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Connor tapped his pencil against his paper, creating a hollow fluttering sound. “Perpendicular bisectors, that’s—”
“I’m not helping you,” I hurried to say, closing my eyes to bask in the breeze. No paper rose today—I couldn’t settle my thoughts enough to focus on the lines. “So try to figure it out on your own.”
“You know, I think that’s a phrase in the ‘What A Tutor ShouldNotSay’ handbook.”
“This is a practice test. As in, you’re pretending that this is the official exam. Which, in case you forgot, I can’t help you for.”
I hadn’t used the practice test that Mrs. Diego put together, since hers only focused on the first two units. Since I taught Connor the entire book, I included all four units, but felt guilty for it. Maybe I should’ve told him they were lowering the amount he tested on. Maybe that would lessen his stress.
But still, the small part of me still annoyed at how everything played out bit down on my tongue.
Connor sighed, quite dramatically, might I add, and leaned back against the side of his car. Without another word, he pressed his palm down on the closed Algebra II book at his hip. “I want a timeout.”
“Finish your test and then you can have a timeout.”
“That’s not how your timeouts work,” he argued, and put the practice test down on the floor of the car. “I am allowed it if I ask, as long as I don’t throw a tantrum. This is me, acting perfectly civil.”
I waved my hand at him and granted his wish. “So, were you an athlete today or a mathlete?”
Connor was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt now, but that was his usual post-football practice attire. His hair was almost dried in the wind, only the tips twisted with water. “I didn’t dress up.” He arched a brow. “What about you?”
I glanced down at my jeans and striped t-shirt with a hole near the collar. “Athlete, obviously.”
Connor rolled his eyes as he propped his arm on one of his drawn knees. “Speaking of costumes, did Alex get what he came for last night?”
I knew the daunting subject was going to come up sooner or later, but I’d been hoping for the latter. I’d told Ava and Rachel at lunch today about our breakup, and though they’d been upset I hadn’t told them earlier—“Maisie, you should’ve called us!” Ava had said, and Rachel added, “We would’ve been over to your house in a heartbeat”—their support reinforced even more that I’d made the right decision.
Alex had already integrated perfectly back into his friend group, fitting at their now-full lunch table.
Despite my mood, there was no pushing down my soft chuckle. “Was that your way of trying to do a smooth segue, Connor?”
And there was no stopping the pull of his. “Maybe.”
“Alex wasn’t mad. He was just…”Confused. “He asked me if I was intimidated by you.”
“Have you ever been intimidated by me? I mean, youbitme. Was that you intimidated?”
We were close in the small trunk, so it was easy to reach over and swat at him, the movement familiar and easy. “That was me asserting my dominance.”
“Of course.”
I held Connor’s gaze and let myself feel every emotion that surfaced. Confusion, relief, unease, anticipation. Every little thing that I’d been bottling down these past few weeks, brushing off, appeared now, and I let myself feel it.Tell him you’re single, my brain ordered.
But I couldn’t, because even though I was single, he wasn’t.
“I’ll figure it out,” I finally said, leaving out any and all mention of the breakup, and nodding my chin toward his worksheet. “Is your timeout finished yet?”
“If it must be,” he said with another sigh. He leaned out of the path of the sun’s rays, squinting down at the page. “I should get finished. There’s a party tonight I have to swing by.”
I tried not to feel curious. I really tried. “Another party?”
Connor looked up at me. “Yeah, a guy on the team is having a bonfire at his house to celebrate game day tomorrow.”
“Is it a Player’s Only party?”
Connor leaned forward, only inches away in the cramped space. The summer breeze suddenly felt way, way too hot. “My, my. Is the social butterfly, Maisie Matthews, fishing around for an invite?”
“As if I’d want to hang out with a bunch of jocks.” I scoffed, gazing out at Lookout Ledge. The tops of the trees danced with the wind, their green leaves swaying this way and that. It was almost as if they were dancing. “Underaged drinking is so lame. Like, why do peoplevoluntarilykill their brain cells?”
