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“I’m slacking,” he said finally.
“Slacking?”
“I’m a terrible tutor. My love advice isn’t working.”
I nearly snorted at the seriousness in his tone. “Maybe I should’ve chosen someone who isn’t fighting with his girlfriend all the time. Although it looks like she forgave you for the closet thing.”
“You’re talking about the kiss at the game on Friday?” he guessed, picking back up his pencil and tapping it against his notebook. “Trust me, if people weren’t around to witness it, she wouldn’t have been kissing me.”
“She only kissed you because there was an audience?”
“She does a lot of things only because there’s an audience.” Connor went back to work copying from the textbook for only a moment before he paused again. “I change my answer.”
“You have an eraser,” I said, pointing at his pencil. “Except you’re copying down the practice equation, so the steps should be right.”
“I think you can fall in love in high school. As long as it’s with the right person.”
His words caused both relief and a debilitating sense of unease to wrench through me, two halves of a confusing whole. “You think?”
He slowly nodded. “I do.”
I focused back on my rose. I’d stopped mid-fold and had no idea where to pick back up. My brain stalled out on what fold came next, unable to work through the geometry in front of me.
If I didn’t love Alex, would I have been so upset when he left me at the Wallflower? But then again, if Ididlove Alex, wouldn’t I want to spend time with him, even if it meant watching him play videogames?
If I did love him, would I be wonderingwhat if?
Connor placed his hand over mine, half-obscuring my paper rose. His palm was a little rough against the top of my hand, but the warmth radiating from his skin was undeniably pleasant. Once more, the topsy-turvy rollercoaster sensation flipped my stomach. I tried to swallow down the strange feeling, but it roared up like a fanned flame, surrounding me.
“You have to show me how to do this sometime,” Connor said, trailing his fingers over the edge of the flower. The touch was delicate, careful not to dent the delicate paper. “They always look so cool. You said origami counts as math, right?”
“That’s Geometry, not Algebra II. I’m only tutoring you for Algebra.”
“Dang,” he breathed dejectedly, but he ran a hand over his lips to cover his smile.
These feelings. It was in that moment that their meaning hit me. It was as if I told a doctor about my symptoms and they came back with a clear answer, one that hit the nail on the head. The weird fluttering in my stomach, the way my heart would skip a beat.Do you like Connor Bray?
The door chimed as someone walked in, and I jerked my hand back, dropping the rose.Deny, deny, deny, my body screamed, but I couldn’t.
And then I didn’t have time to. My gaze caught on the person passing through the doors, recognition blasting through me. It was the sort of full-body jolt, like an electric current ran through my body, adrenaline chasing on its heels. Because the person who’d walked through the door lasered in on me, jaw dropped.
Madison.
Madison looked dressed for a date with a blue floral sundress and a light jean jacket thrown over her shoulders. As soon as she spotted us, her wide gaze went from me to Connor and then back again, almost as if she were watching a tennis match. Each back and forth, she appeared more and more alarmed, until it finally settled on Connor’s hand stretched across the table.
Once Connor turned to find what I was gaping at, he cursed.
Steeling herself, Madison began her storming, shoes creating little clicks as she came across the room. “What is going on?” Madison demanded in disbelief, voice a low tremble. “Seriously. What the hell is going on?”
My heart launched into a dead sprint, barreling in my chest without hopes of calming down anytime soon. “Madison—”
“No, don’tMadisonme. Okay? Because you’re going to explain whatthat—” she gestured frantically at the table where our hands had been. “—was while explaining why you’re—” Madison pressed a hand to her forehead, cheeks pink with frustration. “Dear God,pleasetell me you’re not here on a date.”
“No! Of course not.” I grabbed the edge of his Algebra II textbook and wiggled it. “I’m tutoring him. See?Math.”
She glanced down as if seeing the materials for the first time, noting the hot chocolate cups. It was one of Connor’s rules—discretion—and I’d crossed the line. Then again, we were backed into a corner. I didn’t have a choice. “Tutoring,” she echoed, skeptical.
Connor rubbed a hand through his brown hair, tugging on the ends. “I have to retake my Algebra II exam on Friday. Maisie’s been helping me study.”
