?”
I almost asked why his living accommodations would be worthy of gossip, but knowing Ava, she would post anything to bring in the views. “Yes, because so far in our tutor relationship, I’ve spilledallthe beans.”
“Your sarcasm is noted.” He looked at me once more, his eyes considerably softer. “And so is the fact that you haven’t said anything. This is something that’s extra important, okay?”
It wasn’t long after that Connor turned into a short driveway, parking in front of a closed and dented garage door. The garage was attached to a house almost the size of mine, but a smidge smaller.
I opened my mouth, but he was already out of the car, swinging to the backseat and ducking in to grab his backpack.
It’s not weird, I told myself, staring up at the structure, a bit of anxiety leaking through.It’s not weird if you don’t make it weird. You’re great with grandparents. You can do this.
It did feel homey, though, like a little old lady could totally live here. A little old lady I was about to meet.Gah.
I went to shut the door behind me, but instead of clicking into place, it shuddered and bounced back open. “You have to twist the doorknob a little to get it to latch,” Connor instructed. “Something’s wrong with the lock.”
The front door let us directly into the living room, and the warm scent of cinnamon greeted us, perfect for fall. There were two mismatched sofas with throw pillows that didn’t quite fit either—they were a little too new and modern for the space. The coffee table was an antique-looking glass one, filled with magazines and paperbacks with worn spines. “It’s cozy in here,” I told him as I glanced around, spotting the family portrait on the wall. He resembled his mother the most, but his eyes were the same as his dad’s. “Our living room is like an art gallery.” And a cold one at that.
“Connor?” a deep, raspy voice called from deeper in the house, followed by a clattering of what sounded like dishes. “That you?”
“Yeah, I’m home,” he called back, turning to me once more. He slid his hands into his pockets, and for the first time since I’d met him, he lookednervous. More than nervous, uncomfortable. LikeIwas the one puttinghimunder a microscope this time. “Kick off your shoes and pick them up—if it’s okay with you, I thought we could sit out back and work.”
I did as I was told, slipping off my sandals, toes sinking into the plush gray carpet. As I straightened, a tall woman stepped into an archway on the other side of the living room. She had a pink paisley print bandana wrapped over her hair, which was only visible by her gray bangs peeking over her forehead. A kitchen apron hung from her frame, one that was a bright blue, and wore a pair of green sweatpants. The fashion combo made me smile. “Oh. I didn’t realize you had a friend.”
“This is Maisie, Grandma,” Connor said, pronouncing my name perfectly. Ever since I’d spelled it out for him, he’d never gotten it wrong. “She’s tutoring me in math for my retake test.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, ducking my head in an awkward half-bow. Nice, Maisie, nice.
“A tutor?” Connor’s grandma asked, squinting at me. “Thank God. You needed one, kid. Thank you for helping him, Maisie. You can call me Joy, dear. You look like you’d be good at math.”
Connor jumped to say, “Grandma—”
